A Different Key

Walking home, taking the time to shout out something meaningless to a friend on the other side of the road, couldn’t stop the melody flying around in my head. The idea just sounded so good in my brain, sometimes with different variations, that I just “had” to work on it at home in dad’s studio after dinner. Mom’s hello followed by her telling me that her and dad were going out later on and wouldn’t be back till probably 2.30am or later, just made me more excited than ever.

Shortly after mom and dad left, I went back up to my room and started getting changed into my music clothes. I took a few moments to undo the back of my hair, before sitting infront of my make shift vanity to start brushing my hair with a soft brush until it gradually began to lustre. The theme in my head dictated no fancy face tonight, so I simply settled for a light makeover till I saw “Jane” looking back at me from the mirror. Having watched my mom do it countless times, I sprayed some of my perfume into the air just above me and proceeded to stand under it for a moment before walking towards my bedroom door.

Then, as Jane I calmly walked the short distance from the house over to the other building, where I unlocked it. Once inside and having turned on the wall switch, the studio magically appeared out of darkness. The gentle perfume I had on couldn’t compete with the heavy duty air freshener permeating the studio’s artificially fresh atmosphere. The air freshener though failed to entirely mask the smell of stale cigarette smoke, coffee and various junk food odours.

But at least I could slightly smell my perfume and my mood as Jane would never think of anything bad or yucky. Besides the studio seemed to smell “right” for making good music and I was in the frame of mind to do just that. Besides I had a pedigree of sorts musically speaking to live up to, because my dad had himself once been an exceptionally successful and well known musician when he was younger. Back then he’d work for months on end substituting for members of well-known rock bands if and when one of them had to leave a tour they were on due to illness, exhaustion, family problems or whatever reasons. He used to boast about how it wasn’t easy or cheap to hire him back then either, because he was always booked solid for studio recording sessions.

Whenever he was out touring with a band on the road, mom would be at home raising me and generally looking after dad’s finances. She did it so well he never ended up being one of those musicians you often read about who simply went broke once they no longer got asked to tour with bands or lost their instrument playing talent.

Because dad had wised up after fifteen or so years touring on the road, he decided that setting up a recording studio and producing other musician’s music was the way of the future. So he went and found, then purchased a spare ten acres out in the Boondocks, built a house along with another building that he fitted out as an elaborate state of the art recording studio.

Luckily for all of us (financially) dad’s skill at mixing and producing quickly gained him a reputation in the music industry for producing hit filled albums for musicians. I must be one of the few kids on this planet who could boast of having “jived” with famous musicians like G J Kale and Derrick Clapton and actually played as one of the backup rhythm guitarists on one song from Bruce Einsteins “Born to Jump” album.

Nowadays dad’s clients weren’t just rock bands or rock musicians. He’d branched out successfully to produce platinum albums for artists of different musical genres. Dad always liked feedback to see if he was on the right track and played the recording session music he’d done each day in the house afterwards to try and find out if mum and I thought it sounded as good as he thought it did.

So I not only got the chance to listen to final takes before the public ever had a chance to, but was lucky enough to be able to usually listen to the rejected takes, which if I liked one I’d copy it onto a disk of my own to muck about with.

Yesterday dad had played a song he thought was catchy, but definitely not a hit. “A good filler track” is how he deemed the song, but its catchy melody struck a chord with me. So much so that a day later I still couldn’t get it out of my head going to school.

Since I was old enough to hold a musical instrument in my hands, dad had (whenever he wasn’t touring) taught me not only how to play a number of musical instruments (most of which I was quite good at now) but also how to operate the sound mixing console boards in the studio.

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This evening, placing my CD copy of the recording into the console mixer’s disk player and listening to the song over and over, I began experimenting with sliding one lever or another of the mixing console up or down looking for the sound I preferred to hear. You see, by slowly altering the singer’s pitch as well as the volume of certain instruments, I thought I could find what sounded best for my tastes.

The recording artist yesterday had been a little known country and western musician, Tank Jefferies or some name like that, who dad told me and mom, had obtained some music company talent manager’s ear. The talent manager decided to take a gamble and see if the guy had “that” sound, which could be potentially turned into a big money spinner for the recording company. By using dad’s facility instead of his own corporation’s studio facilities, it meant that he could do it much cheaper than doing it in-house, so that if it didn’t work out, his reputation wouldn’t take a hit or be noticed in the boardroom.

Dad’s studio mixing console was allowing me to alter the recording artist’s voice for pitch and I was starting to think that the song should be sung (recorded) by a female instead of a guy, because to me, it sounded better the way I had fiddled with the mixing. In the end I rerecorded the song using the settings I liked the best for the song, while singing the lyrics in my “Jane’s” voice.

Then I began to compose using my guitar for accompaniment, counter melodies and harmonies that I felt could make the song even better. Keeping the rerecorded master aside, I added my musical instrument playing to create a different background harmony. Then by adding additional keyboard and synthesizer I felt happy with how the song now sounded with a female singing and having female backing harmonies accompanying it.

The end result was definitely “in another galaxy far, far away” from the one dad had finished off with the original recording. Tired but happy, I took a copy of “my” mix and headed back to the house to get changed into Michael before my parents got home, which would be around 2.30am and it was now pushing 2am. However in my satisfied state of mind, I entirely forgot about the other recording copy CD I’d done (I always took two), which was still in the mixing console’s player.

The fact that I forgot to remove one of my private CD copies wasn’t the only mistake I’d make that evening. Unbeknownst to me, dad had gone and installed security cameras in the studio (for insurance purposes) I found out later on. He’d never mentioned any of that to me, which he usually did.

The next morning saw my parents in the usual morning routine of dad (still somewhat bleary eyed) wolfing down breakfast before hurrying to the studio next door to continue recording. Mum made breakfast for me, before sending me off to school (if it was a week day, which today’s was) then go about keeping the house clean, or whatever else she needed to do to help dad.

So I endured my normal school bus trip, followed by another dreary day of learning. It was just like any other normal school day and never had me expecting when I came home after school, to have my mother tell me in an unusual tone of voice that she and I needed to have a private mother/son talk after I had changed out of my school clothes.

I had no idea what mum wanted to talk to me about as I was always careful in covering Jane’s tracks around my room and in the house. My school grades were good, so since I never played up or took drugs, I had no idea what mom wanted to talk to about.

I said I’d get changed and come back down and talk, before heading up the staircase and had almost gotten to my door, when I heard a song on the stereo that sent icy tentacles through me. I hurriedly closed my bedroom door before dashing over to look in my closet to see if Jane’s outfits (at the back) had been disturbed.

Relieved they didn’t appear to have been moved, I didn’t have the sense to think anything other than I must have left my recording from last night in my computer’s hard drive and mom had simply played it while cleaning up my room and taken the CD downstairs to play down there. Mom often did that with music that I bought from the stores or borrowed from friends at school, since we both enjoyed similar tastes in music.

But a quick look at my hard drove still showed the CD inside it. So I then decided that dad must have seen the CD I now realised I must have inadvertently left behind in the studio last night and handed it over to mom to listen to. Since neither CD had any writing on it, I began breathing normally again. After I got changed, I loped down the stairs into the lounge room where mom was sitting there waiting for me and stopped dead in my tracks at the image confronting me on the TV screen. There was Jane standing infront of a covered microphone singing one of the accompanying harmonies I had worked out last night.

My face must have already turned puce, before mom (with a knowing smile) inquired if I knew who the girl was singing in my father’s studio last night. I was too shocked at seeing myself (Jane) on TV to answer at first. Thinking quickly, I was about to answer mom, when she stopped me dead in my tracks by telling me that dad and her already knew about my private dressing up, but she was very impressed at how realistic I looked dressed as a girl.

Mum casually informed me “your dad had to explain to Tank about how his song had been rerecorded by a female artist after he left yesterday. Tank seems to prefer your version better than his and your dad had to think fast to tell Tank that he was just helping out a young local girl by allowing her to use Tank’s song for a private demo tape”, pointing to the TV screen “seems your voice suits country music”.

“Oh Crap” I was thinking as mum told me all this. It didn’t help when mom told me that Tank wanted to do a couple of remixes him and dad had already recorded, using the girl on the screen for back up harmony. So young miss your dad had to tell a little white lie about knowing this girl” pointing at my on the TV “and saying he’d see about arranging it.

“In fact Michael or do your prefer Michelle honey” mum asked with a smile, “your dad wants to meet this girl tonight at dinner, so you’d best go upstairs and start getting changed dear.” I started walking off to my room, frightened at the prospect of knowing that my parents knew about Jane when my mom’s voice called out to me “I’d suggest the pretty apricot blouse and a skirt honey and while you’re at it, I do like your hair the way it is on the security tape honey” mom advised me.

I slowly trooped up the stairs, wondering if dad was going to throw me out of the house when I turned up for dinner as Jane. But while I was scared of dad’s anger, a part of me was glad that my parents actually knew about my crossdressing. If mom’s reaction was anything to go by, then maybe she might be able to keep dad from punishing me too severely.

Still I or should I say Jane was “out” now so the best thing to do would be to make as good an impression on dad and mom as Jane and see how the chips fell.

So I took extra special care with both my hair and my makeup, even doing a slight underline under both bottom eyelids to accentuate my eyes. Putting nail polish on my fingernails I decided on not painting my toes, because I’d be wearing stay ups along with my only pair of heeled shoes (about 2 inches and enclosed at the front). I put my hair up in a similar style to yesterday evenings and chose a light frosted pink lipstick which I felt was my colour for all my (limited) outfits. A quick kiss on a tissue then saw me nervously opening my bedroom door and walking outside towards the staircase.

When I walked back into the lounge room, the TV was showing Jane playing a keyboard as the sound accompanied me/her. Mom was out in the kitchen, so with no one to see me, I took the time to look at Jane (as other people would see her) for the first time. The tape was in black and white, which in a way I felt didn’t flatter me very much! But aside from the obvious light make up which didn’t hide Michael entirely, I felt that Jane didn’t look like “a guy in drag” although I’m certain that Tank would have been suspicious of her, unless he was blind.

Finally summoning up the courage I (really it was Jane) approached the kitchen so as to confront mom (and dad if he was finished for the day). My walking quietly into the kitchen followed by “what’s for tea mom” in my Jane voice, had my mother turning round and freezing in stunned bewilderment, at the appearance of her unknown daughter.

“Oh my, honey you look………..like a teenage girl” mum gushed out, before rushing over to give me a hug and an air kiss, then starting to talk to me as if I was her daughter instead of her son. Mom led me over to the table where after we were seated, remarked on everything about my appearance. My blouse, my skirt, my makeup, which she said I did better than her and had to tell her how I did it. Within a few minutes we were talking about female things as if I’d always been her daughter.

When mom asked me if I called myself Michelle, I made her smile telling her I preferred the name Jane. So from that moment on mom said her and dad would only call me Jane for the rest of the day. When dad appeared in the kitchen, he was confronted not by one but two women, one of which he had only seen this morning and even then only in black and white. Like mom had, he stood in stunned silence, trying to comprehend if the girl infront of him was actually his son Michael, who certainly didn’t look a bit like his son now.

Mom laughed uproariously at my dad’s dazed expression. “What’s the matter dumdum, cat got your tongue. Come over and meet your daughter Jane”, which broke the ice and saw dad coming over to give me a gentle squeeze and a kiss on top of my head. He then sat down across from me at the table shaking in head in disbelief, while my mom smiled back at him and I even managed a nervous smile, knowing that whatever dad thought in private, at least he wasn’t going to throw me out of the house.

Dad finally found his voice. “I’m not really sure what to say right now…….Jane? I mean your mom told me about a year ago that she thought you might be dressing up in female clothes and against my better judgement I agreed not to say anything. Of course that was provided you only did it around the house and never in public, I was willing to allow you your little secret fantasy. But looking at you now……I mean I don’t have to tell you I’m shocked at how realistic you look.”

“And I’m even willing to overlook that you forced me to have to lie outrageously to Tank Jefferies about helping a young local girl get started in the music industry by letting her record a demo of one of his songs as a trial, without his written consent. I’ve got to tell you” and here he chuckled momentarily, “you know he actually likes your version more than his Jane” and dad smiled at me.

Then chameleon like, his tone of voice changed and he sounded serious “BUT what I’m NOT willing to overlook is how you’ve been keeping your musical abilities hidden away from me for so long! That young lady, I’m not willing to forgive” and with that dad smiled at me and I finally started to relax.

When mom made me help her get dinner ready, which entailed putting on a pinny so I didn’t ruin my clothes, I understood it to be a test and did my damnedest to talk, walk, act and behave like a teenage girl. Normally as Michael, I’d wolf my food down quickly when I ate. But as Jane, it was with tiny mouse bites, all of which I felt my mom approved of. Dad even offered me a glass of wine with my meal, which was a complete shock as he’d never offered me a glass of wine or even a beer as Michael. True it was only a half glass, and I didn’t like the taste very much. But I guess it was dad’s way of showing he didn’t appear to mind Jane being at the dinner table for the evening.

When desert was eaten and the table cleared away, dad said the three of us should go into the lounge room and talk everything over. I was then informed that mom and dad would see me in there after I loaded the dishwasher, which is where I found them occupying the main lounge when I walked in as dad indicated that I should sit in the lounge chair just across from them.

Thinking this was another test, to see if I could sit down in a lady like fashion, had me cautiously sweeping the back of my skirt under me as I carefully sat down, legs together at the knees and angled slightly over to one side. Mum’s slight nod towards me showed I passed the test, although I had no idea how easily I’d be able to get back up out of the chair without showing something, even though my skirt was knee length on me.

Once we were all settled, dad quickly turned the TV off so I didn’t have to be distracted at seeing my image there. He then started the twenty questions game (along with occasional interruptions from mom) until he was finally satisfied I wouldn’t intentionally embarrass my parents dressed as Jane if someone called round to see them (or me). He laid out quite strict ground rules for the appearance of Jane, which I was quick to agree to, not noticing the angry look coming over my mom’s face.

When dad said, “Since you’ve got the rules in your head now young lady, you can be Jane of a weekend”, I simply nodded my head in agreement, especially since he would still allow me, or Jane, to use the recording studio whenever I/she/we wanted, as long as it wasn’t being used at the time. Mum however didn’t seem to be satisfied with any of this.

“Excuse ME Daniel (my dad), don’t I get a say in any of this?” mom asked. “I kind of like the idea of having another female influence around the house dear. For sixteen years, I’ve been up to my neck in masculinity around this house and I have to tell you, I’ve liked having a daughter to speak with tonight. And you know I always wanted us to adopt a girl after we found out another baby was dangerous for me.”

“So for that reason Dan I’m not willing to let Jane only be allowed to turn up on weekends. Not by a long shot mister.” Dad seemed quite surprised although mum was nowhere near finished speaking yet. “Honey, she’s already told us that she’s not sure about her future, but that she likes where she in right now. But I’m not personally willing to allow Jane to be in the house at all” and I slumped back in my chair not realising until now that mom had actually NOT really liked Jane at all this evening and had only been appearing to behave like she did so as to make me feel less embarrassed.

“No, I’m not willing to allow Jane to stay in this house and that’s final” and then mom smiled…..”Unless it’s all the time or when she has company that she doesn’t want to know about her. I want a daughter Dan, and I’m not willing to lose the one sitting infront of us and that’s final”.

She looked over at me and told me “I want the two of us to go shopping for some clothes tomorrow”, adding that I could take Friday off school (almost unheard of by mom). Wow….. I wasn’t going to argue and dad must have thought the same because he meekly surrendered his rules about Jane being around the house, all to mom’s satisfaction.

She winked at me and smiled the sign of a mother and daughter understanding, before telling me that she had better not see me as anything other than Jane, except on school days, where I’d be expected to change into Jane’s clothes, as soon as I got home.

When I was going upstairs to bed, mum called out that she had something for me and that she’d be up in a moment. Once upstairs I carefully put away my clothes, leaving my blouse out for hand washing in the morning, which was unusual because I’d normally have had to wash it while I showered and hang it up behind the closet to dry. I’d just got changed into my pyjamas and was headed for the bathroom to take off my face, when mom’s voice from behind the door announced she was coming in.

As soon as she closed the door she said, “I thought so Jane, I didn’t see a nightie in your closet to sleep in”. Mom then handed me something soft and flimsy. It turned out to be a pastel green coloured short nightie with matching bottoms in a polyester fabric, as she informed me we’d be buying a few more sleep outfits for me to wear tomorrow. I waited for mom to leave but she didn’t move an inch. “Well go on honey, put the nightie on for me” which had me telling her she had to leave first, which was my first mistake in almost four hours.

“I’m your mother Jane and I birthed you, changed you, looked after you when you were sick and god knows what else, till you were almost 14 and I can assure you that you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. Besides which, tomorrow you’ll be getting almost naked undressing infront of women you’ve never met before, so consider this a rehearsal. Strip missy or I’ll change my mind and no more Jane or any new clothes” I was tersely informed. So I did, in-front of my mom’s penetrating stare and for whatever reason I’d had of being worried about being naked infront of my mom, seemed to disappear.

“Well you don’t take after your father I’m here to tell you Jane. You haven’t got much down there honey, but don’t feel too bad, because it’ll make it that much easier for you to wear girl’s tight jeans and shorty shorts dear. We’ll just have to see about helping you out up top” gently cupping my left chest, “and don’t expect me to turn you into an oversized bimbo either. I should think a B cup would be just about right for you.” Once I was changed into the nightie and panties, I revelled in the soft slinky feel before mum asked me to show her how I took my make up off, telling me to follow her to the bathroom across the hallway, which I meekly did. My behaviour just then seemed to bring a smile to her face.

Once in the bathroom mum explained to me how a girl should have a moisturising regimen, none of which I had any idea about, which I was informed I would now do so from that night onwards religiously, or face having my derriere tanned red, my mother sternly assured me. As I dried off and led mom back to my room, I got into bed where she gave me a kiss on the cheek and tucked me into bed, (mom hadn’t done that since I’d been 12 years old) wishing me pleasant dreams as she closed the door.

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Usually my alarm went off at 7am every morning. So mom’s voice outside my door, telling me to get showered and dressed was something of a rude awakening. It was nothing compared to the shock of having my mother help me to get dressed though. My wardrobe consisted of only 3 pairs of panties and I’d used one of those last night. So I had to try on both pairs before mum decided which one would be best for today.

I then had the humiliation of having my mom carefully push my testicles up inside me before telling me to strip again, then making me go with her into the bathroom. There she turned on the cold water and taking the shower wand, directed it over my groin. My natural walking gait was already sensitive, (with my testes forced up inside me) so along with an obviously placed nearby ice cube on the window sill, then placed it in the palm of her hand, before sliding it over my now shrunken to almost nothing penis as well as around my groin.

When I slipped into the pair of panties mum chose for me to wear, the front of my panties were almost flat. To be safe mum demonstrated to me how a sanitary napkin in my underwear would remedy even that and pulling my knickers down around my knees, proceeded to demonstrate how to do this in the future, before pulling said knickers up around my hips again.

“I can’t wait to take my daughter to buy her first bras” she excitedly told me, “but first we have to get you some help up there”. When she had chosen from my very limited clothes selection what I was to wear today, she told me to get myself ready while she went and got dressed. When Jane walked into the kitchen, dad was there eating breakfast. He approved of the clothes I was wearing and asked me to tell my mom not to put him in the poor house shopping for me today, before heading off to the studio next door.

About two hours later, I was walking alongside mum through a shopping centre twenty miles from our house, nowhere near our regular shopping mall. Mum first of all took me to a Target department store, where after looking at several types and styles of bra purchased one which she told me would allow me to be able to be fitted for breast forms elsewhere, saying once I had those we could go shopping for much nicer bras to wear.

Mom then guided me to a prosthetics store that specialised in women who had had mastectomy operations, telling me that she along with the store manager were going to help me select the best type of breast forms for me to wear. Mom simply took the newly bought brassiere out of the small plastic Target bag and placed it in my trembling hands, for me to hand over to the store manager who would then show me how the different types of inserts looked inside my brassiere’s cups. When mom and I finally walked out of the store I was proudly supporting (actually it was my bra which was doing all the supporting) a pair of B cup soft gel breast inserts.

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I’d always heard of the phrase “shop till you drop” but never understood how it had originated. By the time mum drove out of the shopping mall’s carpark, we’d spent almost 5 continuous hours trying on clothes, shoes, bras, wigs, makeup in any store that sold women’s fashions located in the mall, that saw my dad’s bank account diminishing by well south of $3,500, before mum was satisfied Jane had enough clothes to get by with, qualifying that by saying “at least for the immediate future”.

When I got home and upstairs to my room, mum helped me rearrange my closet space there. Then getting me to help her, got an old set of drawers down from out of the attic, so I would have enough clothes space to put all my new clothes away. I was then instructed to take a shower and get dressed in whatever outfit mom placed on my bed for me to wear, which was what dad and Mr Jeffries saw me in when they came into the kitchen at about 3pm for a celebratory winding up session drink.

Mr Jeffries seemed surprised to see me there, before he finally recognised who the girl who had recorded his song was. Mom thinking quickly introduced me as Jane Seymour (her maiden name) which after his first scotch and water saw him “telling” dad, that he wanted to take him and me back into the studio to listen to the tracks he had recorded. Mom was invited along as well.

Dad reluctantly agreed, although privately displaying both to mom and I his displeasure over having to do what Tank asked him. But fifteen minutes later dad was again wearing his studio manager face as he played each track. At the end of it, Tank asked me if I’d like to do a “one off” of another of his songs and asked me which one I’d like to record, which he suggested I could then add to any demo tape resume for any future auditions I had to attend.

He calmed my father’s protestations by infront of dad, immediately phoning up the same talent manager who organised his own studio time with dad and asking if he could over run his cost budget by another $1,000, because he had spotted someone worth listening to and that the record company would get first right of refusal!!

What eventuated over the following FOUR hours and after several changes and additions to dad’s original master recording of Tank’s music was that Tank Jeffries deemed me to be an emerging talent that he wanted me to sign a letter of intent so as to allow him to become my manager and agent.

Dad quickly quashed any of that on the head, telling Tank that I was simply at best a background musician and he was being paid to produce a hit album for one Tank Jeffries. Besides my dad informed him, if Tank allowed Jane Seymour to record a version of one of his songs, he’d always be getting the royalties share as writer if any of the three songs I’d recorded was ever played on air.

The songs I chose to record of Tank’s weren’t the ones he wanted me to sing. I had far different and wider musical tastes than Tank and thought the two songs I chose were also his poorer efforts, which he wouldn’t object to if either didn’t get released commercially. I had already decided to sing one in a slower tempo and the other in a faster tempo, ala The Girls Next Door “Slow Boat to China”.

Dad (along with Tank) learnt just how much I actually knew about studio mixing, while Tank also marvelled at my “virtuoso” (his words not mine or my dad’s) musical instrument playing ability. Mom willingly helped out with additional harmonies, which was a surprising first for me, as I had no idea until then, that mom had actually been a singer herself when she was much younger.

Tank said he would have preferred to have had his own musicians backing me, but since they’d already packed up and left, he settled for dad and me breaking down the original recorded track and rejigging it to suit my amended two versions. It should have ended right there that night, but Tank demanded a copy of each of my two finished versions along with my first recording, which unknown to dad or I, he eventually passed along to the talent manager who had initially arranged his recording sessions with dad.

When I finally got into bed that Saturday evening around midnight, the buzz from both the recording session as well as shopping with my mom still had me having trouble closing my eyes and getting to sleep. If I could have, I would have always wanted every day to be just like that Saturday. Mom and dad for the rest of the weekend got to enjoy having Jane around the house instead of Michael. Mom treated me like her own life sized Barbie doll the next day, while dad felt he had to be extra protective towards me, especially when he took mom and me out on Sunday night for tea.

To say school on the Monday was a huge let down, would have been understating the situation. I’d enjoyed being Jane so much over the weekend, that then to have to go to school as Michael had me asking mom to let me stay home (just for today “pretty please”). But mom was adamant about my attending school, although I think she felt my disappointment. But she reminded me that I always had home to come back, to where Jane could explore her new found freedom.

And I did too. As a matter of fact from then on I led two separate lives. The 1st was as Michael, a 16 year old schoolboy who existed Monday to Friday during school term hours. The 2nd was Jane who lived during the times I wasn’t at school or involved in school activities. Even then Jane was somewhere nearby, usually in the form of my underwear which saw me wearing women’s underwear almost all the time under Michael’s clothes except if it was Gym day at school.

Dad and “definitely” mom were now accustomed to Jane’s presence around the house. Apart from my now much closer relationship with my mom, it saw even my dad inviting his newly found daughter into his studio after hours where he’d play the music recorded that day, asking for my opinion on something or other which almost always ended up with the two of us jamming privately, or else reworking parts of recorded songs to see how they sounded under another type of musical arrangement. I’d say that about 1 out of 5 of our arrangements ended up in the final master tape, which was kind of thrilling in itself.

Dad also, recklessly in my opinion, introduced me to musicians he was working with as Jane Seymour, a student looking at trying to work her way into the industry, without any thought about my nervousness at possibly being “outed”. It never helped my cause when he’d often get me to go sit in the recording area and ask me to play a particular part of a song on the guitar, using the studio’s speaker to tell me what he wanted to hear played.

Usually the recording artist and his backing musicians were by then sitting back in the sound booth listening and giving their own opinions to the ideas dad was floating to them. The experience was both an adrenalin rush as well as terrifying at the same time. I both loved and feared it, but also found it addictive and just couldn’t say no to ever doing it.

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But after about two months of this Jane was so much at home helping dad after hours in the recording studio, that I sometimes caught him looking at me in ways fathers should never look at daughters. I don’t think it was sexual arousal. It was more the sort of thing where a guy looks at a girl and wonders what they wore under their clothes, which I used to be guilty of myself more often than I’d care to admit, with girls at school.

Sometimes dad confirmed my thinking, usually when he thought he’d been caught out and he’d remark on the outfit I was wearing. He’d say the clothes I had on either suited me, or sometimes that they were a bit risqué and I should never wear them when there were clients in the studio.

What I never expected to have happen, since it was several months since Tank Jeffries recording session had ended, was to have dad inform me one evening that Crazy Music Recordings seemed to like my tape Tank had sent them and someone was coming out to talk with me and my agent.

That was when dad informed me that “he” was now my agent and that he didn’t want to lose a possible source of new income from using his studio facility, by saying he couldn’t get back in touch with Jane, or that I was really his son dressed as a girl who sang well and did illegal covers on artist’s rejected song takes!

Mom was as reluctant as I was about meeting up with a recording company’s talent manager dressed as Jane. Like dad she thought I might have had a gift (of sorts) musically, but still felt things were moving way too fast for any of us to control anything that my happen from the guy coming here to see me and dad. Dad didn’t push her, but showed me the persuasive manner that had served him so well in life, by finally getting mum to agree to the meeting and helping me to prepare for it.

And so it was that eight days later (again on a Friday afternoon) Jane, her agent “and his wife” met with Rick Daring of Crazy Music Recordings. Mom and dad had spent most of the previous Saturday and a lot of Sunday helping me to record several more songs for Rick to hear. My agent’s wife (mom) continued to wow me, both with her vocal singing abilities which had been long dormant, as well as her ability to make smart suggestions as to phrasing or harmonising. Dad felt the same way I did and often asked her for ideas before I had the chance to do so.

The four songs I added to the three I’d done with Tank’s permission, allowed dad to present a wide spectrum of commercial music tastes for the Crazy Music Recordings manager to choose from. This would normally have been a foolish mistake, but dad was keen to show off not so much my talent, as his own for being able to produce different genres from the same recording artist. Dad also wanted to create a sample disk he could then offer to clients about using me as a local backing musician that would see me get paid for playing on recording sessions…….(financially smart for me)

The meeting turned out to be anticlimactic as although Rick said he was interested in signing an E.O.I. (expression of interest) agreement with me after hearing my demo tape, said the main purpose of his visit was actually to arrange to send a lot more work to dad’s recording studio at an agreed rate, so that Crazy Music Recordings had another small independent recording studio they could send potential artists to, to get their initial recordings on tape.

Mom took an admittedly dejected Jane Seymour away with her and left Rick and dad to hammer out an agreement in writing over the charging rates per day to use dad and his facility. I wasn’t sure how to handle what had happened because I’d been privately hoping that I’d be offered a “multimillion dollar recording contract" and had instead been introduced to “Reality Street”. After Dad saw Rick off he came in to tell mom and I what had eventuated.

He also explained to mom and me what the E.O.I. meant I could do, with dad’s help. It turned out the E.O.I. would enable me to record 5 songs using dad’s studio, which while being paid for by Crazy Music Recordings would then be owned by them for distribution commercially via retail outlets or electronically. Either way I’d get royalties off of any songs purchased after the first 10,000 overall sales (to recover my initial recording costs since they’d be paying dad for his time using the studio). So at least I’d get to record some more songs and then. Hey, who knows what could happen.

The following Tuesday saw me coming home from school to come back down stairs after changing into Jane and have dad tell me (he’d already spoken to mom) about how his studio now had a solid 4 months of booked out recording time, thanks to Crazy Music Recordings which was absolutely brill. Dad told me that with my school’s long break coming up, he’d like me to be available to play on sessions as required, which I’d get reimbursed for by his company, once I was a signed union member of the local artist’s guild which he handed me the filled out paperwork for, needing only my signature.

A Different Key – This time A flat major

Previous chapter - The following Tuesday I came home from school and changed into Jane before heading back to dad’s studio. That evening at dinner he told mom and me about how his studio now had a solid 4 months of booked out recording time, thanks to Crazy Music Recordings which was absolutely brill. Dad said that with my school’s long break coming up, he’d like me to be available to play on sessions as required, which he told me I’d get reimbursed for by his company once I was a signed union member of the local artist’s guild. He then got up and left the table for a moment before coming back and handing me a large bundle of forms I’d need to fill out and sign to apply for union membership.

A flat major

The amount of paperwork dad gave me to read that I’d need to fill out and sign just to become a member of the Musician’s Union seemed ridiculous. Then I’d need to wait for the union to vet all the information I supplied on the forms and decide Yay or Nay about my application and if I’d been successfully approved for union membership. IF I was deemed acceptable for membership, I’d then have to hand over $600 (which I didn’t have) just for the privilege of being a probationary (6 month period) member.

To my total and stunned amazement dad had been adamant in telling me after I’d signed the EOI with Crazy Music Records, that until I could show him a current paid up union membership card he wasn’t even going to allow me to operate any controls in the studio let alone play an instrument there, even if I only wanted to play and record something there for my own enjoyment. It seemed he was being extremely unfair because after all I’d never had to worry before about being a union member when I used his studio or even play on any of the tracks he recorded for that matter and I’d never thought of dad of ever being a “union” supporter or even a member of one for that matter.

When I finally received by return post my membership card about 4 weeks later, my comment “Well hallelujah brothers and sisters and praise the lord……. big deal” had dad laughing loudly about my personal opinion on Union membership. As soon as he saw it he reverted back to being the “dad” I knew and loved as he began (at rapid machine gun fire) offering suggestions as to songs I might like to consider recording, what to choose for the musical accompaniment, whether to have mum sing back up or not now I had become a carded musician.

I’d been using the time while waiting for my membership to improve myself as Jane and had been seriously discussing a lot of things with mum since that first fateful night. It was now almost three months since my parents had first seen and met Jane and as much as dad still wasn’t entirely sure about her, she was living here 24/7 apart from school day hours.

Mom didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact she quickly grew to love the idea of having a daughter to care for and help. It appeared that it was now Michael who was struggling to cope with life, while Jane (Seymour) was blooming. Jane’s clothes wardrobe for instance was now quite voluminous in quantity (as well as quality) thanks to mom and I now almost never went out anywhere with her except as Jane. Most of my Michael clothes now consisted mainly of “metrosexual” styles, as school didn’t have a designated uniform as such which it seemed was the only place Michael ever went to now.

My hair style appeared more undefined perhaps genderless would be the appropriate term for it as mom encouraged me to grow my hair out longer and thicker. My eyebrows were also now more subtly feminine shaped and because of mom’s insistence on a regular nighttime moisturizing regimen of my face as well as exfoliating my body, Michael definitely looked and cut a less “masculine image” (for want of a better term) in public.

As to how my circle of friends took to the new Michael? I’d say the net result achieved about the same results overall. By that I mean I lost most of my dorky male school friends and countered it by about the same number of girls and guys who liked the appearance and mannerisms of the new Michael and spoke with me. That alone brought about a widening schism between me (Michael) and any hopes of ever being accepted by the general school populace overall.

For those of you who have never understood (or cared) the schoolyard hierarchy ladder (and if you never understood or cared you really must have been either brain dead or a mindless vegetable), the ladder shows Jocks and Cheerleaders at the top, their close friends along with hangers on a rung or two below, then a few rungs lower down the “Drones” or the majority of the student body (including teachers) at school. Then there were the Brainiacs and Nerds about ten rungs below the Drones. Fifteen rungs below even them were “the Pathetics” and last and least were “the Weirdos” which amounted to absolute social suicide at school.

The new Michael fitted in somewhere between the ladder rungs of the Brainiacs and the Pathetics. that meant I’d lost the friendship of most of the other guys who like myself simply wanted to be left alone to make our own choice of school friends and not have to pay homage to the school’s social elite publicly, while silently acknowledging their superiority over all that breathed at school.

Unfortunately I’d replaced it with guys of questionable masculinity who were treated worse than any weirdo, along with a lot of girls most of whom could only dream of being socially acceptable by a cheerleader but until then, chose to offer their friendship (along with opinions on style) to there just as socially outcast lesser school brethren. The slang term used most often around school to describe girls who liked effeminate men was “fag hags”.

I just wished that the effeminate guys now talking to me hadn’t be so open about it! But I actually enjoyed talking to the girls, some of them who were quite attractive if now socially outcast due to poorly timed comments or spoken opinions. So overall I now spoke to a lot less guys than I used to and replaced those with gay students as well as a few socially inept lonely girls who simply like to talk and gossip with other students.

With every new day, Jane became more confident and happy as if she’d always existed. And each day at school Jane (as Michael) would have loved to have been able to talk to the other girls about fashion and makeup. Every girl at school wore make up to some extent, but some of the girls while still pretty with the makeup they wore, could’ve been absolutely drop dead foxes if I’d been able to show them how to apply their makeup differently. That and a bit of thought as to the clothes they wore often had me bursting at the seams to say something, although saying something might well have been the end of my secret. Still just once I wished I could have gone shopping with some of them on a weekend instead of having to patiently listen to them relate their shopping experiences most lunchbreaks.

When as Jane I was out somewhere I’d often watch one or more of my female school friend’s walk past me subtly inspecting what another female “opponent” was attired in or what makeup I had on. It still amazed me how none of them appeared to know that the girl they were walking past was Michael in feminine attire. I was also grateful that our school social ladder rung also deterred visiting other people’s places and seeing their parents, as more often than not mom was usually with me and sometimes even dad shopped with us.

Those trips were a hoot because dad often walked around humming a melody or quietly singing lyrics to a song he’d recently recorded and more often than not, either mom or myself or both of us would just as quietly provide either the accompaniment or an alternative one and walk along with a subtle melodic feminine sway to our gaits, occasionally breaking out into sounds loud enough for others to hear nearby. This almost invariably had the other one, sometime both of us quickly letting the others know to tone it down and keep it silent. The number of weird looks we got from people nearby watching us didn’t seem to bother any of us in the least, although it usually saw a curtailment of the silent music jams for a short while until some melody popped into one or the other of our heads and saw us doing it all over again, just a lot further on down the shopping precinct.

The longer Michael fought with Jane for existence, the weaker I became while Jane grew stronger. At school, Jane’s mannerisms were becoming more dominant paling Michael’s to the point of almost none. I regularly now mimicked the behavior of all my “fag hag” girlfriends, which because of mom’s determined assistance at home simply made it seem easier to go with the “Jane” flow.

Mom was also providing me with (secretly agreed to) female hormone supplements. My entire body chemistry was slowly beginning to change from male to female. Everything about my external appearance began slowly changing such as my body hair becoming ever so slightly finer, along with the hair on my head which now had a slight sheen to it. My facial skin was also looked slightly different, which an often stray remark from a female friend, would make the other girls nearby or around me suddenly look for the change the girl had mentioned and remark on other changes I appeared to have, now more noticeable when they looked closer at me.

I pretended to appear tolerate to these sessions of observation and never outwardly showing signs of smirking. As Jane away from school, every one of my friends had seen me so often now and not realized it, that I privately wished I could have gone to school as Jane and no longer Michael. When the last day of school began, my wanting to be Jane instead of Michael grew ever stronger than before. Mom and I had begun talking about my feelings a lot recently and while mom could see how unhappy I was as Michael, asked for me not to talk to dad about it until she had had a chance to talk to him privately about things.

One thing was for certain in my own mind. Michael was on life support in ICU while Jane was trying to force the doors open to escape.

One Saturday after the start of summer break, dad and I (Jane) were shopping together with nothing particular in mind to purchase, when he diverted me into the local music store to browse a while. Inside there we encountered several groups of amateur musicians trying out instruments. Honestly most of the customers sounded terrible when they played and that’s putting it gently, but it didn’t stop dad from moving closer to a few of them and listen in.

With a head signal it was time to leave, we left the store and continued window browsing. All the while dad kept asking me questions about my school’s recording studio and radio station, which students studying music or film/sound production subjects were entitled to use both for training experience in using the equipment as well as providing in-house music for students to listen to in their earbuds or from the school speakers in the school canteen.

So far, although I’d now been an officially accredited union musician for about a fortnight, dad hadn’t mentioned when he and I would get together to start to record any of the five songs Crazy Music Records had offered to pay for. So perhaps it might have been the side trip to the music store that saw him asking me a number of questions about the school’s policy as to what music was played in-house there. He’d been openly honest (and skeptical) in telling me after I’d signed the EOI and Rick Daring had left, that he didn’t think the company would spend much money promoting any of my songs unless someone there thought they had a cash cow waiting to happen.

On Tuesday night after dinner dad quietly came into my open room while I/Jane was lying on my bed reading a magazine and without saying a word, slid some sheets of paper under my nose and lowered them till I could see they were music. He forcefully tapped two fingers on the pages of sheet music before leaving the room as quietly as he’d entered. Needless to say, Jane immediately began browsing the music then humming the melody. I already knew the song quite well, so quickly getting up to go and find dad, assumed the music he’d placed in-front of me was the song he wanted me to record.

Once I got up and corralled dad and had him tell me the obvious, we went and found mom then went and all sat down together to discuss his idea for the song.

But instead of dad starting to tell me more about the song idea he had in mind, he instead began asking me about Jane and how I was coping as her. His unexpected inquiry had me blushing as I told him how I was felling and how I felt about being Jane during the school holidays. I noted that mom didn’t say a thing as dad continued asking questions about me. Eventually mom grew tired of being a silent observer and asked dad why all the questions. His reply left me speechless!

An hour later (only interrupted by mom phoning up for takeaway) everything seemed to be decided on. Well as for Jane’s life anyway or at least her life during school hours. In just seven weeks time I’d be going back to school as Jane and Michael would be being sent to live with relatives on the other side of the country. The look of excitement and happiness on my face was matched only by my dads who continued to not only compliment me, but seemed to be genuinely thrilled for me. When mom had heard along with me why dad had been so “suddenly” converted (while never being actually “against” Jane) she was just as excited for me, not only because she was the one person who truly knew how I felt as Jane, but because dad had offered me the chance of a new life, an exciting life and along with it, the opportunity to explore whether my musical abilities might be better off down a female path.

During the takeaway meal dad expounded more on his strategy about how best to use my EOI offer for the best eventual outcome. He felt (and mom and I quickly saw his wisdom and agreed with him) we should use the 5 recording sessions, to firstly determine which was my best musical genre, and then concentrate on it. Funnily enough I’d never given the thought of a music genre to be that important, but I have to admit when dad asked me what my favorite style of music was, I had to mention several back to him. His smile and nodding head soon had him asking more detailed questions, which as Jane I tried to answer honestly (often with some help from mom for added definitiveness).

I’d never thought too much about the genre “Popular” before. But dad broke it down into sub categories and then into sub- sub categories for me, taking the time to mention several which I seemed to like and which I agreed with. Then he confused me entirely by stating I also showed a propensity towards Country and Country and Western as well as Folk. He named female artists in each genre of music, while also pointing out how women could also sing “male” songs if they chose the correct arrangement to sing.

Dad’s idea was to try and find some way to get some of my recordings played at school, trying to get students there asking local radio stations to play them and gauge the reactions to it all. Then we’d approach some of his music contacts as well as Crazy Music Records for a possible 1,3 or even 5 record contract, that they’d promote heavily because it was a financial decision and bottom line always ruled in the music industry.

As Jane, I’d also need to try and get enrolled at school to study music and possibly audio and film production classes too, because if the school radio station also aired songs with film clips, I’d be a better proposition for a program like MTV to play my song if it had a film clip, particularly if I had a recording company behind me paying for it. By the time the last of the fortune cookies was eaten, it had been decided when dad would do the first recording session. Meantime, mom and “Jane” had to work out how to sing the song dad had given me, or if we’d prefer another one to rehearse it till it felt good enough to sing instead. My eventual interpretation and singing of the song I’d select, would depending on if there was enough genuine commercial feedback, determine if that was my most suitable genre to try and capitalize on. Otherwise I had four more chances and genres we could try.

But it all turned out it to be a false start, of sorts.

Mom and I had a mother daughter talk in my room before I went to sleep that night. In her mind, Jane would find it hard to settle in at her “new” school and we wouldn’t be able to find out until I was enrolled whether I could get into a music class or even an audio or film production class. She felt I might be wiser to just get Jane settled at school first, before asking around about anything there. She said It might well be that dad’s ideas mightn’t be realistic until we knew more so the groundwork could be worked out. So the following morning we told dad at breakfast of Jane and mom’s decision and got him to nod his head and say it was a smart move to stop and see once we knew more.

Mom suggested Jane and she should spend the Sunday after lunch down in the studio while dad was still out playing golf, so that’s what we did. With a lot of patience and playbacks, we managed to record three different styles of the song Stay Awhile dad had suggested I should sing. When dad came home (on a high from winning a box of balls for nearest to pin), he joined us adding his own particular knowledge as well as instrument playing to versions 2 and 3.

Almost the entire following fortnight was spent with mom seeing our legal professionals and getting them to handle Jane’s sudden appearance. She (and therefore I) learned how the “old boys” network worked, so my “sudden” birth and appearance was covered from further investigation. That same network made my re-enrolling at school as easy as possible and also allowed me to apply for both the Audio and Film Production courses, which depending on numbers enrolled already, may still have places available. Mom and Jane spent the Wednesday before school restarted at the school’s admin office reworking my subject choice since the Audio course was already filled and on the following day did some minute school clothes shopping along with a mani-pedi for mom and me to calm any last minute nerves.

On Sunday night I thought I’d never get any sleep before having to get dressed for school, so I couldn’t believe I’d slept so long when the alarm went off the next morning. Mom came into my room after I’d showered to help me get ready. We’d both had already decided on what I should wear today so perhaps she felt her appearance here was more for comfort and steadying of nerves. It would have been too until she told me she’d put a sedative in my drink last night to help me sleep. No wonder I felt so calm still, I’d been drugged by my mom!

As I sat down at my vanity and started putting on my face, mom sat on my bed next to me quarterbacking. With her constantly reminding about “less is more”, it felt like I took twice as long as it normally took me. Perhaps that was because mom talked about her own days at school. After getting her silent nod of approval on my makeup, I started to cover the underwear I had on. Last night we’d both agreed on what clothes Jane should wear today with the idea of making nothing stand out prominently. I’d end up looking pretty (that couldn’t be helped unless I used crayons instead of makeup) but it was very important I didn’t look like a “hottie”. Asking mom if she’d ever been one had her placing her hands under her bust and lifting it slightly and telling me “damned right I was honey….hot and smokin”. Then she laughed before turning serious and needlessly reminding me that I needed to stay in the shadows for a while and stay out of the sight of the Princess Brigade, meaning the cheerleaders and any of the girls that hung around them.

That’s why my outfit’s top wasn’t too clingy and my skirt was knee length with a split flesh colored half-slip underneath that made both loose and airy finished off with a pair of black colored kitten heel shoes. My appearance was very much on par with what the girls wore during the holidays. True I had to use a new back pack for my books and things as well as a new laptop, but I was sure no one would even notice and if they did, I’d claim I lost my old one when I moved here. After I put my hair in a middle placed scrunchie mom told me I looked the personification of a typical everyday 16 year old high school junior girl. Mom then drove me to school and gave me a kiss on the cheek and best wishes, before driving off and leaving me to face my immediate future.

I walked into the school grounds slightly apprehensive while doing my best to try and see if my appearance was drawing stares or worse still students pointing their fingers towards me. After checking in with the school’s administration office to get my locker assignment, I headed for my registration room and tried to calmly allow curious eyes to glance over me along the way. Shortly after entering the room and finding a desk, the girl at the desk beside mine said hello, then offered her name before manners had me give her my own name and the information that I’d just moved here. We did a quick check of our timetables to find nothing compatible we could share, but she did a double take at seeing my classes for advanced English, Calculus and Mathematics. I also had science, plus band, music, and film production.

I turned back round to listen to the class room’s small tinny speaker announce something that didn’t concern me while my first new school friend had already turned the other way and was talking to someone else, but hopefully not about me. The bell for first class found me being swept along in a chattering student tide through the corridors to my first official class for the day. I only hoped that I’d get a desk somewhere towards the middle of the room and not at the front…….. oh yes thank goodness, where the teacher just handed out the proposed text book for that subject along with writing a course outline on the whiteboard for everyone to copy.

Each class followed a similar pattern up until lunchtime. I’d already made a brief detour to the admin office to ask if I could be reassigned a locker closer to my main classes, which I was told would be arranged if possible and I’d be contacted if and when one could be found. By lunchtime I also committed to memory the names of five girls I’d spoken to classes this morning, although I was certain a lot more girls knew my name from talking to each other. At lunch, I was lucky enough to grab a table by myself that soon had it quickly filled with other girls I’d seen from classes this morning, so this was how I made my first introductions.

My timetable showed that every Monday would be the only day I’d have entire afternoons devoted to elective subjects. Every other day would see only my final three periods related to my electives Music, Film Production and Band, with band always being the last subject each day. It also wasn’t too surprising I suppose to see that some of my other advanced classes students also took music related electives, but it was when I saw that of the other five I now knew visually (if not at first the four girl’s names) only one of them was a guy - Brad. But our band class was made up of about 45 boys of varying ages (including Brad) along with only 5 girls.

I’d only listed Band as an elective after I’d been notified that Audio Production course was already filled and had no idea as to what Band entailed, so I hadn’t bought an instrument with me to class. Not because I couldn’t have as I had quite a choice at home in dad’s studio which I could play. But everyone else today had bought their instruments, so I was looking at having to risk the teacher Mr. Carmichael select something for me to play or else I’d have to offer a suggestion. Since I’d never attended a Band class before (or Music either for that matter) I assumed there’d be a few students there who’d be first timers and wouldn’t have brought their own instruments. Guess I was wrong there!

As the other students knew what instruments they were to play and had been involved in the school’s band for several years, they only needed to stand/sit in the position in the band while I was left standing alone looking at everyone else look back at me. Mr. Carmichael already knew me from his Music class and he knew I could at least play the piano, but he was also keen to get on with the double period and must have expected all the students to have bought their instruments along, which meant Jane was soon facing my worst fear of a first day at school with sarcasm or ridicule being directed at me publicly by another student or a teacher. I hurriedly searched the huge music room for an instrument and spotted a decrepit and badly beat up old Xylophone (unlike the one in dad’s studio) leaning up against the back wall, which I quickly went and managed to carry over while being told by Mr. Carmichael where to place it at the back of the band, which regrettably turned out to be near the students playing drums.

While everyone was getting settled in place, he loudly zinged “are you ready to be part of the band now Miss Seymour” as he stepped up onto a conductor’s dais, announcing the music he wanted everyone to play and begin beating time with his baton. If one of the boys playing drums hadn’t quickly given me his music stand with the music score pegged to it, I would have had to interrupt Mr. Carmichael before the band even began playing.

From the playing of the first note, a horrible sound of almost 50 instruments playing off key and out of both tune and tempo started. What amazed me most was when the instrument playing finally stopped he said it was quite good for a first day back effort! How any classes nearby could have conducted lessons was beyond my imagination.

If this was what I had to look forward to of a Monday (and any other day) from now on, I just hoped we’d never get asked to play something for the public. Mr. Carmichael’s critiques of the performance while trying not to be spiteful to anyone he spoke to, should have been directed entirely at the band’s drummers. They were not only out of time and overly loud drowning out most of the band’s instruments, but had no idea as to the drum beat that was needed for the piece we just played. Instead they got a collective “good work, you just need some fine tuning boys”.

Before Band ended however, Mr. Carmichael handed me a glazed plastic bag holding a purple colored mothball smelling bundle of clothing along with a number of music scores with the instruments marked on them as to what note they needed to play. I was informed I needed only to learn the first two lines of each page of manuscript probably because Mr. Carmichael hadn’t even considered the concept of an old Xylophone being played in Band.

Until I learned which bus went to what area, mom said she’d arrange to pick me up and drive me to school. Our drive home on my first day at school was done with every window opened to try and smother the mothball reek. I spent it telling my mom about how Jane had gone in each class (which included lunch).
When the car stopped outside our garage, mom told me to go hang out whatever was in the bag and she’d wash it tomorrow and have me try it on for size. Afterwards I spent almost an hour telling mom all about what Jane had done today at school which had both mom and I satisfied Jane had survived her first day, well except for Band class I suppose she had.

Unlike last night mom didn’t do anything to my late night drink to help Jane sleep this time. Instead I simply went over everything in my head about today before I drifted off to sleep. I woke up the next morning and silently cursed to myself about forgetting to tell dad some answers to some of his questions about the school’s studio he’d asked me to find out.

And just like yesterday morning, mom greeted me when I walked back to my room with my damp towel tied up just above where my false B cups were glued onto my chest. Unlike yesterday though, mom didn’t help me with my clothes this morning. She simply winked as I put on a nicer set of underwear than the ones I’d worn yesterday. But I was careful about my outer clothes though. Jane normally wore a short denim skirt or tight jeans around the house during the holidays just ended, but I was still frightened about someone seeing Michael through the clothes and makeup, so I simply held out a pair of denim jeans for mom’s opinion and saw her nod her head in approval. The kitten heels I wore yesterday still matched this outfit so I needed nothing more than a pair of anklets to ensure my shoes didn’t blister my feet. Unlike yesterday I left putting on my face until I was dressed and decided when I put it on, to concentrate a little bit more around the eyes than yesterday. The silent look from mom as I finished up was worse than one of her arguments, so I turned back to the mirror and did just enough with my eye makeup to lessen the impact my smoky eyes attempt had left.

The drive in this morning left me a little early for registration so I spent the time sitting on one of the benches surrounding the base of a shade tree. Quietly meditating I was startled when a couple of the girls I’d talked to at lunch yesterday sat down either side of me and said hello and started talking with me. Before I realized it, I was in the middle of hearing about something Julie and her boyfriend did on the weekend when the bell went for registration class ending this important girl goss session.

Unlike yesterday which was mainly about handing out text books and course notes, today was the real start to the learning year. The desks I’d chosen for English, Calculus and Mathematics classes yesterday were already taken by others and surrounded by other desks with students quietly talking to one another until called to be silent. So as I spotted an empty desk I’d inquire as to whether it was taken, before by default I was eventually sitting among three other seemingly refugee students.

I hadn’t tried in any way to flout myself in any of my previous classes today (I was at pains to not even ask a question heaven forbid ), yet during Science, I discovered I didn’t necessarily need to parade myself to attract people. Our science teacher Mr. Morris was a favorite teacher of mine and in previous years in science class he’d always made it a point of trying to even out the benches with a fair mixture of students in an effort to avoid rowdy tables as well as to spread the brains around the room.

Each year he always allocated the best and brightest students first and any benches that held a “hottie” always had very quiet (but still audible) cheers or groans made as names were called out to sit at that bench. Since he had no idea that Jane had been one of his brightest and best, I had to stand among the others waiting to hear the bench I was allocated to. It allowed me to quietly peruse those already seated and I might have detected the barest sign of a return look directed at me. When I was eventually allocated (bench 6) I clearly heard a few male comments of hope. In the end I was the only girl on our 4 person bench and I spent most of the lesson trying to listen to Mr. Morris while attempting to discreetly answer whispered questions directed at me from my bench mates.

It was the same during the Film Production class. Normally the students doing this subject had done so since their sophomore years and knew who they wanted to sit with or team with. Being one of three other students who were doing the subject in their more senior classes this year for the first time, I was surprised to find myself being invited to join several working groups and eventually chose Brad’s group because we shared band and Music as well. At lunchtime the following day I learned through the girl grape vine I’d chosen badly and should have chosen another group to work with.

Today, music with Mr. Carmichael was alright and I found myself in a small study group there by process of elimination (chance) as he simply called my name and mentioned another girls name that I recognized from band class coming up next. My last class each day, Band, was almost as bad as yesterday except that today the emphasis was on relearning (or in my instance learning) about Band drill marching “foot cadence”.

Now I had all the answers to questions dad needed, at dinner this evening I told mom and dad all about how music was selected to be played on air at school as well as about how the school hired out filming equipment to students of a weekend, provided they supplied a $1,500 security deposit either in cash or by credit card. On hearing about all the rules relating to the music selection dad asked me to find out more about the procedure relating to how a CD or a memory stick was lodged with the studio before announcing that the three of us might try and get my first recording done this coming Sunday and he was pleased with mom’s and my agreement about his choice of song form me.

When dad had first handed me the music to for my first recording, I knew how it sounded because I’d heard it played through the home’s music speakers several times while I’d been growing up. Stay Awhile had been first recorded more than 40 years before I was even born and even my mom hadn’t been born when it had been recorded. I’d looked the song up on the net and read that’d been a sort of “hit” at the time. Dad’s strategy for choosing it was that with the recent wave of nostalgia still fresh in people’s minds, Jane should record it not so much for any possibilities of it becoming a hit once again, but more to determine which style of music might suit my vocal range, which he said when he’d first heard Jane’s voice, had quiet an extraordinary octave spread from tenor baritone through to soprano.

On Sunday morning Dad and I spent several hours playing the instruments needed for the melody, while mom sat at the console recording and mixing it all. When dad was satisfied the melody sounded right he started on the vocals after lunch. But almost 7 hours later, none of us were entirely happy with the end result. Mom finally announced we’d have to think about it a bit more and try to get back to it when dad had another break in his work schedule.

Perhaps I felt a bit drained (or was it disappointed) that the session hadn’t been perfect and I’d known that feeling before more than once or twice before, but unlike dad or mom for that matter, “Jane” didn’t know how to handle it the right way. Mom found me quietly crying to myself in my bedroom later while I was getting ready for bed. It took she took some time for her holding and hugging to work till I was cried out. Those hormone supplements of mom’s were certainly beginning to play havoc with my emotions.

Even the following morning I woke up still not emotionally settled. My face showed red swollen eyes that mum needed to show me a way to remove the puffiness from. Luckily we had a cucumber in the fridge’s vegetable crisper or I would have looked a mess at school. Classes that day felt like being in a funeral procession, slow and frustrating. The only bright spot in the day turned out to be lunch where I seemingly gained another new friend among the girls. All I can say is thank goodness for guys, fashion and music for lunch today because it was all I we talked about as we ate.

I ended a terrible school day by getting the school bus home. I’d found out which bus went closest to our street and mom seemed glad she wouldn’t have to drop me off or pick me up from school from now on. During the day mom had apparently washed my band uniform, because she announced after dinner, I’d need to try it on so she could get any adjustments pinned so a tailor could sew it to make the uniform fit properly.

Over the years I’d seen the school’s band uniform often enough to know why everyone hated it. Well not everyone hated it. Most of the band’s musicians seemed to like them although style and fashion degrees couldn’t have been among their knowledge attainments. Perhaps they thought the tag “Purple People Eaters” was something to be proud of. Admittedly our school’s sport’s teams liked the tag, but they would, they were jocks. I’d often hear the sarcasm used by students when talking to or about the band member’s uniforms as well as the marching girl’s outfits.

When I tried on Jane’s band jacket and trousers after mom’s washing the smell out of it, all my fears of being publicly outed became more real. Even with the alterations to make it less tent like, I dreaded the expected verbal (and therefore visual) attention I’d get once I turned up at school wearing the uniform. Mom said she’d get it retailored before Friday coming, which was when the band was to do a dress rehearsal that also entailed a photo for media purposes. When I tried on the altered uniform Thursday night, mom was almost ready to call 911 after I began hyperventilating badly and it took a lot of calming hugs and soothing words with her promise we’d go and see the tailors she’d used again on Saturday before I calmed down.

On Friday I rode to school on the bus with my plastic covered uniform hanging off the overhead head grab rail. Even that didn’t stop me from receiving a lot of sarcastic comments and taunts. Two of the Band members boarding the bus did so wearing their uniforms (the idiots) and they faced more ridicule than I could have ever imagined. At school I asked the ladies in admin if I could leave my uniform there till final period and learned it was the usual procedure.

The uniform aside for a moment, my worst fears about Michael being uncovered as Jane didn’t seem to be happening. In fact, everything that I hoped for about becoming Jane was actually starting to happen instead. I now had a lot more genuine friends (admittedly mainly girls) than I used to have as Michael (towards the end “You Hoo Michelle”) and I even spoke with a few straight guys as well. Brad (yuck) was one of those guys, but he unfortunately for me had some type of fixation about me that caused him to walk over and interrupt conversations with others I was talking with to discuss meaningless things. But opposite to him was Curtis, who even among my girlfriends was considered a hunk. He was another boy besides Brad that was talking to me more often than normal, which my girlfriends told me meant he was building up the courage to ask me out.

Scholastically, it didn’t take long for Jane to come to her teacher’s attentions either. My advanced classes had already had to lodge homework assignment essays, which had earned me A’s and even an A+ that now saw me being asked by teachers for answers to questions in class. Mom and I talked about that almost every night now and how I needed to avoid certain pitfalls if I was to make Jane’s newly found public attention in classes work in my favor. And each morning mom still kept a watchful eye over my school attire to make sure I was doing my best to keep out of the firing line of the Princess Brigade along with other bullies. None of the cheerleading girls spoke to me still, although a couple of the ones in my own year would raise a hand casually if they passed me while I smiled and bowed my head slightly in return of their even acknowledging my existence.

Music classes were at times interesting. The knowledge required in understanding a question relating to tempos or beats of music time was certainly improving my knowledge about music. Film production classes was a learning curve since everyone else in my group had two more years of technical knowledge more than I had. It exemplified I was a novice at the subject, but I tried to use Jane’s subdued looks to get every benefit I could.

By the end of the 4th week of school, Jane was about to celebrate almost 12 weeks of life. But I would have almost given it up if I could’ve found some way to sing dad’s song differently. I’d been trying for weeks to find the different rhythm that made me sound different to the original artist’s version of the song. “That” was the problem in both mine and mom’s minds. I seemed to be trying too much to sound too not sound like Dusty and because of it was failing. I’d recorded and remixed about a dozen different versions to find some noticeable difference I could hone in on but couldn’t find one. I’d even tried the Phil Spector approach and massed the instruments to produce a “Wall of Sound” but only found it marginally and not significantly better than any of my previous versions.

I was sitting in the lounge room with the TV turned down watching a show featuring old cartoons (some of which were my favorites when I was Michael) and was slowly strumming the chords of Stay Awhile and singing the words slowly, trying to find a way to make the song not sound like Dusty singing. Mom came in the room to clear away things and stopped to listen before walking off. I finally gave up on what I was trying to think of, with the thought of another useless effort ringing in my brain while I walked to the kitchen to get something to snack on and stopped to watch mom’s frantic keyboard antics. She was using her laptop and ear buds while her fingers literally flew across the keyboard, before leaning back in the chair and exhaling a loud breath of satisfaction.

Looking up and seeing my amused look, she stood up and forcefully dragged me over to sit down in the seat next to hers before she sat back down and extracting the earbuds jack and hit the enter key. The laptop’s speaker began emitting Stay Awhile through it before mom looked at me and said “listen”. Another tap produced a tune I knew very well and along with mom started singing “I only want to be with you”. Mom again said listen and with a finger tap I was listening to the same song but now sung very much slower and sung by another woman in a different key.

“That’s what I think I heard you trying to sing a few minutes ago” mom said to me before saying we should go to the studio and see if we can make the words match the tempo. After a few long and frustrating hours, we both felt I had the right cadence and versing in sync with the slower music tempo so mom re-recorded it before we started messing around adding different instruments in places to emphasis and highlight the mood I was trying to convey. With a CD copy and one on mom’s memory stick we went back upstairs and wait for dad to get home. After dinner and with both mom and I almost bursting out of our skins, mom told dad about what we’d done while he was out, although not telling him the exact specifics of the changes, before mom handed him her memory stick and said he should play it tomorrow sometime and give us his opinion tomorrow night at dinner.

School on Mondays would have to be the worst day of the week. But even this morning getting dressed and putting on a short denim skirt to wear instead of my usual outfits, I knew that it wasn’t going to be such a bad day. When mom didn’t say a word about my skirt when I kissed her good bye and perhaps that was a sign that Jane was finally being trusted enough by mom to be able to look after herself at school. It might have been my upbeat mood while my mind was singing my version over and over again throughout the day, perhaps it was the very different skirt to any I’d worn to school before, or how everyone behaved at lunch around me. But even double Band later on didn’t faze me in the slightest.

After I got home and did my homework, all the while listening over and over again to the song I’d recorded with mom, I went to the kitchen to help mom prepare the dinner plates passing dad on the way who simply asked if I’d had a good day at school. I might have hoped he’d tell me straight away what he thought of the recording but he didn’t say a word. Even during the meal he didn’t mention it nor did mom for that matter.

After the meal was finished and I’d done my kitchen cleaning up duties I joined mom and dad in the lounge room as I would have any night I didn’t have more homework to finish. Dad put me out of my agony and talked at length about the recording. Generally he liked my slower interpretation of the song and then gave me his reasons for not wanting to submit it to Crazy Music Recordings, citing the song was a one off or perhaps part of a one off album. While he liked my version very much, if I was a professional singer and tried to sing it at concerts, it’d be very hard to replicate the studio production sound. He gave a number of professional explanations for not being able to replicate the sound live, but also felt I should add the song to my musical resume. But as a commercial genre step, he felt it shouldn’t be one of my 5 EOI recordings, with mom nodding her head in apparent agreement and perhaps after a discussion while I’d been at school.

Seeing the look of anguish coming on my face, dad suggested I could try seeing if the school radio would play it a few times to see if the students there liked it. I might also consider lodging the tape at school under a non de plume and think of the recording as a bit of a ”teaser” release recording, telling me I should think of a short catchy type of name and use it to also release some of the songs on my demo resume. This spike bought mom into the conversation along with several immediate responses about a catchy name. Dad joined in the competition and after some good humored laughter we all seemed to agree on “Emerald” as a recording non de plume.

Dad also had a few ideas for adding some of the incidental music to my recording and a few nights later after tea and in little more than an hour, the final recorded version was decided on and was now even better thanks to some of dad’s haunting piano and slide guitar additions. I went upstairs later on happy with this final result and typed up a short letter which I’d enclose a spare memory stick in with it and drop it in the box outside Mr. Carmichael’s office tomorrow.

Perhaps I could always hope and dream that dad was wrong and the recording would make me an overnight sensation, but as much as I would‘ve liked for that to happen even I knew it never would.

Previous Key played - A flat major……… Perhaps I could always hope and dream dad was wrong and the recording would make me an overnight sensation, but as much as I would‘ve like for it to happen, even I knew it never would. Whenever I could, I always tried to use Jane’s subdued but still very feminine look to get as much fun and enjoyment out of my new life as possible.

A different key - B flat major

Only recently having dropped off my “unofficial” first recording into Mr. Carmichael’s music tape box, I knew I mightn’t hear it played for some time because everyone knew about the number of potentially hopeful school student pop groups the school had and they put demonstration tapes into his box practically every few days. The box was also there for non-musical students to place requests for songs to be played on the school radio system, which because of how it was set up within the school’s educational syllabus framework, meant the radio station although not producing powerful watts of sound, still produced enough to enable people living within about a mile of the school to be able to tune in and listen to the music being played.

And under the guidelines established several years ago mainly by Mr. Carmichael along with a selected student and teacher committee, any tape made by a student of a song they had played and made themselves (even if it was done with help of a parent/s or with other current students), would always be played at least twice during the year. If the song became a popular request from enough students it was then played once a day every day for at least a month.

The guidelines also stated that any student submitting a first time tape under a stage or pen name also had to advise Mr. Carmichael that a the written submission enclosed with recording. This was so Mr. Carmichael could investigate the student’s claims (in the submission) and so prevent students not attending the school (as well as desperate hopefuls) from getting even limited airplay. Since I’d submitted my tape under my non de plume name “Emerald”, I knew it’d be quite some time before Mr. Carmichael might approach me to answer any questions about myself and the recording.

That didn’t bother me because “Stay Awhile” was no longer part of dad’s strategy in finding a music genre that best suited my skills using the C.M.R. EOI. But with dad’s time almost invariably always taken up working, it might be left to me and mom to find songs I could try to record. Dad told me that he’d at least try putting out feelers among his musician friends and other music contacts for any writers willing to supply new songs they’d like to try getting recorded, which he already begun to re-forward to my email inbox for me to look at.

The girls I rode the bus with used the time to talk about things that had taken place at school each day or things that had happened over the weekend. Two of the girls (Anne and Carmen) in Band class often took the same school bus home of an afternoon and we’d sit together in the bus and talk about the music we’d played earlier on in Band.

They said they thought the Band sounded awful (including themselves) and told me they could (just) hear my Xylophone playing sound and heard my additional musical improvisations. That brought up the subject of how I’d thought up the improvisations which had me reluctantly telling them I had a Xylophone I could practice with outside of school (but not where). That led to some whining from both girls about how difficult they found it to find the time to practice Band class music somewhere private. They said the other two girls in the band Debbie and Maree had the same problem of finding time to practice and somewhere private and quiet to do so.

From as soon as I was old enough to pick up and hold a musical instrument, dad was showing me how to play it. So it never even occurred to me that others hadn’t been taught the same way or with the same enthusiasm I received. My musical upbringing eventually allowed me (unless it was a concerto or some other piece of orchestral music) to be able to play a song or tune I heard on a radio, CD or after browsing a music manuscript in a matter of minutes on any number of instruments dad’s recording studio had. It wouldn’t then take any more than perhaps half an hour, before I was playing the song easily and sometime even beginning to toy with the song’s melody to try and find variations that appealed to me more.

So when Anne and Carmen asked me how I always appeared to be able to learn and play a piece of music so easily, I naively told them it was practice. They asked me how so. After I’d explained how Jane was able to do so, I learned how both girls belonged to families that had brothers and sisters and nowhere private they could go to practice playing. My next naïve remark about how they could try going to a park and practicing there, had me discovering how angry teenage girls can get when someone says something stupidly moronic. Anne said “and how long do you think it’d be before some boy comes over and brakes my instrument, Jane” which Carmen seconded. Another stupid question along the lines of couldn’t they practice at school saw me being castigated as they listed the reasons why that suggestion couldn’t eventuate.

When I got home and talked to mom about what we’d talked about on the bus and also about how I never seemed to go to other kids home’s as Michael or that I’d never invited friends to my home? Since the first day at school as Jane, perhaps mom might have been expecting me to eventually ask this question, because her answer literally bowled me over.

I’d arranged to meet up with the other girls in the Band at school and go shopping today. During our stroll around the shops one of the girls, Debbie, started to whine about the Band “uniforms” which we had to wear. She went on and on about it while also reminding everyone that the Band’s first public performance for the term was at the baseball team’s playoff game against a neighboring high school in a fortnight.

Even after two return visits to the seamstress with mom, Jane’s uniform still looked absolutely appalling on me. What the lady could and did do to improve my own outfits appeared on me was to clean the white trim around and down the front of the jacket lapels to make it more pronounced with a brighter and more vivid white. She explained how it was done and how to maintain it to mom when she went and picked it up on Monday. When I went to Tuesday’s Band class and walked out of the change rooms with a dazzling white trim on the front of my jacket, the other four girls might have lynched me if I didn’t hurriedly explain to them how they’d be able to get the same effect easily. Mr. Carmichael didn’t say a word although I think he noticed the vivid white trim on my jacket front.

At the next and final dress rehearsal before the baseball playoff game, all the other Band girl members turned up wearing very different looking band jackets compared to any of the boys. When we stood together in a small girl group Mr. Carmichael could suddenly see how the effects of the brilliant white trim improved the uniform’s appearance, which the previous week had only earned me a quick glance from him. But now he asked me to explain how I’d made both my own along with the other girl’s jackets stand out so much. The following week, almost every boy turned up to play at the baseball team’s playoff game sporting jackets with brilliant white trim, leaving the few who didn’t to stand out like pariahs.

That day the Band set up at the end of the bleachers well past third base and in the hot sun, to misplay our hearts out attempting to entertain the crowd and parents of both schools. The opposition Jefferson High’s band were at the end on the opposite side of the diamond up in the bleachers playing just as loudly and just as out of tune, but the most important difference between the school’s bands was that Jefferson High’s Band uniforms were ten times nicer than ours and stood out. Our school eventually lost the game but went down fighting.

Something else occurred prior to that performance. During my second visit to mom’s seamstress she took an entire set of my body’s measurements (because mom told her to but never bothered explaining it to me). It wasn’t until Thursday week after school when I walked into my bedroom to change into something more comfortable, that I saw the plastic wrap encased purple outfit draped across my bed. Before I could shout out her name, mom hurried in and started taking the plastic wrap off without saying a word. Clothes being what they are to a teenage girl soon had me joining her.

Eventually draped over the bedspread cover lay a much nicer styled and looking Band uniform than the one I had. The thin white lace trim of the old jacket’s uniform outlining the faded purple fabric had been substituted by the entire jacket front lapels now being bold white, along with shiny rows of bright buttons down the front on both sides of the jacket, while the rest of the front including the button hole stitching, sides and back of the jacket remained purple. But this purple hadn’t been dry cleaned or faded and aged to death after countless pressings. The jacket’s look reminded me of some I’d seen in movies about 19th century army and naval officers uniforms.

This uniform also came with matching trousers along with a skirt, whose length when I tried it on came down to about half way to my knees with a split at the front allowing for plenty of freedom to walk and march. The cut of the skirt did mean though, that too higher marching step might easily end up revealing my underwear if I wasn’t careful. The long trousers (that you could wear on colder days) had white trim around pocket openings both front and back as well as the cuffs on the end of the legs. Obviously a boy’s uniform wouldn’t have the skirt! Also unlike men’s trousers (and the present band uniform) these trousers didn’t have a fly at the front, instead having a small one at the back, more in line with women’s clothing. Of course mom made me pose wearing the skirt then the trousers while she took plenty of photos.

Mom also explained to me how she’d been able to negotiate a good price for a set of new outfits for the entire band if they ever wanted to purchase a set, which she told me that with some financial subsidy could very easily be afforded by the school. But if Mr. Carmichael and the school didn’t approve of the new uniform, dad business could write the cost of this individual one off as a business expense for tax purposes. I really did like how the entire uniform looked on me (even the trousers) and if I was wearing a skirt instead of the trousers, a pair of white boots would make it even better to wear. I eventually was allowed to take the uniform off but hoped that mom’s photos would do justice to the uniform when I got to show the photos to the other members of the band.

Friday afternoon Band class usually allowed for the last ten or so minutes to be spent in a jovial atmosphere with Mr. Carmichael, unless of course we were rehearsing for a public performance. Today was a dress rehearsal for the following Wednesday’s baseball playoff game, so having hidden the new uniform under my old one in the admin offices all day, it was pretty easy to be able to get changed in the windowless side room next to the music room (temporarily assigned as the female change room) but keep the new uniform out of sight till I was ready to put it on. Once Mr. Carmichael had made sure everyone’s uniforms were OK, it allowed me the opportunity to tell him about my mom’s initiative along with accompanying photos.

While I showed him the photos I also mentioned that mom had also obtained a price quote if the entire band were to be kitted out, also mentioning mom’s ideas for ways we could possibly raise enough money to be able to subsidize every band member present, while still being able to pay for hardship students too. Then telling Mr. Carmichael I had the uniform in the changing room, asked if I could go and change into it to show him.

It ended up taking about 10 minutes for me to get changed because I also had to put on a pair of pantyhose as well, along with mom’s old pair of white high cut boots. It needed a few loud “I’m not ready yet” shouts, to prevent any of the excited female band members entering the room and possibly a few of the boys.

I re-entered the music room holding the coat hangered trousers over one shoulder, which Maree took from me before I could eventually push past my female band friends and walked over to Mr. Carmichael whose face didn’t reveal anything. His first words to me though weren’t something complimentary but instead a question. Namely how much extra would it cost to buy the boots?

The boys who were almost all enthusiastic about the new uniform, asked questions only males could ask under the circumstances. Mr. Carmichael perhaps amused at everyone’s reaction to the uniform I was wearing, answered each inane question asked by a boy in his normal dry tone. “No the boys won’t have to wear white shoes Malcolm, but the uniform does look smart with the boots, if Miss Seymour’s uniform is a guide. Noooo, you won’t have to wear a skirt Mr. Parker, unless of course it's really YOU who'd like to wear one! No Robert I think the shoulder boards on the jackets look quite smart personally. No Steven I don’t feel a different colored uniform might look better since school’s colors “are” purple and white ……..

Finally he cut any further debate and questions on the head by calmly telling me to thank my mother for the fashion show and that he’d need to arrange to discuss things with the school’s finance committee at their next scheduled meeting, before possibly ever going any further down a new uniform path. He did ask me however if I’d allow him to borrow the uniform so he could show it to the Principal for an opinion, then raising his voice announced that the class could leave before the bell today and signaling for me to go get changed which I did only to return again soon to hand the plastic wrapped uniform over to Mr. Carmichael.

A few of the boys stayed around to ask me and the other girls what we thought the chances were of getting the new uniform. Jane told them and I did it publicly (because Mr. Carmichael could hear everything we were all speaking about) that I had no idea, but added I hoped we’d get permission and that we might all need to start thinking of ways to raise $6,300 if the school board did give its approval. This was immediately answered by enthusiastic suggestions for fund raising including chocolate sales, cake bake sales, car washes and several more before the other four female band members joined me in heading towards the door to go home.

Sunday morning mom had planned for her and me to do some weeding in the front garden getting ready for the coming winter months. During weeding I mentioned about how the rest of the Band girls felt about their musical instrument playing and she offered a suggestion about how I could possibly help out. Mom’s idea was for Jane to ask her girlfriends to come to my place and have a practice session next weekend or the first weekend I could get them all here together.

With that in mind Jane began wondering about the best way to show my friends around the house, particularly my own bedroom and wardrobe, which mom told me was extremely important to help the bonding, then we also needed to actually practice playing our instruments together in privacy. I’d have to do this while also not telling them about dad’s music studio setup, in-case they got upset and broke off being friends. Mom seemed to agree and said she and dad wouldn’t say a word about the studio either and she said she also hoped my girlfriends left some extra female hormones behind for me after they’d gone home.

The next day saw me talking with Anne and Carmen in the bus going to school. They were thrilled about the opportunity to do some private practice without other people being able to listen in. At lunchtime not only had my four Band classmates all said they’d love to come both for practice and a KFC lunch, the other three girls who usually ate with us asked if they could come along as well. The other three girls all attended my Music class and all played instruments, which they wanted to bring along with them if they were invited.

My first thought was to say yes, of course, but Debbie butted in before I could and said we’d(?) all planned for the day to be a private practice session, so no one would be able to her how bad some of us might sound. Debbie’s reason while certainly not entirely accurate saw the other three girls accepting they couldn’t come, but the girl growing inside me asked the table as a whole if between all of us we could all agree to another day then we’d all get together at someone’s house for a music jam and lunch.

I also asked Mr. Carmichael for the uniform back and was told he’d make sure it was available for me in the Admin office on Friday and when he asked why, I felt awkward momentarily before telling him about the Sunday practice for all the other girls in the band, that had him saying he was annoyed he wouldn’t be able to come since he was busy this coming weekend listening to all the samples in the box outside his office. He did threaten me with mock dire punishment if the female musicians in the Band didn’t start to sound any better the following week!

I don’t know why Mr. Carmichael did it but it seemed to me that for the rest of the week’s Music classes, he appeared to be concentrating or emphasizing about the areas of the orchestra that funnily enough covered all three of my friend’s instrument sections. He was particularly critical whenever one of us played a wrong note or gave an incorrect answer but at the same time seemed to enjoy himself doing it. Towards the end of Friday’s Music class it was clearly apparent (in my mind) , that all three of us had shown a marked improvement in both our practical playing and music theory in the two classes left that week he taught us. My uniform was waiting in the admin office on Friday after final bell.

When I finally got home mom quickly followed me to my room so she could check for any stains on the outfit where she spotted at least two and said she’d get the outfit dry cleaned after Sunday and my friends had tried it on. The next day saw mom and I doing the grocery shopping where she also bought me some extra makeup in my regular colors for me to share with the girls on Sunday. We also stopped in at the KFC on the way home and ordered more than enough food for the next day’s lunch.

On Sunday morning I woke up especially early so dad and I could talk about things in general before he had to leave for golf. Usually dad was already out of the house before I got out of bed because he and his golfing buddies generally opted for dawn or near to tee off times. We talked about some of the songs he’d emailed me from his music friends and wanted my opinion on them. So breakfast soon turned into a mini Q & A session with dad the quizmaster and me the contestant with the result a draw, since neither of us thought any of the songs forwarded onto me so far suited my still not yet known or defined style. We just both seemed to agree that none of the songs did and seemed happy with the agreed thinking.

After he left and mom had had breakfast as well, I hurriedly cleaned up the kitchen before heading for a shower to get ready to greet my friends. I made sure I dressed casually and hoped none of my girlfriends had changed their thinking and was now wearing something stylish. The girls started arriving around 9.30 and as each girl unloading her musical instrument bag and box along with a folder containing music manuscript from out of her parent’s car, mom made sure I went over and thanked every driver personally, while mom also did a quick “nice to meet you chat” and give an assurance she’d be staying around the house all day and agreeing on a pick up time this afternoon.

From the start after detailed introductions of each of my friends, mom became an accepted friend to the girls (although much older). Mom started instructing me needlessly about making sure to show my friends everything there is to see, which commenced with the outside back of the house where the swimming pool was as well as pointing out dad’s open “barn”, where two cars and a ride on mower were parked inside covering the (secret) recording studio below ground.

Then I shepherded them all back inside suggesting they leave their things in the lounge-room before leading them on a tour of the house, blushing in embarrassment listening to my friend’s sometimes envy tinged remarks about how lucky I was to have such and such. The cinema room had agreements being quickly reached about the eventualities of their being a movie evening some other time. My own room although nothing special had the girls oohing and arhing everything in it and saying they wanted to try on some of my outfits later on.

Mom told me when we’d been planning today’s activities to after showing the girls around the house, to then take them into the kitchen and offer out cold drinks. So after showing them the last vacant bedroom at the end of the long main corridor I led them into the kitchen where mom had prepared several pitchers of iced fruit juice and soda drinks, frost chilled empty glasses along with a plate of cookies and another of buttered fruit buns all of which with little fan fair quickly disappeared with un-lady like speed down teenage girl’s throats while loud voices told of their appreciation.

My friends all helped me to clear up the mess before we headed back to the lounge-room where we sat and began to plan how to organize the music practice. The girls took their musical instruments out of cases along with fold up music stands and placed them infront of where they were seated. Mom stood silently at the doorway watching everything as each girl began talking about which piece of music they wanted to practice first. So that first ten minutes we made a lot of raucous with the girls trying to play the same music together and it sounded just like band class at school. I’d already decided not to try and bring the xylophone up from dad’s studio and instead had brought an acoustic guitar along to practice with.

After a few more minutes of painful mistimed and incorrect notes, mom decided she’d had enough and interrupted proceedings, suggesting that I should go and get a microphone so we could get a first attempt recording done and use that as a comparison baseline. I soon had a microphone set up in the middle of a circle the girls were now formed around. Mom imperiously but kindly suggested I not play since I didn’t have my Band instrument here and to instead conduct the practice lesson, which none of my friends seemed to question. So I began by making the girls repeat playing the same piece of music again together while I recorded them.

The other girls didn’t seem to mind and even obeyed my request for them to individually play their instrument so I could then record each girl’s solo effort for comparison later on as well. I made sure to use separate disks for each girl and write their name on it. Each of my friends played a different instrument, so during the individual recordings mom must have raved down to the studio and found the same instrument and bought it back up leaving it out of sight in the kitchen, which I had no idea about until a few minutes later. When Anne had finished playing her instrument, they all looked to me expectantly for what to do next.

Mom interrupted me again and apologized to the girls while she told them that her niece Jane was actually a bit of a ring in and that if they’d leave any questions as to why for the moment, it’d all be explained later on. She turned to me and said “I think we may have to tell your friends about some of your history later on” before turning back to my friends and addressing them. “Jane keeps it a secret but she’s been fortunate enough to have been able to be shown how to play quite a number of musical instruments” turning to look me straight in the eye before adding “and she’s actually also quite good at being able to teach others too. I’m sure you girls can persuade her to help you too” then walked over to me and handed me the studio Clarinet.

Looking at me as a professor might, she told me to give my friends a demonstration on how to play the same piece of music correctly. So without stopping to think, I did, error free, melodically accurate and at the correct tempo which had all my girlfriends applauding when I finished. I proceeded to do the exact same thing with Maree (saxophone), Carmen (trumpet) and finally Debbie (Flute) music instruments, each time mom handing me a girl’s chosen instrument beforehand so deciding which girl’s stand I read from.

Mom said “Jane, do what your Uncle does sometimes with his clients” before walking off and leaving me to stand nervously afraid that the girls would ignore me now that mom was no longer there. Instead my fellow Band members looked at me with hopeful expectation written on their faces, so that encouraged me to begin what I’d seen dad do so often in his studio and which I’d been brought up being trained with as well.

I used Anne as a baseline and explained to the girls what I was going to do which none of them seemed to object to. So moving over to Anne’s music stand and standing next to her, asked Anne to play the piece again, which I played in duet. Twenty minutes later and having her play the Clarinet while I stopped her at certain times, to show her how to play the instrument easier had her finally beginning to gain the confidence to play the score without any mistakes and with feeling. As she began to realize how differently she started to sound her playing not only improved but so did her timing, and more importantly her belief in her ability as wrong notes were no longer being played. When she completed playing the music totally blemish free, an incredulous look followed by a grin of amazement showed on her face, before the other girls began enthusiastically applauding her as she turned to me and saw my nodding approval and smile.

I encouraged her to keep practicing outside somewhere then led Anne with her toting her music stand and set her up in the back yard under an awning for shade, telling her I’d get back to check on her once the rest of the girls were also practicing elsewhere. When I walked back into the lounge-room, three excited female voices enthusiastically volunteered to play for me next.

About an hour and a bit later, I set Carmen up in the far back bedroom to begin practicing her trumpet score now she was more confident in her personal belief that she could actually play without making mistakes if she genuinely tried.

Stopping off at the kitchen to open and take out several small cold bottles of orange soda I proceeded to call in at each girl’s designated practice place and hand over a cold drink and listen to her progress. What had started out in the lounge-room as mostly misplayed notes and erratic rhythm and tempo, was now replaced by very passable sounding music being played by every girl. When I got back to Anne, and handed her a cold soda bottle of orange she took a sip before excitedly asking me to show her how to play the next piece. Instead I told her “she” should try showing me how “she” played the new piece, then standing around long enough to hear her begin playing a new piece of music which didn’t sound too bad, although there were still a few wrong notes being played I told her I’d come back in a while and see how she was going. With a nod of approval I walked off towards the back door heading for the lounge-room to plan what to do next and saw mom in the kitchen sitting at the table drinking a cup of something motioning for me to join her.

Mom waited until I had gotten something cold to drink and sat down opposite her to have her tell me she was sorry for interfering in the practice, but felt it for the best if the day was to have something useful come from out of it for everyone. She asked me how the girl’s music playing was going. I told her I thought the girls were improved 500 percent already and mom said that was because Jane was there to show her friends how to play their instruments. She also suggested
I should periodically check on the girl’s practice playing, then get them inside just before lunch and record them playing their instruments again and have the girls listen to the difference themselves. So with that in mind, I went and picked up the instrument played by the girl I was planning to check on next and followed my instincts.

At about five minutes to one I went and gathered the girls together in the lounge-room and made them play their music again while I recorded it. The smell of freshly delivered KFC was a distraction, but the girls all managed to play their first two pieces and in one case even their third piece of music very well (Anne). With my suggesting we should go have something to eat and afterwards listen to the recordings again and do a Mr. Carmichael critique that had loud sarcasm being offered in response, we all headed towards a heavenly smell for lunch.

Lunch was enthusiastically commented on by the girls as they tore into it without the slightest concept of manners or decorum. After lunch we sat back and digested quadrillions of calories from lunch before we listened carefully to each girl’s music playing CD. The differences between their first solo attempt and their second recorded performances where unimaginable, so good did they sound now.

Mom sat with us and commented she was amazed how different and much better they all sounded now and although all the girls wanted to go back to more practicing right away, mom suggested another alternative that soon saw my clothes being roughly handled by my girlfriends as they held up tops and skirts and dresses infront of themselves or asked if they could try something. Mom had told me this would happen and advised me to only watch carefully and see the girls didn’t treat my things badly. She and I watched the girl’s frantic strips offs and changes of clothing as if it was the norm.

When mom went and got the new uniform and brought it back to let the girls try it on for size, even she had to shout for order and give a name that saw it being handed off to the girl nearest to the door, Debbie, to try the uniform on first. Mom thankfully led her off to her bedroom so my overcrowded room now had more space and air for everyone. Knowing that my friends would want to have photos taken wearing the uniform, I suggested we head back to the lounge-room and model there. Mom had to come in a few minutes later and ask which one was Debbie’s bag before going over and extracting an unopened packet of pantyhose then heading back to her bedroom.

By the time all the girls had finished trying on my clothes and had modeled the new uniform, wearing both the skirt along with the trousers and had photos taken for keepsakes it was almost 3pm. It’d had already been organized that the girl’s parents they’d be picked up around four so we has about forty five minutes that we going to use to allow the girls to play their music scores as a mock quartet come quintet with me accompanying them on my guitar.

Dad arriving home unexpectedly and in a happy mood after having won several prizes at golf just after 3pm, quickly and unintentionally became involved in things, mainly because of how my girlfriends all talked (at the same time) to him about how brilliant I was at playing so many musical instruments. Carmen and Debbie again asked me how I was able to play so many different musical instrument so easily and well to which I simply answered them “practice, practice, practice”, before exasperated with my reply directed the same question back at my parents.

Mom looked at dad while he looked back at her before they shrugged their shoulders almost together and nodded, before mom pointed at dad and silently seemed to mouth “you explain things”. So dad looked over at me while at the same time asking my girlfriends were any good at keeping personal secrets especially his niece’s. Mom butted in on dad and told the girls she expect them all to pinky promise never to tell anyone what they were about to see and hear. After all four girls rushed over and wrapped their smallest fingers around mom’s smallest finger and said they promised to never tell anyone, she told dad he could carry on, to a look of bemused amusement on his face.

He then looked over at me and with a look of suppressed enthusiasm perhaps tinged with an apology nodded his head. Five minutes later he was leading everyone towards the recording studio he operated that no one at school knew about. Asking the girls to be careful walking down the stairs, with a sudden illumination my friends all found their eyes confronted by a recording studio. There were several large rooms with glass topped partitions that had drum kits or a baby grand piano occupying them, several of which also had microphones hanging down on steel poles. There were also two large separate rooms off to one side containing benches which had numerous slides controls on top, along with a number of cabinets against each back wall of the room containing reel to reel machines amongst other things. There were also various shelves displaying musical instruments around the studio with four obvious gaps showing where mom had taken the instruments from I’d used to demonstrate my abilities.

The girls were absolutely excited walking around looking at everything in the studio which they’d never imagined or even seen before, while dad kept them at fever pitch mentioning several famous artists he’d recorded here, that he knew my friends would certainly know. He also told them about how (and here he tried to keep Jane’s secret from being found out) his niece (me) used to come down along with his son Michael and do private recording session of their own.

Dad told them a believable story about how after Michael had gone off to take up a scholarship with a famous music college back east and was staying in the house Jane lived in there, I had apparently wanted to and did transfer over to here. He needlessly added that since I’d moved here, I’d spent almost all my free time practicing and recording music every chance I got. When he asked them if they wanted to see how everything worked, the replies were unanimous and definitely yes please.

Mom took over then and told the girls they’d need to ring their parents up and get permission quickly if they wanted to stay longer while also reminding them to tell their parents not to worry about tea because they’d eat here. After frenzied phone calls to parents and inquiries as to new pick up times (which was decided would be 7.30pm) mom told dad he was back in charge.

My friends during all of this kept asking me why I hadn’t told anyone at school about my music playing abilities. I could only shrug my shoulders and say I didn’t want anyone thinking I was better than them, which because of my sudden poor little puppy dog look had me at least getting nods of sympathetic understanding. Dad then used a recently recorded song to explain to the girls how different part of the studio’s recording consoles worked. He did so by playing them a recently recorded song, during which with a slide or touch of a button could be made to sound first like an entire string section of an orchestra. Then did the same using a coronet and be able to make it sound like a miniature brass band. He demonstrated by moving various sliding controls, how instruments could be made to blend or sound individually different with one another.

When he asked the girls if they wanted to make their own record the excited screams of yes had him laughing loudly. Mom and I (Jane) simply watched and listened as my dad captivated his audience.

About another two hours, which had first seen each of the girls playing the first music piece they had all practiced on separately, while then using me but sometimes mom as well to play other instruments of the same instrument family, as well as playing electric, bass, acoustic guitars, drums, piano, keyboard and even some percussion instruments, mom and dad together showed them several different ways the full ensemble could now sound.

The school’s Band playing interpretation of the same score was now completely and entirely different, although admittedly the Band didn’t play some of the instruments mom and I played. Dad even did recordings to highlight each girl’s musical instrument as the main solo instrument with the accompanying instruments playing a muted accompaniment which he copied to individual disks of each girl Jane handed over to him.

When dad finally announced the recording session finished, it was met by loud groans of female disappointment as along with my friends Jane was just as interested in what was going on and had been produced in the recording session. Mom had meanwhile gone upstairs and ordered takeaway for everyone and we all walked into the kitchen to exotic smells of oriental and Indian cuisine takeaway.

Dad now on both golf and music recording highs, kept everyone entertained telling stories about famous musicians he'd met or played with, to offering suggestions about variations to the music we’d just played and recorded. He even wanted to try and do some vocals although mom told him the girls had to get home for school tomorrow (loud girl groans were made hearing that). When he heard car horns outside, dad tried not to sound draconian (and with the help of mom’s silent presence) as he quickly reminded my friend’s once again about how important it was not to tell anyone else about Jane’s musical playing ability secret.

At about 9.30, mom announced it was time for me to go to bed and with huge hugs I thanked mom and especially dad for making today so fantastic. I was so thrilled about how everything had turned out today but also worried what might happen in the coming days, because the dormant “Michael” still inside of Jane still didn’t entirely believe in “pinkie promises” or the ability of any teenage girl to keep a secret.

Previous Key played - B flat major……… I was so thrilled about how everything had turned out today but also worried what might happen in the coming days, because the dormant “Michael” still inside of Jane still didn’t entirely believe in “pinkie promises” or the ability of any teenage girl to keep a secret.

A Different Key – C Major

On the school bus this morning neither Carmen, Anne or myself spoke a word about what taken place yesterday because of the closeness of nearby students who might have been able to hear, so instead we talked about other things although it was obvious the three of us were almost jumping out of our skins wanting to tell each other our favourite thing about yesterday.

Likewise at lunchtime when Sue, Julie and Michele asked the five of us about how yesterday turned out, we all said it turned out well and had managed to get several useful hours of practice along with having fun trying on some of my (Jane’s) clothes after a KFC lunch. But none of the girls mentioned or in any way hinted or made reference to either about my musical instrument playing talents or about dad’s recording studio. The girls did admit though that they’d learned a lot about how to play their instruments better, which had Sue, Jane and Micky (Michele) wanting to know more. My four Band friends and I seemed to reply in unintentional unison “practice, practice, practice” before all five of us broke up in laughter that brought confused stares from our three friends as well as strange looks from others sitting around us.

In last class Band, I could easily hear how noticeably improved certain areas of the band now sounded. At the end of class as we were leaving Mr. Carmichael called me aside and asked if playing at the back of the band formation (as I did, although also next to the over enthusiastic drummer, Barry) did I notice the improvement in anyone individually or the band as a whole, and I told him straight faced I didn’t think so mentioning the difficulty of hearing over the loud drums next to me.

I spied Debbie and Carmen waiting outside just far enough away not to hear and asked Mr. Carmichael with a look of not understanding entirely why was he asking me? I suggested it might have simply been that the band may have discovered the three P’s and to the confused look now on “his” face (which I wanted to laugh at) I said “practice, practice, practice” which had him break up in laughter.

“Of course the old three P’s Miss Seymour, I really should have realised that myself. But between you and me in all honesty, I really would like to know the method you used so I can teach the rest of the band how to improve their playing as well as you seemed to have taught your friends.” I could only offer the three P’s excuse again and bid him “goodbye sir I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon” and dashed off to join my friends now walking towards the school bus.

On the bus trip home, as much as Debbie and Carmen pressured me, I didn’t relate what Mr. Carmichael had talked to me about, although I did tell them that he’d noticed the improved playing coming from certain sections of the Band.

After desert that evening, dad and I were discussing one of the songs he’d forwarded on to me several days prior and that we’d discussed several times now. When he unexpectedly asked me how my Music and Band classes were going, I should have realised something was up and I mightn’t like it. He momentarily paused possibly trying to think of a way to impart bad news to me before lowering the boom on me, announced that my music teacher had phoned him today and the pair had talked about my recording of “Stay Awhile” I’d left in the music box outside his office.

He told me that my teacher had been so impressed with my song that he found it difficult to believe my written submission which stated I played most of the instruments on it. He’d phoned up dad to confirm whether I actually had played the majority of the instruments or if I’d had professional musicians accompany me on it instead of what I’d written on my submission. Dad said he’d been so angry that my honesty had been questioned, he’d bluntly told my teacher I wasn’t a liar and made Mr. Carmichael apologize, then quickly explained to my teacher all about his own musical background and the recording studio as well as about the EOI C.M.R. had offered me. Dad told me he was sorry if anything might happen in any of Mr. Carmichael’s classes over the next couple of days but was very sure nothing would. Apparently Mr. Carmichael liked the version of the song I’d recorded so much, he’d told dad he was going to arrange for it to be added to the school radio’s daily play list starting next week.

Dad added that my Music teacher didn’t want me to use the music box outside the office door in future to drop off any song’s I recorded and to instead simply hand him any disks of songs I’d recorded before Music or Band classes. Dad said he just wished he could be a fly on the wall during my Band classes either tomorrow or Friday, before telling me that if I (Jane) ran into any problems in class to tell him and he’d come down to the school and settle them.

The following day in Music it seemed as if every second question requiring an answer was being directed towards me by Mr. Carmichael. With Band following Music today, I just hoped that the singling out would stop or else I’d tell dad about it when I got home……..It did and then again it didn’t.

When we had completed rehearsing the first piece of music on the Band’s play list for the now millionth time, Mr. Carmichael sarcastically announced to the Band his congratulations that after two months of rehearsals of music, he felt we hadn’t shown the slightest bit of improvement. He specifically mentioned the percussion area as a deep concern. I expected him to single me out again as he’d already done in Music. But I was entirely wrong, especially as to the “why”.

Instead he addressed Barry Roberts (who was the drummer) in a particularly sarcastic tone of voice asking him if he’d like to demonstrate to the rest of the band the 2/4 tempo, illustrating it by drawing two crotchets on the blackboard behind him. He then asked Barry to demonstrate the 3/4 tempo followed by the 4/4 tempo each time drawing the relevant number of crotchet notes below the tempo. After Barry had beat out each tempo on one of his drums, Mr. Carmichael told him he wasn’t playing any of the tempos correctly and in a matter of fact tone asked me to sit at the drums and demonstrate how to play the tempo correctly. I found out on the bus trip home (since this was my first year in any of Mr. Carmichael’s classes), that neither of my friends could ever recall hearing Mr. Carmichael publicly embarrassing a student in class before.

Hoping to avoid Barry’s situation, without thinking I obeyed Mr. Carmichael request and went and sat on Barry’s now empty stool and played the drum beat tempos he called out while pointing his baton at the relevant chalk drawn set of notes referring to the tempo, expecting him to then tell Barry to resume his seat behind the drums and try again. He didn’t though. Instead Mr. Carmichael asking me to remain seated at the drums then announced the next piece of music the band had to play, before beginning to wave his baton to indicate the tempo, quietly saying “2,3 and”.

Since I knew Barry always struck the drums much too hard and loud for the music my far softer and quieter drum playing allowed the Band’s individual sections to be able to hear themselves more easily. They seemed to realize this as well after about the first five bars played as if in silent agreement the musicians began concentrating on playing in tempo more smoothly without now having to compete to be heard over Barry’s deafening drums. Keeping a careful watch on Mr. Carmichael’s baton tempo, I was able to move away from Barry’s constant pounding and bring in additional ruffles and cascades, which helped make the band sound much better as well. The entire Band also ended up finishing the music piece on the same beat and all together, another first, which every musician realised murmuring among one another.

Mr. Carmichael saw how everyone reacted and quickly named another piece of music, allowing everyone a frantic 15 seconds to find the manuscript and set it up on music stands to follow before he waved the baton’s tempo and quietly said “5,6,7 and….” Again everyone began playing exactly at the same moment without a wrongly played note. By the end of the first line he called out for Barry to watch and listen to my drum play closely and see how I manage to bring feeling to the drums.

I thought that when Barry heard Mr. Carmichael’s shouted remark he was going to drag me backwards off the drummer stool and beat me to a bloody pulp, but he didn’t, even when at the end of the music when Mr. Carmichael told him “now sit back down at the drums after Jane gets up off of the stool and try playing the drums like you’ve just been shown”.

The Band then repeated the same pieces yet again with Barry back playing drum percussion, this time however far more quietly then he’d previously ever done and although the Band’s playing didn’t sound quite as good as it had when I’d played the percussion, it certainly sounded much better than it used to. Mr. Carmichael’s critique of Barry’s drum playing afterwards was both accurate and detailed (another first I thought) although he tried to emphasise his incredible improvement now he’d been shown and heard how to play the pieces of music as they were supposed to be played. He critiqued the tuba players yet again and said he wanted them to practice the music till they could play it blindfolded with no mistakes.

When the final bell rang for the day everyone packed away their instruments and began filing out. As I was walking past Mr. Carmichael he said “thank you for your help today Miss Seymour and don’t forget what I said about new songs”, so I nodded my thanks with a smile thrown in as well. Once outside a number of the class quietly offered me their thanks although keeping an eye out for Barry who was still inside being spoken to by Mr. Carmichael.

Just as I was about to step onto the bus for home a deep bass voice shouting out my surname caused me to panic, because the voice had Barry’s distinctive tone. When he shouted out my surname again but this time adding in plaintive tones “please, before you get on I just need to ask you something” it made me turn around and step back onto the footpath. He came running up almost out of breath and asked me if I could find some time perhaps before classes to show him how to play the drums the way I had. I must have sighed loudly or something, because he laughed while telling me he might be big but he’d never hit a girl no matter what, which I thanked him for before stepping back aboard the bus.

A lot of the dad’s friend’s songs he’d emailed onto me, only had the music manuscript and lyrics attached to them. But a song that had caught both dad’s and my attention recently and we’d discussed quite a bit about, also had an attached sound bite with the email that allowed the person receiving it to hear the writers’ interpretation as to the way the song should sound. Since it’s easier to listen to music then it is to imagine the melody by reading it, I’d replayed it a number of times and liked this song’s particular melody and beat (even if it was only being played on an acoustic guitar).

I went down into dad’s studio after tea the following night and mucked about playing with the song using electric instruments instead of the lone acoustic guitar. Initially I started out with a lead guitar then added rhythm and bass guitars and eventually a simple drum backing. Mom had to come down and tell me it was time for bed, so far was I involved in working out different arrangements to the song. This time I intentionally left a copy of the music I’d recorded so far in dad’s mixing console so he could listen to what I’d been working on.

The next afternoon I came home from school and changed into slop clothes. When I went to surprisingly join dad in the lounge-room and watch some TV, he got up from where he’d been sitting and said he wanted me in the studio. I excitedly followed him to the studio’s mixing room where dad placed my written with yesterday’s date disk into one of the several hard drives built into the console. After playing it all the way through he then began playing certain parts, repeatedly stopping to replay them repeatedly and each time he did he’d offer ideas and suggestions. Then dad got up and asking me to listen to something went over and sat down behind a keyboard he’d already pre-set the keyboard buttons and slides of, that turned it into a “mood” synthesizer and told me to record what he played. The music although clearly the same melody as on my disk now sounded very different, before dad got up and went over and picked up a wired saxophone and with the words “tape this” began playing incidental music. He did this several more times using different instruments before he came back into the mixing room and sat back down next to me.

Plates with food on it being quietly placed infront of both dad and me by mom indicated just how long we must have been downstairs together mixing and editing the music. After eating, dad and I continued to mix and edit the recording. We halted around 9pm because dad said it was almost my bed time. He said it mightn’t be until sometime on the weekend that we’d listen to it together again then we’d talk about working out the vocals and harmonies.

The next day Friday, saw me sitting through classes robotically as I kept thinking of different ways to sing the lyrics in my mind. In Band, Mr. Carmichael’s fierce glare at me after I’d played a wrong note (unheard of) told me how far away my mind was from Band class. Even on the bus trip home my mind was elsewhere which Anne didn’t have any problems in telling me.

A teenager who doesn’t own a pair of earbuds or else headphones is so out of touch with reality, it isn’t worth thinking about. Everyone student at school seemed to roam the corridors and playgrounds wearing them. I did it as well. But anyone caught wearing them “during” lessons had them immediately confiscated and told to report to the Principal immediately. So it wasn’t that strange to see a student pass over an earbud to a friend so they could listen to a song being played on the school radio network, although the school radio wasn’t necessarily the radio station all students listened to. So on Tuesday between changing classrooms, it didn’t enter my mind when I saw students stopping to hand over an earpiece to a friend, or to listen to something.

But while waiting in the queue at lunchtime, I was astonished to hear the girl behind me very softly singing some of “Stay Awhile” to herself. When I sat down at our “girl” table Michele was doing the same although subtly trying to sway her body in time to the song without anyone noticing. The same thing happened several more times during the afternoon and in all honesty it felt great. I told mom about it as soon as I got home and then dad about it as soon as he came up from the studio for the day. Over the following few days, I saw it happen far more than I might have expected or even possibly imagined. The song even became a two minute piece of girl talk at lunch as my girlfriends asked each other who Emerald might have been and how good the song sounded.

On Friday after Band, Mr. Carmichael asked me how it felt to have a song voted most popular with students placing notes inside his box and I smiled and said that it mightn’t be so popular if the students knew who Emerald really was. He thought about that for a moment before asking me if I was any further down the path in my EOI project. I told him there might be a “possible” song shortly and with his reminding me when it was done to make sure I gave him a copy to play, he wished me a good weekend.

The previous Sunday had been a bust for doing any work on ”It’s Always Too Late” because mom decided that the family needed a change of scenery, so we went and visited a zoo and picnicked there for lunch instead of dad and me hanging out in the studio.

Then for the past week dad had been so flat out in his studio doing production work, I had to try and keep patient before he and I might be able to restart work on ”It’s Always Too Late”. Even today dad still had a late running Friday session that had needed this morning to get it finalised and ready for editing on Monday. After waiting for the group to pack up and leave he came inside and I was hoping that he would be still on his usual post recording session high, but instead had to settle for him saying we’d get together tomorrow.

With mom’s backup harmonising assistance, dad’s friend’s song “It’s Always Too Late” got finally got completed although dad felt if we added some strings to it, the song could sound even better. Now that was a problem because neither dad nor definitely Jane or even Michael, (who’d been taught how to play by dad) could play the violin very well. Dad was able to convince me and mom however that when Tank Jeffries turned up tomorrow (he’d already been booked into several weeks prior), he’d get him to record the violin parts dad wanted.

The following day (Monday) at school after a series of harrowing class tests in most of my major subjects, I simply wanted my after lunch classes to be as easy as possible, which thankfully they were. When I got home, it was to be told that Tank Jeffries wouldn’t play the violin music for dad because dad refused to give him the name of the artist he was playing it for. In the end dad told me he’d ring around a few of his pals and get one of them to play the music whenever they found the time, although I had an idea and said that Debbie might be able to possibly play it or else I could try asking Michele/Micky who although a much better violin player, meant it would mean letting another person in on both secrets, which I could see dad wasn’t too keen about.

The following day, Tuesday, I asked Debbie and she excitedly agreed after being told her why, but I made her swear to not saying anything about it to the other Band girls. She asked when she’d be needed and with a quick phone call to dad to see which evening he’d have free, told Debbie Thursday afternoon and I’d (mom) would arrange for tea. Normally a professional muso could turn up, record one song and be gone in a little under 30 minutes, but I expected (wisely as it turned out) Debbie to take considerably longer.

When the pair of us got home on Thursday, we had to wait for dad to finish up a recording before he came back up and collected us to go record the incidental violin music. Obviously Debbie wasn’t a violin virtuoso and dad had to endure a number of false start takes even after Debbie had practiced the music she had to play for almost an hour. She didn’t seem to understand what dad was trying to explain to her and it finally took dad playing violin badly but with the correct tempo and changes in volume, before Debbie finally began to understand how she was meant to play the music. When dad was definitely satisfied that Debbie had played the music entirely to his satisfaction and it had been recorded and saved, he called it quits for the night and led us all back into the kitchen where we finally got to eat tea (almost three hours later than expected). Debbie was more than a bit disappointed that dad wasn’t going to do the final mix till tomorrow, but he promised her I’d give her a copy of the final recording as soon as I had a copy myself.

When dad and me got together to do the final mix on “Friday” evening (he’d gotten involved in other things till then), I could now understand why he wanted the additional string variations. Courtesy of the mixing console, Debbie’s lone violin playing now sounded like a full string section and made the music sound much “fuller” and punchier in the areas of the song dad wanted. I was over the moon with how the song sounded on the final take and hoped that C.M.R thought the same.

We made a copy of “It Always Too Late” for me to give to Mr. Carmichael because “Stay Awhile” definitely had a good following at school according to student requests Mr. Carmichael had informed me of. Sadly it seemed to be more among the female students than the guys. Although I’d been told I could simply hand over a disk or stick of “It Always Too Late” to Mr. Carmichael, dad still made me write down all the recording details the same as for “Stay Awhile”, telling me we were still using my non de plume name and I would also need to add Debbie’s name as an accredited musician performer, in-case the new song went hot and C.M.R took over promoting it. He also told me to do the same for the resume disk I was to give to Mr. Carmichael for exactly the same reasoning, although C.M.R. had already been given a copy of my resume disk music.

Debbie was that excited when I handed over her copy of “It’s Always Too Late” I just hoped she’d keep her word and not tell anybody about it. She came up to me later on very upset. Apparently she thought that dad had ended up not using her violin playing. It took a lot of persuading including a phone conversation with my father for her to accept it was her violin music we used on the song. That night I spent the better part of an hour rerecording her solo violin playing before painstakingly adding the various tweaks that dad had done. What had initially been almost three minutes of solo violin ended up thirty three minutes of music as I recorded the additional voice each time to prove it to her. I handed it to her at school the following day and explained what the disk was. She came up to me the day after and told me she had no idea you could do that, even though I reminded her about the personal tape from our Sunday practice.

Dad express posted a copy of “It’s Always Too late” along with a heavily bubble wrapped fifth of bourbon to his friend. He also couriered only a copy of “It’s Always Too late” to Rick Daring at C.M.R stating this was the first of the five songs he’d recorded for Jane Seymour under her EOI with C.M.R and told me we’d probably here more in a few weeks time.

Meanwhile Jane had school to think about because of “one” poor class test result that saw me getting a B-, which my mathematics teacher Mr Cox felt warranted a letter to my parents. Mom and dad spoke to me about the letter, which after I’d explained the reason for the poor result, they also believed wasn’t necessary but said if they received another in any subject I’d be looking at serious restrictions and left it at that. Still I had to return the letter signed by both parents to be placed in my student file and permanent record. I intended blowing up Mr Cox’s car in retaliation!

Mom was forever reminding me (both when I’d been Michael and now as Jane) I should never get angry with my friends just because of one mistake. I suppose in the light of day it “had been” putting my friends under a little too much pressure with their other friends. The girl I thought most likely to have said something inadvertently, Debbie, wasn’t the culprit however. Actually it was Carmen that saw me missing the school bus home (and needing to phone mom to come and pick me up) to answer Mr. Carmichael’s questions.

A week after handing Mr. Cox back his letter with my parent’s signature in the marked spot, it was during Band rehearsal that Jerome/Jerry Potts, perhaps fed up with the mistakes Mr. Carmichael was critiquing the Band about, stood up and turned around to ask “me” how I would play the piece of music (a new one) we were rehearsing. I tried shrugging my shoulders as if to say “I wouldn’t know” which only made Jerry state he already knew about my musical talent, saying he’d listened to Anne’s tape about the Band girls private practice session done at my place. Anne was looking straight ahead although a quick look saw Debbie’s, Anne’s and Maree’s faces looking pointedly at hers furious at her breaching the Pinkie promise.

Mr. Carmichael well aware of my musical ability and about my preference for anonymity couldn’t allow Jerry’s distracting behavior or question to remain unanswered. When Jerry then asked the class why should I only be able teach my friends how to play better and no one else in the Band, although he personally was actually a good coronet player (he’d also seemed to have forgotten about Barry and his drums). Nerves or embarrassment at being publicly called out like this prevented me from answering him. When he finally said in exasperation “that’s right, why not do what you always seem to do, just stand there looking pretty and act dumb for everyone”, which I wasn’t sure whether to be angry about or be flattered at just being called pretty by a guy.

Fortunately Mr. Carmichael finally interrupted (perhaps too late, but at least he seemed to be trying to restore order and prevent any further damage from being done) as he loudly ordered Jerry to sit down and shut up. He then calmed down enough to ask Jerry to follow him outside then turning to the class and stated we all remain seated in our places and be silent for a few minutes. After they’d left the room and were standing outside clearly visible to everyone, most of the class had turned around to look at me curiously expectant. That was of course except for my four girlfriends (well three at least) as Barry looked up to me and said one word “well?” Luckily I didn’t have to reply as Mr. Carmichael’s voice called out for me to come outside.

Once I had the three of us spent about two minutes outside discussing matters (well me mainly defending my actions) before Jerry was ordered back inside by Mr. Carmichael. Then he and I spoke to one another for a brief time with him explaining what he was going to do and finally getting me to reluctantly agree to it. When the two of us re-entered the Music room has asked me to take my normal place before looking towards the class for silence.

“Thanks to Mr Potts in the brass section along with certain other parties (making it obvious he meant Carmen) it appears Miss Seymour’s wish for her personal privacy can no longer be allowed to continue. I already knew about Jane’s musical talent after speaking with her uncle recently and I think this group may have got an idea when she showed Barry how to play the drums better. But what only a few of you might have known till today’s class is that Jane is very well trained in playing a considerable number of musical instruments, and that her parents have a recording studio business that they operate from home”. Everybody’s face was directly looking at me now."

“Personally as well as for the Band’s ability to improve its playing, I was hoping to try to find some way to get Jane more involved. I also hope that Jane will accept my thanks in advance and perhaps explain some ways to make the school band perform better”. He paused momentarily before adding ”Jane any tips on how we can improve the Band?”

Since I'd already agreed outside, I decided to talk about the three P’s which Mr. Carmichael interrupted just quick enough to say the words “practice, practice, practice Band members”. I asked Anne (of all people) for her tape (which of course she had to have) and after asking for permission from Mr. Carmichael went and placed it in the Room’s CD player, before continuing to speak.

I then began a step by step demonstration first by showing them how Carmen used to sound playing the Trombone. Of course every recognized the music as the first piece of music we had all practiced this term and everyone laughed. By the end of my talk and with the disk’s recorded evidence, which I also made Carmen play her Trombone again as proof, I had everyone’s attention, especially when I told them about how long it took Carmen to improve her Trombone playing.

Waiting a moment for everyone to finish whispering to the person next to them, I explained that with the correct use of a recording studio’s mixing console’s slides and buttons, five musicians could sound exceptional and proceed to play the wall of sound dad had created of the girl’s playing as a souvenir of the session. Mr. Carmichael’s astonished but happy amazement at hearing the same music piece remastered extensively had him take over from me and say if he hadn’t heard it for himself he’d have never believed it. He then asked for everyone to give me a round of applause, before saying I could now return back to behind my Xylophone.

Of course he asked for questions, which most of the band members were still too amazed to offer. Jerry did however, stating he knew all about the three P’s because his Coronet teacher had told him that at his first lesson. Sarcastically he theoretically asked me if my parents would allow the entire band to come to my place to practice like my girlfriends had. Before I could respond Mr. Carmichael interrupted and told Jerry to stop trying to be so smarmy and that a half day private practice could be arranged for a Saturday at the school football field or inside the music room if it was raining, which made for a lot of loud groans. Thankfully the school’s final bell sounded to prevent any further carrying on.

Not unexpectedly on the bus trip home the back two rows of seats on the bus on both sides were occupied by Band students all wanting to know more about my music background. When I got home mom and I talked about what had happened today in Band, which I then had to repeat to dad later.

Around 8pm a knock on the door found Carmen timidly hiding behind both her parents while they tried to explain to mom about why they were here. Mom as always invited people in so as not to leave them on the doorstep, while ordering me to go make some coffee and tea for our guests. An hour later along with lot of tears from Anne saw my parents and me watch Carmen and her parent’s car drive off. My parents then had a short talk to me about friendships, peer pressure and so forth till we agreed it was better to try and forget about what had happened today and that tomorrow was new day.

The next day at school I was handed a note in Mr. Morris’ Science class requiring me to see Mr. Carmichael at lunch break in his office (along with something to eat). There, he again apologized for yesterday and said he had an idea he wanted to try out in Band (with my cooperation of course), which after a bit of strategy and tactics planning I nodded my head in acquiesce……..it seemed Mr. Carmichael wanted help in making make the school band popular! So where does one start first?

I “may” be a bit late posting the next chapter. I don’t have Land Cruiser Virus but have had my cataracts operation (No NOT Cats On A Rack) pushed up to next Monday. D major is penned but nowhere near edited and finalized.

Previous Key played – C Major……… The next day at school I was handed a note in Mr. Morris’ Science class requiring me to see Mr. Carmichael at lunch break in his office (along with something to eat). There, he again apologized for yesterday and said he had an idea he wanted to try out in Band (with my cooperation of course), which after a bit of strategy and tactics planning I nodded my head in acquiesce……..it seemed Mr. Carmichael wanted help in making make the school band popular! So where does one start first?

A Different Key – D Major

When Mr. Carmichael finally brought the Band class to silence, it was to tell them two things. The first was that everyone was to write down at least ten and no more than fifteen songs they’d like the Band to play if they had the choice. Then when a final list of everyone’s most popular songs had been decided upon they’d be written onto a ballot paper to vote on. The second thing was that he’d arranged for several Saturday practice sessions at the school starting in a fortnight’s time, so he and the nominated section leader along with Miss Seymour could attempt to improve the skills of each musician in each section. This second thing was received with a wall of loud groans and whingeing until he shouted for silence (which he finally got, all but reluctantly.)

To justify this unwanted bad news he explained that if Band wanted to play their choice of music, a small amount of commitment was necessary from each and every Band member. To be fair he also offered to allow any person not wishing to be part of this would be allowed to change their elective and would be given a passing mark up to the time they transferred to another course. Regrettably five students quickly packed up and headed out the Music room door, which was certainly less than I thought would have quit.

Mr. Carmichael waited until the last of the student’s had walked out before saying congratulations to the following Band people on being placed in charge of your sections, then reading out four names and saying that if anyone of them needed any further advice they could see him after class. Of the four named, it was clearly obvious that only Jeromy (Jerry) Potts seemed pleased about being named. Mr. Carmichael then advised everyone that the entire Woodwind and string sections would be the first to have a Saturday practice session unless they could provide a parent signed note by next Monday for their absence.

I’d already spoken about this probably happening to mom the previous night. I felt it was far too much pressure on Jane to be able to handle it. After all I’d been Jane for only about twenty or so weeks and still didn’t feel entirely comfortable in her shoes (heels). Mom thought differently, telling me I’d been able to host four girlfriends only a few weeks ago and not be found out. She said I behaved as though I’d been a girl almost from the day I’d been born and even my father didn’t expect to see Michael (or a facsimile) ever again. It was her words that finally made me agree to help out Mr. Carmichael and his plan for making the Band more popular to want to join.

As for Mr. Carmichael, well so far he’d been as good as his word to dad. He now had a copy of my latest and first EOI song for Crazy Music Recordings and it had been played once, and was scheduled for regular playing as soon as he could rework the playing schedule with the help of Audio production students responsible for maintaining the school’s radio station operations. He’d explained to me that although students acted as DJ’s on a revolving basis, out of hours unmanned the music was played via computer on a pre-recorded loop, prepared by other Audio class students. Usually this always entailed a major change of music to be played once a month, so Mr. Carmichael’s interference so as to move my song into a spot wasn’t just a simple matter of just swapping my song for another one (well it was). It needed to be done so as not to leave silent time between songs or any school announcements.

Band classes went on regardless of the six students opting out for other subjects. Of the other section leaders Brad was the only guy. The other two leaders Penny Hai-penny (strings) and Judy Topless (woodwind) were both speechless at their elevations although both of them were quite good musicians. I only had to deal with three boys in my section and Barry was already willing to listen to whatever I spoke to him about.

Both Judy and Penny while annoyed at the Saturday practice(s) simply accepted me as defacto in charge after hearing me play several woodwind instruments, although I admitted to being completely hopeless playing a violin or any other orchestra string instrument very well, which thankfully Penny could.

Judy’s woodwind section was made up of fifteen musicians who were about equally represented by sex. We tried to do some private training before school and at lunch time, but it seemed to be impossible to get the majority of them all together at the same time. I decided with Judy’s understanding to wait for Saturday and see how many actually turned up although everyone said they’d be there.

Saturday morning rolled round and finally saw everyone turning up although not entirely on time. Mr. Carmichael organised where each section should practice, and thankfully the woodwind and string sections ended up inside. The Strings went to the school’s auditorium while Woodwind ended up in the Music room. My three guys had to go and carry their percussion instruments back down to the oval and found some shade trees to practice under.

The percussion guys looked to me for guidance and I eventually got them to begin practicing their tempo timings. I hadn’t dragged the Xylophone down to the field instead opting for a ratty old acoustic guitar to play so the guys would be forced to play much quieter. I also accepted Mr. Carmichael’s suggestion to borrow the school’s Boom box along with several disks of tunes to use if I got fed up playing the guitar.

It was particularly difficult because of the brass section’s horn sounds were clearly audible from the other end of the oval, but in time my guys began to slowly understand what I was trying to explain to them. We seemed to all get so involved practicing that the sound of the lunch bell two hours later surprised the four of us. Mr. Carmichael had already organised for our various drums, and chimes to be placed in the room under the grandstand along with all the Brass guy’s instruments.

The $10 subscription we’d all been asked to bring along for food had been spent on the dreaded Colonel’s Kitten food and two canteen ladies had volunteered to be here today to serve the food.
Not surprisingly each section separated to their own areas, so I had to get up and walk around and talk with Judy and Penny. Their opinions of the morning weren’t very flattering with both girls asking me why I hadn’t shown up to help them individually, which I promised them I’d do after lunch starting with Judy’s woodwind section first. Mr. Carmichael had been unusually scarce after organising which areas the band practiced at, although he was doing a considerable amount of P.R. during lunch with the various sections. We were to all assemble at the oval around 3pm and demonstrate how far we’d all improved!

When 3pm rolled around, the entire band didn’t show any marked improvement although the percussion guys definitely sounded much improved. I think the general mood among all of us was one of the Saturday practice being a total waste of time. Mom had to wait for me to finish talking with Mr. Carmichael, Penny, Judy and Brad about what each of us thought needed to be done to get a better result the following Saturday. I discussed it with mom in the car going home, then with dad during dinner before carefully emailing Mr. Carmichael with their suggestion. I spent the rest of the weekend veg’ing out on movies, with not the slightest inclination to use dad’s studio. A new first.

On Monday Mr. Carmichael had done what I had emailed him about and in Band, the students were allowed to offer their own opinions as to the usefulness of the Saturday practice among other things. To his credit Mr. Carmichael allowed everyone who wanted to, to say what they thought about the Saturday practice idea before he offered them a suggestion (that I already knew all about, since it was my moms and dad idea).

The following Saturday saw a quick improvement in Penny’s string section playing, which was clearly evident to everyone else at the Band class the Monday after. The Saturday after that was Judy’s Woodwind musicians turn to show how much they’d improved. Brad was so pissed that Monday, he almost threatened to quit Band. His Saturday practice the following weekend saw him being especially catty towards both myself as well as Mr. Carmichael. After constantly interrupting my suggestions about how to improve, Mr. Carmichael offered him the choice to leave there and then or else shut up. He chose the latter, although the petulant looks he kept giving me as I now spoke without interruptions had me wondering how long he’d be able to remain silent.

Whatever, it certainly took a lot longer than either Penny’s or Judy’s musicians had taken, but eventually the other Brass musicians realized for themselves how quickly they were improving and they bought into the whole concept, which scuppered Brad’s unspoken opinions as to my methods.
So five Mondays after that first wasted Saturday practice the Band now sounded pretty damned good. It was the first time the entire Band could hear how much they’d improved and there were surprised smiles all round. Finally we wouldn’t sound so awful at sport events. The football season had been going for two Fridays and although we had started to improve, everyone in the band was finally looking forward to a Friday evening shivering uncontrollably.

Mr. Carmichael had been slow about sorting through the lists of songs the Band member themselves would have preferred to play, so that didn’t happen until the following day. We even had a ballot paper given to each of us to vote for which songs we’d prefer to play (the top 25 songs listed had to be whittled down to 10). He reminded everyone that we’d initially nominated over ninety songs between all of us. He also reminded everyone that we’d need to practice any new music along with the music we had already been rehearsing and that any new songs would need to be gradually incorporated into the usual tune list, one, possibly two at a time.

On Wednesday afternoon, he quickly handed out a list showing the ten songs we’d voted on. I’d have to say that several of them would have been hopeless to try and perform in public which Mr. Carmichael was quick to point, out once we’d all had time to digest the music list. He wanted to try the idea of playing a certain selection at every home game and when we visited other schools, we’d play music we had already rehearsed during the term. I wasn’t fussed one way or the other, but the very idea of our school Band playing Lady Gaga songs (2 were on the list) wasn’t that appealing to me.

As it turned out, my fears about the Band playing LG songs didn’t happen for quite some time. Instead it had been decided by Mr. Carmichael that up until the end of the football season, the Band would continue playing mostly the music we’d rehearsed and knew so well. At least we now played it far better than previously. What everyone did appreciate was being advised that the Band would not be required to do marching displays while playing during the football half time breaks, which at least allowed us to be able to remain warmer during games.

It’s worth pointing out to readers that most high schools (in the United States) often have a band that travels to particular sporting fixtures and that both schools provide separate 30 minute performances (sometimes longer) prior to the start of the game being played, with the home school also providing the half time music/entertainment. Obviously each school has its own cheerleaders who can perform during either band’s performance and throughout the game. Usually the host school plays the second performance up to the commencement of the game and is allowed to do so uninterrupted by the visiting school, while offering them the same courtesy prior. Parents and relatives who make up the majority of the crowds don’t have much say in the matter whatsoever. It’s totally different at College (University) level where the sporting arenas are much bigger as are the crowds, while the games are of a far higher standard for the crowd to watch. So are the Band’s musical performances.

During the Xmas break mom got fed up with watching me try to secretly scratch my itchy chest, well perhaps breasts although they were almost flat, while my nipples were certainly obvious now. The tests showed my blood levels had suddenly fallen far too below the minimum amount of testosterone my male reproductive system needed to remain feasible. A hurried family conference saw me several days later go through plastic surgery to receive a pair of “B” cup breast implants to fill my bras properly, although I could have done without the discomfort for a while as they bedded in. My real ones were definitely better than my old sponge ones and I’d finally be able to wear a halter neck bikini top now too although I’d have to wait for springtime to do it. It didn’t stop me however from doing so around the house!

I also got to find out from Rick Daring of Crazy Music Recordings that “Stay Awhile” had been released in our state and received “satisfactory” air time during its appearance on local radio stations around the state as well as on the internet. It at least allowed CMR to recover its financial investment in me so far. My next effort “It’s Always Too Late” was now scheduled for a much wider release around the country although still not including the east coast market. I’d have to hope the Internet junkies could fix that for me once it got play time. They wanted a film clip of me singing it (at my own expense) to help promote the song better.

Dad and mom already had that idea covered. Dad had asked mom to go through the security dick backups and find recordings of me during the final few recording sessions. I appeared like any other musician you’d see playing their instrument in studio film clips except my appearance looked paler (without filming make up) and I played almost all of my own instruments although dad made a fleeting 20 second appearance playing bass guitar along with mom recording harmony backgrounds.

CMR would have preferred a more professional (and therefore expensive) recording but had to settle for this after dad said he wasn’t spending his hard earned money on someone in his immediate family if CMR wasn’t willing to either.

At the end of January, Emerald became an actual person at school after my song and film clip had been seen on a late night MTV show by school friends. Suddenly it wasn’t possible any longer to be able to hide behind the screen of anonymity I’d always had before. Although CMR had told me that my video had been listed for air time when I was notified that “It’s Always Too Late” had been accepted by MTV, they hadn’t been able to give me a precise scheduled time of appearances for the song (that came a few days later). My first finding out happened when Anne sat down next to me on the way to school and excitedly yelled out how much she liked my new song. Obviously her excited volume soon had me surrounded by a group of fellow bus travellers listening to her describe the song and how I looked singing it to them.

When I walked into the school grounds there were more congratulations being offered. By lunch break I was a sort of minor school celebrity at our usual table. I tried to explain how the video had been made while fending off the inevitable questions about did I really play all those instruments, which apparently the TV show announcer had mentioned before the film clip was aired. That was the guy who should have been thanked by CMR once the radio stations found out about who had played all the instruments in the video.

Of course Mr. Carmichael’s response on seeing me enter his room for Music had any hope of my anonymity there being crushed once and for all. He “ordered” me to bring him a copy of the video with me tomorrow and hand it to him so my (mom’s) video could go on immediate release on the schools internal film stream. “It’s Always Too Late” had already been inserted into the radio play list and was being played several times a day from the memory stick I’d handed him after the Xmas break.

My reception for band was even worse. Every band member wanted to congratulate me personally as they entered the room and seen me surrounded by my Music class Band friends. I was able to postpone having to sing the song in class, stating that it wasn’t possible for me to physically play all of the instruments at the same. What I did have to do though was be the moderator for a Q & A session where it seemed everyone wanted to know if I knew any famous musicians yet. It soon felt like a long Band class to me as I answered each question the best I could while trying to be modest.

If what happened to me over the next few days at school was any indication, “It’s Always Too Late” might possibly make me famous. It seemed everyone there loved it or so they all said. Relating it mom and dad at the dinner table of a night even had my parents excited although both preaching to me about staying calm until the first stats returns came back from CMR. When they did it was be email and text along with requests for interviews with several music video shows.

The sales statistics showed that “It’s Always Too Late” was being well received by the listening internet public, as well as the people who had brought the download. The first week’s sales downloads showed just under 31,000 people had paid to record it, which meant I’d (through my agent dad) be getting some money as well.

Dad arranged for the three (so far) interviews to be done at our home inside dad’s studio. “Your poor old oggie doggy dad could always use the additional studio promotion Jane”, which prompted a sarcastically sceptical “sure dad” reply from me. It turned out that for the interviews, they’d all be using the same camera crew (to shave costs) although each show had its own person interviewing me. Each interviewer also asked me to play something, which I did with several different instruments and a different song for each interviewer’s segment which they appreciated and were impressed by.

Dad sat in on each interview identified as both my father as well as my record producer, which also enable the shows to do a separate piece on dad himself, his musical history and his more recent history producing artist’s hit records. When he received the various emails detailing each show’s expected viewing date, he phoned Mr. Carmichael telling him the dates without telling me he’d done it. Again the first “Muggins” knew about this was in Mr. Carmichael’s Music class where he announced the dates to the other students as well as writing them on the board off to the side.

It also seemed that depending on the person addressing me I was now known as Jane, Emerald or Em for short. I was no longer the quiet girl to everyone at school as even the cheerleaders gossiped with me looking for bits of goss about famous musician’s dad had introduced me to (another cross placed on my shoulders by him during his interview).

The one thing (perhaps good) to come from out of all this was that Band classes were now far more liberal. Obviously the Saturday practices helped, but the improved playing and the newly discovered self confidence in their ability to play music much better, now had a lot of the Band musicians making suggestions about the music they were playing. One suggestion which definitely brought dividends as in inviting Music class students who played instruments (everyone) to come along to some of the band rehearsals and bring their instruments with them to jam with us. The ten recently voted for songs was an added lure. The addition of fresh ideas from the Music students along with their own personal tastes saw Band class suddenly become a favourite subject for all of us involved.

The Band now had several electric lead, rhythm, bass and acoustic guitar players as well as a very exceptional pianist, plus a couple of other instruments to help boost the Band’s sound. Mr. Carmichael was thrilled to conduct this musical ensemble now and his over excessive enthusiasm had to sometimes be held in check at the sound of final bell some days.

He was also able to rope Messrs. Wells and Wallings into get involved in the Band, so adding audio and film editing expertise which they in turn used to create small student study groups within each senior’s class to work with the band in trying to find a cost free way of allowing the Band to play at home sports events incorporating electric instruments being wired through the field’s public address speakers.

By the end of March and with a number of further student requested Saturday morning practices the Friday night Soccer matches now had more non parent adults attending than parents with children playing. It was the same with opposing school’s teams as all sides of the fields or grounds were being filled by non-school spectators more interested in the music than the game itself.

By the time school year ended, most of the events that the Band played at were sold out, meaning that over 5,000 people had either attended as parents or paying non parents. This meant the school received up to an additional $10,000 per game (the seats were $2- each and included a flimsy musical program with a voting slip asking people for music suggestions). The school’s board of trustees had in turn selected several mobile food trucks to cater for visitors before entering the field’s turn styles. That meant even more money which Mr. Carmichael bartered into new Band uniforms for next year.

Em, (it’s quicker to type than Jane or Emerald!) was also having a bit of luck. My first official EOI song “It’s Always Too Late” had ended up selling almost 70,000 downloads. Dad’s friend was thrilled to get his writer’s royalty cheque, as well as the publicity that dad gave him by mentioning his name several times during those first three interviews. He had another song that I liked the sound of and I would have recorded it except dad preferred another friend’s song “Don’t Stand Too Close!” for my 2nd EOI offering.

With the end of school approaching for the year, I only had to do well in my exams for my first year as Jane (nee Em or Emerald) to feel fulfilled. So why should a boy (of all things) be such a problem for me to face shortly after everyone returned to school after the summer holiday break and worse still, the boy would be a school Band musician. Who’d have thought it possible?

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I’m taking a few weeks off, because it’s kind of difficult to read the computer keyboard with one eye covered. The cataract op (so far) was a piece of cake, so doing my other eye next week no longer has me worried. I managed to sneak in under the government timeline caused by the C.V. You all take care, while Jane (Em, Emerald, Sam/Ralph/Bill?) looks forward to “seeing” you in a fortnight’s time.
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Wouldn’t it King Farouk you? ……. Two lousy days before my 2nd cataract op and the government closes down all non-essential surgery here! It’s taken another 6 weeks before I finally got the blasted message as to when my rescheduled op was to take place.

Well it’s done now and although it’s only been 24 hours since the Op…… I can now actually "see" through both eyes now without needing to use my coke bottom glasses! And let me assure you it’s a completely different world I’m seeing out there. My keyboard’s still a bit wobbly and sometimes morphs into 2 or 3 at once, but my specialist assured me my eyes should (nay WILL) both settle back to 20/20 within the next week. Thanks for your patience. OH, can anyone tell me what to do with my nose now that I no longer need it to prop my glasses on.

Previous Key played – D Major……… He had another song that I liked the sound of and I would have recorded it except dad preferred another friend’s song “Don’t Stand Too Close!” for my 2nd EOI offering. With the end of school approaching for the year, I only had to do well in my exams for my first year as Jane (nee Em or Emerald) to be a success. So why should a boy (of all things) be a problem shortly after I returned to school after end of year break “and” worse still he was a Band member. Who’d have thought it possible?

A Different Key – D Minor

Today was the first day of my last year in high school. At long last I was a “senior” which means a lot of liberty, instead of having to abide by school’s strict disciplinary rules that other students have to accept. My timetable is practically the same as last year excepting for my core subjects being moved around some mornings. Afternoon classes still end with Band generally preceded by Music. The one exception to this is that I’m required to do one class per week titled Civic Liberties in place of a Music class.

My teachers changed though. Mr. Carmichael had accepted a more prestigious posting elsewhere and my new music teacher seems about as young as Methuselah. It’s funny how looks can deceive someone isn’t it? Initially I certainly wasn’t looking forward to either Music or band this year. But Old Sid (Mr. Dean) is kind of kewel for a fossil. I also had a new Mathematics teacher who had transferred in from elsewhere in the state, but in his defense he’s written several Mathematics books, one of which is the standard text book used in Mathematics classes throughout the state.

My first Music class with Old Sid had everyone struggling to keep up with him! In Band, his first actions were to display our previous year’s playing list and tear it up in front of everyone, declaring that if anyone hoped to get a music scholarship to a college this year, they’d need to start playing music that would create more active comments from our audiences, then the insipid repertoire we’d been playing recently. Whoa!

He also wasn’t afraid of upsetting student’s feelings either. His first critique of the band’s playing proved that to everyone. He called our playing garbage and proceeded to name names of musicians who played poorly. By the end of the class he had dismissed three musicians from attending future classes, specifically mentioning our drummer whose playing he described as being akin to a windup toy whose spring was busted. A violin player (Larry) he caustically criticized stormed out of the room in tears, followed with more decorum shortly afterwards by one of our coronet musicians (Duncan) who after listening to the description about his musical talent, silently stood up and proceeded to pack away his instrument before regally marching out of the room head tall, back straight and red faced.

Old Sid, his actual name is Mr. Sidney Dean made several more changes to the band including my losing my Xylophone position and being conscripted to be the new drummer. He explained that decision along with several others while referring to notes Mr. Carmichael had left him, which he informed everyone had included an analysis of each musician’s playing skills which he said he agreed with entirely having now heard us play.

When the final bell for the day rang, a deafening sound of silence accompanied our shuffling from the Music room, where in the still warm afternoon air and no longer inhibited by school discipline rules, a number of angry and humiliated musicians vented their opinions about our new Music teacher. Judging by the number of threats being made, Mr. Dean mightn’t have to worry about future rehearsals because if the students backed up their words, there’d be almost no one left to form a band, let alone play in it.

The bus trip home was certainly a lively one. It seemed that almost everyone was bitching about Old Sid’s remarks. I along with a few seniors didn’t offer opinions although asked what we thought about what had gone down. Privately I thought what Old Sid had done was a scathing indictment of how bad Mr. Carmichael had really been. After all, no one had ever been criticized for poor playing before (although a few should have been). All Old Sid had done was what Mr. Carmichael should have done, except he’d been too busy playing Mister Popular to all and sundry. I would have loved to have known what Mr. Carmichael wrote about me in his notes, but perhaps the fact that I’d been made the drummer without this old guy even hearing how I sounded must have meant it had to have been a glowing recommendation.

The next morning saw me anxiously waiting for Band to see if anyone besides me turned up for it. During Music class, Mr. Dean made it known that anyone wishing to join the Band class could transfer across with no difficulty as to needing scholastic credits, adding that any instruments would be considered. He did hand out a brief synopsis about the type of music he wanted to play this year, although not mentioning any specific titles, instead using “popular” along with “public choice preferences” as examples?

Several seniors in our class inquired as to what he meant. He told the class he wanted the Band to play the type of music that the public would want to listen to and not the type of music they’d had foisted on them in the past. He stopped any further discussion on the matter by simply stating that anyone who wanted to turn up today would find out at the same time that the Band musicians did.

Last class Band would show who walked the walk and talked the talk. As it turned out our numbers had definitely reduced somewhat, as only forty students showed up along with a few extra from Senior’s Music. The band had lost about 20% of its members with clearly obvious gaping holes in certain sections. Our String section now had 5 less musicians in it while our Brass and Woodwind sections combined had lost 7 members. Perhaps more importantly though was that although 12 musicians had left, almost everyone who hadn’t played quite well, so our “sound” quality had by default certainly improved when we played our first piece.

The following day saw the same offer made to the complete school population that Mr. Dean had offered to the senior Music class when he invited non Music class students who played instruments or sang in the school choir (or might like to) to come to last class Band that afternoon and find out more about a new direction for the school Band.

Well, you don’t have to be dead to be stiff do you?

I think all of the Band students knew our school had a lot of musicians in it but none of us, well certainly me anyway had any idea just how many there were. Mr. Dean couldn’t fit through the Band classroom door so many students were filling it inside. His carefully held folder containing copies of music he was hoping to get the band playing was quickly proven to be inadequate although perhaps he should have at least started by handing the pages out to already existing band members, instead of just any student standing in-front of him. A quick count found that there were almost 50 students who did not receive a handout.

When this fact solidified in his mind, Old Sid asked for a show of hands as to which instrument or instruments non Band students played. When THAT was finally done and tallied, it showed (provided of course everyone decided to stay) our potential new band could number over 80 and would have a vocal chorus of potentially 24 singers of varying pitches. None of the existing band members could ever recall having members of the school choir being in Band class although previous year’s Bands had sometimes been used to provide a musical accompaniment.

Band class that day went for more than 50 minutes over the normal time for school finishing as where ever possible, students were asked to demonstrate their musical instrument proficiency. Even the old Xylophone I used to play was used and played on. There were several drum playing students who trialed / dueled for the role of the Band’s drummer, two of whom I thought were better than myself although I wasn’t asked to play by Mr. Dean. The class finally broke up with Old Sid promising to definitely have enough copies the following day of music he wanted the band to play to those students who had missed out on receiving them today.

The next afternoon found only 4 students not turn up again and after handing out music to everyone who hadn’t received them yesterday and then rearranging the orchestra seating and positioning of instruments, the 79 piece band along with its singers began playing some of the musical pieces Old Sid had provided us all with. It took a few false starts and then some helpful suggestions from Mr. Dean but incredible as it may be to believe, by the end of final bell there was actually coordinated and actual musical tones being produced in the room.

Once outside and as if by ESP, various musical instruments families huddled together and organized to meet up and practice later on at a nearby park or where ever according to the instrument family concerned. I myself was commandeered more than asked by the string and woodwind family leaders along with the singers to join them at the nearby park, which meant having to phone mom and tell her where I was for when to come and pick me up. Mom just laughed when I rang her and said for me to enjoy myself.

About 2 enjoyable although at times frustrating hours later it was decided on to finally give it up for the day and our musical group broke up more enthusiastic than before it had started. It had been decided on by Penny, Judy, Michael, Jenny and me to concentrate on one piece of music which it was decided on was to be best suited to the instrument families. It also quickly became apparent that all the students there weren’t shy to offer opinions and at the end of each playing, several minutes were spent making suggestions and trying them out. By finishing time, it was obvious to everyone that our singers were actually more of a choir and that of the 6 boys there, 4 had incredible vocal ranges and of our girls, we had 2 very definite sopranos or perhaps mezzo sopranos and a hell of lot of good female harmony voices to build on to make a kickass Band and accompaniment.

The next day at Band, the different areas of the Band performed to show how it was going. Penny had only asked that the String and Woodwind sections perform last. I however wasn’t allowed that liberty as the “Electrics” as they termed themselves, requested I provide drum percussion for their performance. After a run through sans drums, I joined them for their “official” demonstration that made their music even better although any percussion would have rounded them out better.

Jeromy’s Brass section gave a “fair” rendition of, would you believe it……the National Anthem which indeed “was” part of the music Mr. Dean had handed out, while the rest of the Percussion group had decided on doing a mishmash of pieces, since their contribution would always be to provide accompaniment and emphasis to the band’s playing.

But the combined Strings, Woodwind, Singers piece when we played it, left no one else in the room in any doubt as to who were the winners today. With my additional soft percussion accompanying them and with the use of the incredible range of different male and female vocal harmonies on hand, the version of Hallelujah that was played drew a long silence after we had finished before tumultuous applause and shouts of appreciation rang round the Music room from everyone.

After a quick moment to catch his breath, Old Sid critiqued each section before saying he now needed to work out the best pieces of music we should play to audiences at sporting events, adding that for all home games the band would now be expected to deliver the playing of the National Anthem once he had worked out a way to incorporate the rest of the Band’s instruments into it. Class was allowed to leave early that afternoon.

Although our school had its own audio visual department, the now no longer lamented departure of Mr. Carmichael didn’t stop the school’s radio from playing music or showing film clips of school musicians performing. Mom and Dad’s tape of my performing had been shown several times over the past few months although because firstly of school holidays then of school classes, very few outside of the small Audio Visual class had ever seen, heard or even knew about Jane being Emerald. I thought that somehow or other I’d dodged a bullet there.

So a few days afterwards in Band class (of all classes) Mr. Dean asked everyone to watch and listen to a musical film clip, before darkening the room and switching on the CD player. As it ended I was sitting as usual behind the drum kit, now blushing beetroot red as people began turning around to stare at me while the window curtains were being drawn back so everyone could see again. What then made it worse was Old Sid explaining my video to everyone.

He started off by advising everyone that the film clip had no trick or gimmicky camera work done for the musical instrument playing and apart from one other person, no other people were involved in the instrument playing or the singing. Old Sid then made it even worse when he looked at me and said “This school’s previous music teacher hadn’t exaggerated your abilities in his notes to me Miss Seymour, had he? I have therefore decided that “you” young lady will be our musical arranger for the group and along with me, you shall determine which pieces of music we will perform for the year.”

It was right about then that I would have liked for the floor to just open up and allow me to drop down into the bowels of the earth !

Yes this chapters a bit short I'll admit to you. But hopefully posting it will allow me the few days I need to get my eyes back into focus and get future chapters reviewed and ready for posting. It's so weird seeing your keyboard appear to move away from you like mine has just been doing.

As for the key D Minor. It's always been an under-appreciated key musically speaking. I prefer E flat major which is coming up next.

This chapter and later ones shamelessly use an idea from the movie “Brassed Off” in places. I don’t apologize for doing so because “Brassed Off” was very entertaining and done without a single naked body or a drug user in it. Please accept that this story is meant to be fictitious fun and written to entertain a few people through this Covid-19 mess.

Previous Key played – D Minor……… It was right about then that I would have liked for the floor to just open up and allow me to drop down into the bowels of the earth.

A Different Key – E flat Major.

But not surprisingly the floor stayed exactly the way it was. I was left blushing bright red as everyone there accepted Old Sid’s decision about the Band. Apparently I didn’t have a say in it one way or the other. Then as if to perhaps put me in the spot light even further, he asked me what I felt the band needed to do to improve. Um… oh…. mmm… oh frack it!

So I instead tried to place the burden on everyone else by asking aloud what everyone felt about the music scores they’d been given and did they like the music. I knew if nothing else, “that” should get the others talking if yesterday’s comments from Band members I had worked with was any indication. And the bitching started up as if cued to do so, thank god.

While everyone who spoke up seem to agree that the music chosen was a vast improvement on last year, the wiser ones were questioning how we could play and perform songs that had a clear and definite ownership to a specific artist or artiste that could be made to at least sound as good as the original. Since a lot of the pieces were catchy up tempo electro/techno songs such as those by Lady Gaga to name but one, how could a school Band possibly play that sort of music outdoors with very little or no speakers and electrical connectors to plug instruments into? Michael and Jenny between them put forward a good case for why it wouldn't be possible from a singers perspective, to perform those types of songs for people to listen to who might attend the school’s sports games.

When it seemed as if no one else was going to speak up, Mr. Dean asked me for my own opinion about what my bandmates had claimed. I in turn returned service on him by asking Old Sid what exactly the Band’s objectives were supposed to be if they weren’t playing music designed to encourage both our sporting teams and gaining the crowd’s interest?

Old Sid put his hand under his chin as if to think about it. Perhaps ten seconds went by in silence before he said perhaps the first objective for “this new school Band” should be to find a piece of music we could play to inspire our sporting teams first, looking round to see if anyone seemed to disagree.

Penny then spoke up and asked why we couldn’t play the last 30 minutes before the start of home games by playing the music of a popular artist, adding that if the songs we played were well enough known, we might be able to get crowds to sing along with us. She looked around for support piping up about how we now seem to have the makings of a kickass set of singers who could lead the way. Others started calling out suggestions for musical theme nights, with one even suggesting we should get the local newspaper involved and have them publish the words to songs we'd play of at a game.

One of the new guys who played both the trombone and the electric guitar although he’d chosen the trombone for Band, told everyone about a movie he’d watched recently about a mining town in England who apparently had a brass band that went and won their country’s national music award. He offered to bring in the CD with him tomorrow and play some of the music, which Mr. Dean seemed to enthusiastically agree to.

When Old Sid then went and said he’d go and speak to the audio staff about seeing if the school’s sporting arena next door could somehow be fitted out to allow for electric guitars and keyboards to be played there, the entire Band seemed to show considerable enthusiasm for him to do so. He finally called the class back to order and wrote on the board behind him in large letters,
1) Team song for encouragement?
2) Theme Tune Performance Music?
3) Electrical jacks for instruments?

He then turned back round to ask for if anyone had anymore suggestions. Seeing how easy it appeared to be to have the old boy think about alternatives, I stated that with so many new Band-persons it might be the right time to look at wearing a more appealing uniform than the old purple people eaters outfit. Without arguing Old Sid turned back to the blackboard and added,

4) New Style of Uniform before adding a question mark after it and circling it in chalk several times over.

He turned back around and started slap wiping his hands together to mimic how easy it was to get things done before giving the class a ten minute early mark but not before saying that tomorrow’s class would be used to try and find the best way to play the country’s National Anthem along with several variations to allow for some differences for regular sports attendees. He asked me to stay behind for a moment while everyone else streamed out before asking me if I could bring along the uniform my mother had had made for me, telling me that he been left a photo of it in the notes Mr. Carmichael had left along with the idea that this might be a good time for the school board to consider a change of Band uniform. What else did he leave in his notes for his successor to consider I wondered?

When I finally walked outside I was swamped by a number of band-people all asking me if I really did play all the musical instruments in the video. One of the guy singers, Steven I found out later on from Anne, actually put his arm across my shoulder as he quietly asked me was it really me singing? All my girlfriends knew how much I hated being touched, let alone held and I was about to tell this gorilla to piss off and stop touching me, when, god knows why my brain began telling me that his arm across the top of my shoulder actually felt (for once)………. kind of “Nice”. So instead of yelling at him to piss off and stop touching me, I felt myself blush while parts of me tingled in ways I’d never felt before.

In the school bus on the way home, Anne and Carmen gave me so much grief about Steven it came to the point I was whispering loud denials to having any feelings for him let alone admit to agreeing ne might look kind "hot". Until they both got off the bus, they teased me constantly about him and numerous times reminded me how I appeared to have blush red while he was talking to me.

When I got home, my brief reply to mom about how school went today, I soon found out must have made he start worrying about me. I simply headed for my room to my room to get changed out of my school clothes. Once there I made a beeline for my vanity mirror and saw my face still looked flushed, which I hurriedly did my best to try and remedy before getting changed. Once back outside and heading to the kitchen where mom was to find something to snack on, she once again asking me about how today had gone and without realizing it I was blushing again. Mom knew the signs that I must have been trying to hide something from her and like mothers the entire world over, she wanted to know what I was trying to hide.

So I firstly tried explaining to her about what had happened in Band earlier on, which eventually got around to me mentioning about this guy named Steven, which as soon as I said his name had my face yet again turning red. Mom’s silently mouthed “O” before gently smiling was the first time that I felt I no longer needed to defend myself from showing any apparent feelings for someone. Especially since in this case it was a boy I was blushing about! Mom for her part decided to play the role of a big sister as she told me that my own body was now beginning to show the effects of my lack of testosterone and the female hormones I’d been taking now for almost 12 months (partly due to the surgical bilateral orchidectomy my parents had agreed to me undertaking now Jane was sure of her next step in life). I now actually had a pair of breasts (of sorts) to take pride in, although admittedly only a small A (but growing) cup, which were still hidden behind the B Cup cutlets I used inside my bras.

Later on the evening we talked about certain things and feelings “again” and how I had to be extremely careful about not letting any boy/guy touch me somewhere inappropriately. When mom hugged me close I didn’t realize that it was a test of sorts, which when she asked me did I know that she had her hand under my skirt and resting on my crotch, had me hurriedly moving it away. I suddenly realized how easily it was to feel comfortable with someone and therefore vulnerable to certain other people.

Mom then reverted to her protective “Mother Hen” persona and told me we’d be going shopping together on Saturday for something extremely personal for me to wear before chuckling and saying I’d probably need some more stay up stockings and a few pairs of special nylons and possibly a suspender belt or two as well. Looking confused at her, mom happily laughed and told me it might be better for me to wear a pair of tight joggers and a napkin under my school uniform tomorrow so I had an excuse if I met Steven and forgot things, before mom made me stand up. She then playfully swatted my backside and told me to get ready to start getting ready for bed, leaving me furiously blushing in embarrassment over having forgotten such important things that I needed to remember to protect Jane’s new life. We continued to talk about it as mom brushed my hair, which was the accepted sign that I needed to listen to her for my own benefit. Her talk was part mini birds and the bees and part revision training girl 201 lessons. I’d passed class 101 with flying colors some time back but mom felt I needed some re tutoring in girl 201 subjects. In the morning I didn’t wear shorts under my uniform skirt, but did wear control briefs along with a panty liner inside it “and” a pair of pantyhose over the briefs.

Lucky for me I did too. At lunch I sat down with my other musical girlfriends but also with Michael and Jenny as well as Steven, who simply asked if there was room at our table and sat down uninvited beside me! Before long out regular table for eight was not only full but overflowing as other band members sat at tables besides ours and turned their chairs inwards towards our table as we talked about musical artists and themes.

Mom had spoken to me before about how some males out there sometimes emanated a form of invisible essence of some kind, that for reasons still not entirely understood among the females of the Homo Sapiens species, affected women and girls of all ages between 10 and 65 that made them lose track of time or place or events. Our school lunch time was listed as 40 minutes in duration, but for the life of me, the sound of the bell signifying the end of lunch caught me totally unawares and I quickly realized with a startled look my girlfriends were all giggling at me. it seems my mother hadn’t been telling me tales to tease me last night. In fact a deep nasal inhale had me discovering that at least on of the guys sitting around our table did seem to have a particular scent about him that I’d never smelt before. I felt a hand lift the back of my hair outwards and knew that Steven must have had his arm over my shoulder again during lunch and I’d never even noticed him doing so!

Hurriedly rushing to catch up with my other girlfriends on their way to the ladies toilets, I had to embarrassingly ask Carmen and Anne if they’d noticed how long Steven had had his arm across my shoulder. Anne looked back at me as if I was an idiot. So did Carmen. They seemed to know what was happening to me and told me in strict girl confidence how Steven seemed to be as smitten with me as I appeared to be with him. This was certainly news to me and as much as I tried to tell them otherwise, they simply took my denials with a grain of salt and continued to look at me with slight smirks on their faces and bright smiles in their eyes.

Just before band I went round to the administration offices and retrieved the lovely Band uniform mom had had made for me and which after a girl’s music weekend had never been out of the plastic again after it had been dry cleaned. Carrying it over my shoulder I left it in the spare side room until Mr. Dean wanted to look at it. The Band guy yesterday who had said he’d bring in a CD of a movie actually did and on entering the room had handed it straight to Old Sid. The movie strangely enough titled “Brassed Off" was part Rom-Com, part Musical and part History lesson movie and the musical score caught everyone’s attention. So much so that only the students who had no other way of getting home left at the final bell to catch school busses home.

Then finally when they played the William Tell Overture and won the trophy, it had a number of students shouting out we now had a tune that every coach at school would gladly have us playing as their teams ran onto the fields this year and even Old Sid agreed, promising that he get us musical scores as soon as possible to practice rehearsing with. At this time of the year, the main school sport aside from baseball was soccer, which had a reasonable following and also was the first choice for the cheerleading squad for home games. The goal Old Sid decided on was to aim to have the band ready to play it for our next home soccer game in three weeks.

I was asked to go and get changed quickly into the uniform I’d brought along while Gail was asked to change into hers as a comparison of old against new. It only took a quick show of hands shortly afterwards to find the new uniform preferable to the old purple people eater with not a single student objecting. Just before I went and got changed back into my normal clothes I told Mr. Dean that I’d bring the quote my mother had obtained to him tomorrow for reference if the school board agreed to the purchasing of new outfits.

We spent the Following day’s Band class with the brass section playing the WTO (William Tell Overture) after Old Sid had already written the score up onto the smaller blackboard off to one side. He did this while also providing the music for various other non-brass instruments. If nothing else, that act alone shut everyone up, so much so that without having to say so Mr. Dean saw everyone drawing up hasty manuscript pages and writing the music down from off of the board instead of waiting for the copies to be finally provided once the admin office had copied them.

To his credit Old Sid quickly changed from teacher to conductor as he explained how he wanted particular instruments to play or sound. The percussion section was to provide the timpani required, possibly even including some the movie hadn’t shown. He wanted to find a way to somehow or other incorporate a set of church chimes into the music at certain bars. He also wanted the two selected electric guitarists to highlight small areas of the music while he felt it would be possible for some acoustic guitars to be able to be used for additional background music to make the music less brass and and more "orchestral".

The first few rehearsed attempts sounded terrible Old Sid told “the ensemble” as he now labelled us. But there was no doubting how enthusiastic and excited he appeared to be when also explaining how he wanted certain bars of music to sound or be played as. While the Brass section was to be the main focus of the piece, he quickly had the String and Woodwind sections providing additional backing melody that softened, yet emphasized the strong Brass instrument sound playing. His last action before the final bell rang, was to record our last rehearsal playing, then telling everyone he’d have copies for everyone to listen to and compare on Monday before wishing us a good weekend and asking us to practice at home.

“Mom, this guy Steven’s asking me out to the movies next Saturday” I gushed out to her after dinner. I was somehow trying to cradle the phone in my bust while telling her which I hoped at the same time wouldn't let him know I was asking my Mother if it was OK for me to go. Mom simply nodded her head in approval and smiled before I turned around and lifting the phone back up to my ear and said I’d love to. We spoke to each other about silly nothingness things happening around school for about another 10 minutes before he finally hung up. I still didn't fully realize what I'd just done to Jane, but mom sure had. She'd gone straight after nodding her OK to me for the lounge room to obviously inform dad about his daughter Jane just being asked out on a date. When I came into the lounge room it was with more of a bounce than a walk to find both of my parents nonchalantly watching T.V. ignoring my sprightliness completely.

It was dad who evidently decided would have to take on the role of the chief prosecutor and ask me who I’d just been on the phone talking to. After giving him a name, age, my little personal bio I knew of Steven to my concerned father it might appear he'd need to more about someone who had asked his daughter (who remember hadn’t been that for much more than a year) to out out with them. He must have decided he was told enough before ending his cross examination and sternly reminding mom (although I found out later from mom he’d just been play acting) to make sure she spoke to me about “certain things” I'd have to know, then giving me a curfew time to be home by said for me to not make so much noise as he proceeded to watch the program in front of him, whatever it was.

“We’ll talk about it while we’re out shopping tomorrow Jane” mom promised me before glancing sideways towards dad while looking towards the ceiling, then giving me a friendly smile signifying not to be worried. In the silence required by dad (now engrossed again in what was on T.V.) I began to ponder whether I should have been so quick to say yes to Steven’s invite. What in blazes made me say yes?

The next morning I woke up and got ready to go shopping with mom. When I walked into the kitchen to get breakfast, mom suggested it might be better for me to wear a longish sort of skirt today instead of the usual figure hugging jeans I was wearing. After I’d eaten and cleared away the dishes into the washer I went and got changed into a casual skirt that fell down to about knee height. I cheated about hose and chose to remain bare legged for the day. There’s nothing worse than wearing stockings or pantyhose during warm weather when you don’t actually have to after all.

One good thing about shopping with mom was that she’d often allow me to drive if dad wasn’t in the car. The topic about me having my own transport had been brought up again just recently and dad’s blunt refusal about me having my own car before I was 18, didn’t seem as set in stone anymore. His new line of thought was that provided I showed I was mature enough, he “might” consider allowing me to have my own car, provided I was able to pay the for insurance and running costs myself!

AS we neared the shopping precinct mom gave me directions as to which streets to turn into and after mindlessly doing so, realized as mom instructed me to park anywhere round here that we were nowhere near our regular shops were since we weren’t even in the mall’s carpark street. Once out of the car, mom stopped me outside of a, would you believe it, an “Adult Product’s” store, whose sign on both the overhead metal sign and front window had painted showed “Be Daring” and in smaller letters under both Adult Products and whose actual large shop front window and entry door were completely whitewashed over so the public couldn’t see inside the shop from the footpath outside.

My curiosity was certainly peaked because I’d never in all my life set foot in a sex shop before either as Michael and “definitely” not as Jane. In fact it actually felt a bit naughty entering one because a sudden thought had me panicking that one of my friends or someone from school might have seen me or recognized me walking into this one……… At school a not so unusual reaction to hearing somebody relating their shopping experience in one, was to humorously call them a pervert or a sexual deviant and almost without exception, the person concerned would either funnily camp it up for everyone or mimic what they supposed a sexual degenerate behaved like.

On passing through a curtain to back up the whitewashed front door, the sight that my eyes beheld had me thinking “whoa, so this is what these stores look like inside”. The store seemed exceptionally long and narrow with a clearly defining center display stand separating the store into two lanes of shopping products. The store lighting was simple diffused overheard fluro lights and the several male clients inside weren’t wearing long plastic overcoats or greatcoats. I'd already heard several times about how the sex shop customers walked around inside totally naked under the plastic or army surplus great coats they wore with only their shoes and the bottoms of cut off trouser legs held up with rope ties around them to make people think they were dressed. Admittedly most of the clients inside were men, but none of them seemed dressed that way, while there was also a twentyish looking young woman aside from mom and myself browsing around the store picking up and inspecting boxed products before returning them to the shelf she took them from.

Mom simply chortled quietly, possibly guessing what was running through my mind. “Behold the holiest of holies of men the entire world over honey” mom whispered loudly which immediately had me giggling, firstly at first her sense of humor then secondly at how easily she had just made me relax and not feel nervous or embarrassed about being inside an adult sex shop.

She obviously guessed this was my first time inside one of these shops and decided to give me an educating tour around the product shelves. She casually would chose a clear plastic fronted box and casually hand it onto me, carelessly commenting on the product’s genuine similarity or lack thereof to an actual thing. Her humorous coarse remarks about certain products she showed me soon had me giggling or chuckling loudly in this sacred shrine of male masculinity and I discovered a new side to mom I never known of before. She certainly wasn’t embarrassed about both either seeing or handling various sized and colored phalluses, faux vagina’s, anus’s or anything else, although she did say about certain products how a woman’s plumbing would make something hard to use or be not that enjoyable to experience.

At the end of the far wall was another curtained doorway that had a printed sign on the wall above it stating B.D.S.M. which mom wordlessly ushered me through the curtain of. The other side of the curtain was in contrast to the room we had just come from. The walls of this room were painted dull black and there were a lot of mirrors around the floor, while the overhead lighting was made of small spotlights shinning downwards. The display cases were all glass fronted and chrome closed at each top and side, while on the walls hung mannequins wearing various types of clothing, some with chains of varying thicknesses or lengths. Some of the mannequins displayed hands in silver handcuffs or cuffs around their ankles, some both. Others included masks over their heads as well as being zipped up or unzipped. There were far too items many to mention here.

After allowing me to satisfy my curiosity somewhat over my first actual sighting in the flesh so to speak of discipline appliances, Mom guided me over to where am employee was casually standing behind a glass top counter with the shelves behind fully stocked. Mom quietly explained what she was looking for while I only half listened, far too busy absorbing what was on the various mannequins displayed around the room. I did catch mom saying something belt, but wasn't really listening to the conversation between mom and the elderly shop employee I was so distracted with looking around. He turned around and selected several small boxes which he handed over to mom saying underwear had to be worn at all times trying on the products.

Taking the boxes from him she moved behind me and quietly directed me towards what appeared to be a very poorly built temporary changing room and telling me as she slid the door close and latched it behind us, to take my skirt off and try on a belt. Perhaps mom wasn’t ready to call it a chastity belt at the moment.

After trying on several and with my confirmation as to whether they were comfortable or not, which needed to include a brief walk around the area outside as well as in the main area of the store to check for chafing for each belt, we left the store with me carrying a quite practical non descript plastic carry bag that contained 3 boxes containing “modesty” belts. Then after driving around to our regular shopping center and purchasing the necessary groceries for the following week, I drove mom and me home. On the drive home we talked about my “modesty” belts as mom pronounced them while I called them what they were in olden times “chastity” belts before mom decided to concede the term while explaining her reasoning to purchasing them for me to wear.

It all boiled down to the fact that until I could manage to control my feelings more consistently so that I wasn’t in any danger of being touched somewhere inappropriately, for the sake of both Jane’s new life, my reputation and to avoid any possibly violence being perpetrated against me by troglodytes, I’d be required to wear one of the chastity belts when I wasn’t at home, although I would be expected to carry the small unlocking key on my person to cater for toilet usage situations.

Out of curiosity I wore a chastity belt around the house for the rest of the weekend, only taking it off when using the toilet, or at bedtimes. Mom and I checked whether some sort of unusual bulge might divulge my secret, but the three belts all had soft though stiff leather around the inside thighs region, but which also allowed me to wear the belts over my waistline which also meant they were snuggled very closely between my legs and thighs. It felt slightly awkward walking around with a slightly opened gait and it took at lot of getting used to trying to cross my legs without feeling uncomfortable. Mom didn’t tell dad what she’d purchased for me just yet and he didn’t suspect a thing. Certainly he kept reminding about behaving appropriately with Steven even up until the time he called round for me, which dad wouldn't have needed to do if he knew what I was having to wear!

On the Monday, I'd already planned to make sure I had taken off and discreetly hidden the chastity belt in my locker before Gym, so I was able to get changed as I usually did. But when it came to Band, I suddenly found it a bit awkward to sit at the drums perched on a small stool and use my bass drum pedal comfortably! Mr. Dean made mention of my slightly less than usual good percussion work, although not going any further than to inquire if I was alright today.

By the end of Wednesday Band class, our ensemble had mastered the Star Spangled Banner anthem perfectly for performing at our next sports gathering. Each day thereafter, the ensemble incorporated in the words being sung, which became the responsibility of Michael with Geoff Smartz designated alternate anthem singer. The girls voices were used for additional harmony as were the remaining boys. By the following Monday, our now stirring rendition of the country’s anthem was certainly worthy of being listened to.

I’d arranged with Steven for him to call for me so we could view an early show Saturday evening. Then he’d planned to take me to dinner, which after careful consideration for his and my money (because we'd already agreed to go Dutch this time), had us going to a nearby Chinese takeaway where I knew they served tasty food at sensible prices. Getting ready for my first date didn’t entail having to do much really. I’d already told mom no to her offer a makeover at the salon we both now used, besides which I already knew how to do my nails properly now anyway.

But mom still claimed “Mother’s Privilege” to help me to get ready and I kind of hoped she’d help me incase I wore something wrong. So after showering and getting rid of any unwanted hair, mom watched as I took out a pair of my prettiest matching bra and panty sets to wear. I’ll admit I was very tempted to wear stockings and a suspender belt, but felt that already wearing one belt was enough and that two could very likely be a problem. When I pulled out a pair of stay ups instead mom simply told me I was wiser than most women who went out every weekend and I knew then I’d chosen correctly.

So after putting on my underwear and then my chastity belt, I decided on wearing a simple blouse and flowing soft skirt with 3 inch heels to finish it off the rest of my first date outfit. The skirt wasn’t short and came down to my knees, but because it was so loose and big at the bottom, would allow me to be able to be comfortable if it rode up while I was sitting and still allow me modesty with prettiness.

When I’d done my face, mom finished brushing my hair to a shining luster before pinning it enough to enable me to wear it falling to one side of my head. Mom then took about five million photos of me before sitting down in the lounge room and waiting with me for Steven to turn up. Needless to say, Steven’s tongue almost fell out of his mouth when he first saw me. The flowers (with a small bunch for mom too) he gave me were a nice touch (and so 50’s don’t you think), while dad who made an obviously rehearsed late entry into the lounge room, gave both his blessing to how we both looked while reminding Steven about how much he loved his little girl, leaving my date in no doubt about what would happen to him if he did something inappropriate to me.

All in all we had a really fantastic night out together. If anyone watching us saw my father later on they’d have to tell him we acted like an innocent couple simply having a good time. During the movie though I did permit Steven petting rights, but only up to a certain point, which was just far enough up my legs but well away from my chastity belt, and only allowing his hand to stay on the outside of my skirt at all times. I did however allow him to put his other arm over my shoulder and cuddling rights, which I suppose encouraged him to try the old accidently seeming to let his left hand slip down onto my left breast for a brief moment. After a second time and again quickly removing his offending paw, I gave him the screaming out warning, which saw him stop it.

He had already taken my right hand and carefully placed it quite high up inside his left leg but just below his groin using his own hand over mine to move it around slightly at times. No actual contact was made with his cock, but it would have been quite easy if I'd wanted to rub the outside of him. Our kissing was a bit of trial and error. Finally we both worked it out that the movies we’d both seen weren’t practical in real life. We quickly discovered that our noses often got in the road a bit too much for truly toe curling kisses. But somehow or other we worked out how to do it properly in the end.

During the previous few days I’d actually wanted to go and see the movie he and I ended up paying for. But I’m dashed if I could tell any of my friends now what the movie was all about since I didn't pay to much attention to it! Our Chinese meal afterwards was indeed the perfect finishing touch to a wonderful night out first date.

Steven made sure he dropped me home before curfew and I rewarded him accordingly at the front door. Mom then helped me get undressed while I dished out what we had done together, making sure I didn’t get too detailed about things and was rewarded by seeing the satisfaction in mom’s eyes as she tucked me in and kissed me goodnight.

My personal clothing secret remained exactly that and would have remained so except mom was late driving me to school one day. That left me racing the entire morning to catch up on class note writing from blackboards. When a person like myself (who's normally used to running to time), finds they're needing to move faster to catch up, it sometimes means that I’m not thinking at top speed all the time. So with my mind that morning needing to think quicker than it usually did and with me normally using Gym to allow my mind to relax to a more calming place, I simply wasn’t thinking when I began to get changed for Gym and unintentionally showed what I was wearing underneath my uniform skirt.

O.M.G. I could have died when Lesley, the girl changing next to me embarrassingly cried out in a voice I just wished would have been quieter, when she asked me "is that a chastity belt your wearing Jane?" Then before I could react or even offer an answer or explanation to her, every girl around me seemed to be looking and exclaiming either OMG's, praise, criticism or else asking with a curious tone what it was like to wear. With a speed that every girl knows about, it seemed that soon every girl in the change rooms was aware I was wearing a chastity belt by the time we headed out to commence Gym.

A few of the Cheerleader girls gave me grief about it with whispered insults ranging from my promiscuity and obvious lack of it, through to the belt being a waste of money because I’d never get a guy to go out with me anyway, let alone get him to want to screw me! The rest of the class was spent with me having to whisper my reasons for wearing it to one girl after another, or describing how it felt wearing it, to how comfortable or uncomfortable it was to wear.

Then when I needed to take it off to shower, I had probably the entire female class crushed together around me watching me remove it. I did so if only to appease the mob and because I needed to shower the sweat away, but as I usually did when showering after gym I left my underwear on until I'd entered and locked my shower cubicle to wash. It was better to leave the chastity belt on top of my clothes instead of trying to pack it away and have it opened up anyway after i was under the shower, to allow the girls who simply had to look and touch to do so.

The one thing I’d learnt about women since I’ve joined the female team was that with few exceptions, most of them “can” keep a secret or not spread a rumor (or fact) if it was to a boy unless it was out of bitchy spite. So by the end of lunch apart from my lunch table friends curiously asking me about wearing a chastity belt, it appeared none of my gym class had done anything bitchy. I was thankful for that because of my afternoon classes. It appeared no guy was any the wiser as to what I was wearing or seemed to be quietly whispering to other guys. By now I’d mastered any discomfort sitting on my stool and playing the drums.

There was a funny side to the girls in my Gym class discovering what I was wearing. I found that out a few days later and that I’d unintentionally started a new fashion trend among the senior girls. By Friday, it was considered to be Tre-Chic to be wearing a chastity belt with a lot of the more adventurous girls letting it be known they were wearing one. In Gym, if you had brought the wrong colored, or with not enough silverwork showing on it chastity belt “and” were seen wearing it, you’d performed the worst possible fashion faux par ever!

I knew that mom had spent over $600 for my three belts but the belts that some of the girls wore, made mine look like they were made out of tinfoil. The head cheerleader would proudly show off her own gold plated front with what she claimed were small rubies along the front in the shape of an outlined heart to any girl in the change rooms who looked. She also seemed to have appointed herself the “Fashionista” of the change rooms, letting those particular girls who were wearing chastity belts she didn’t approve of, take the full verbal brunt of her distain for that girl’s style.

By Friday every person in the senior year Music class had joined Band class. This allowed Music classes to be able to extend into Band class time when necessary, while allowing pre Band extra lessons to those seniors who might need personalized learning help. Mr. Dean had also been exceptionally busy sorting out band requirements as per the wish list he had drawn up on his black and refused to allow to be erased except by him and only if the part being erased had been achieved.

So with 13 days until the next “home” soccer match, he gave a short speech about how the sports stadium would be wired up for electric instruments in time for our next home game performance. He then dramatically erased the point from off of the blackboard before explaining how the school board would not however be able to find the funds necessary for 102 new Band uniforms in the school’s budget (actually it would only be 101 with my outfit already made). He did say though that there was probably just enough money to enable the school to purchase uniforms for those new to the Band.

In what was also considered another first for Band, Old Sid’s news wasn’t what was hoped for or what they wanted to hear, so the class decided to revolt. Since practically everyone who had recently joined was a musician (or singer) and as with most (but not all) school musicians had parents who the kids could ask for financial assistance from, the idea new uniforms couldn't be afforded wasn't satisfactory. Within a minute a seriously enforced school rule about the non using of mobile phones on school premises was being broken, as if by magic 90 mobiles phones were in use for contacting parents. Those who didn’t have phones simply waited for a friend to share theirs. The entire room was one gigantic seething mass of noisy moving students doing the mobile rhumba talking with parents. Old Sid simply stood mute and watched his class ignore him entirely.

By the time some phones had been shared around and used, the class finally started to quieten down and looked back towards the front to allow Mr. Dean to have his class back. He began by reiterating how the school board might be able to purchase enough uniforms for the newer members with a student payment of $30 for each uniform, but there were not enough funds to attire the now much larger Band in new uniforms. Michael Lee our best solo vocalist then stood up and asked if the school would allow for the new uniforms to be made if it was paid for by parents directly. He then said his own parents would pay for his Band uniform and turned around to the class and asked aloud if any other student had parents who would pay for their uniform, asking those who would to stand up.

Almost as one everyone appeared to stand up at first. However a quick head count soon saw 18 students still seated or not able to stand up with confidence. Michael Lee turned to Mr. Dean and asked Old Sid if he could arrange to have a letter drafted up for parents to sign. The school would then only need to find enough money to pay for possibly 18 new Band uniforms. The stunned look on Old Sid’s face didn't however hide his excitement over what was now happening, so he gave the class an assurance that by tomorrow’s class letters for parent’s would be available to be taken home for signature.

He then advised the class that after reviewing all of the written requests about possible new music, he had prepared a list pending how the makeup of the crowd at our next home soccer game eventuated before allowing him to be in a position to provide a final program for the rest of the school’s musical and sporting year’s calendars. He asked the class though if he could organize for the copying of manuscripts for a possible short program of a famous 1960’s musicians music, would everyone agree to it. He then offered the choice of playing a medley of Beatles, Rolling Stones or Burt Bacharach/Hal David songs, using the chalk board to write down a number of songs from each artist.

Someone, I’m not sure who called out about the half time break and if we could play music that allowed for the school’s cheerleaders to get involved. Old Sid thought about it momentarily before making a face that seemed to signify he thought it wasn’t a bad suggestion. Nodding his head, he said he’d speak to the people involved and something might be able to be arranged.

This seemed to appease everyone at least for the moment, before Old Sid asked everyone if they’d practiced "Tell" over the weekend. He then called for a rehearsal now stating it might sound scratchy playing. It sure was but it was certainly enthusiastic played. The short remaining time that day was spent concentrating on the first 55 bars of the tune.

Once final bell had gone and everyone was outside, discussions were split between uniforms and how long it would take to get made and with section leaders trying to arrange hasty after school rehearsal commencing the following afternoon. Since I was supposedly now in charge of the ensemble, as each musical section came to agreement about possible after school practices times, I was approached for assistance to coordinate it.

Because of the need for the school’s own small stadium to be used by sporting teams for practices after school, it was generally agreed that a nearby public park was the most obvious not to mention closest venue to hold practices at, so all that was needed was for permission to be obtained to go there and practice. I dashed back into school and made a beeline for the Music and Audio staff room where, upon knocking and asking, was invited into their sanctum where I discussed out of school practices with Mr. Dean.

On hearing of the apparent enthusiasm of the ensemble he asked me to go with him to the Principal’s office straight away and see how to obtain local authority’s permission to use the park for Band practices. Our Principal Mr. Dwyer simply looked on his computer before proceeding to ring up and see if it would be allowable for the ensemble to practice there. Listening to only one side of a phone conversation isn’t easy, but after several questions by him over the phone to an unseen person, and their possible answers back to him, Mr. Dwyer hung up and announced the park would be allowed to be used for Band practice between 3.40pm and 5.30pm on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays!

Quickly standing up to leave, I thanked both of them before dashing back outside to let a now much smaller huddle of students (who were all the ensemble’s section leaders) the practice times. They told me they’d contact their musicians at home during the rest of the afternoon and tell them about the practice times. Old Sid had assured me while I was thanking both the Principal and him that he’d have an announcement ready to be made at all the registration classes tomorrow morning for those not able to be contacted.

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May I extend my heartfelt thanks to everyone who has been following this story, offering kudos, comments or even using author contact to offer encouragement for the story as well as my well being. A Different Key - F Major, will hopefully be up and posted by BCTS June 5th ? - Please stay safe.
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Previous Key played – E flat Major…… They told me they’d contact their section’s musicians and tell them about the practice time. Old Sid had assured me while I was thanking both him and the Principal that he’d have an announcement ready to be made at all the registration classes tomorrow morning for those not able to be contacted.

Glossary for F Major: WTO - William Tell Overture. EOI - Expression of Interest.

A Different Key – F Major

Afterschool practice the following day highlighted it wasn’t practical to hold them at the park we had chosen because of the lack of amenities to allow electrical instruments to be played there. Certainly the rest of ensemble was able to improve its playing and yes, our 24 member choir were able to practice their harmonizing there, but without the electric instruments, important places in the music weren’t able to be worked on properly.

A few people living in the houses on the other side of the road next to the oval/park had heard the instruments being played and came out of their houses for a sticky beak. By 4.30pm there must have been about 60 to 70 people (mostly elderly or perhaps unemployed) who were sitting down over the far side of the oval/park benches listening to the ensemble, giving slight applause when a piece was played all the way through. It would have been nice if it might have possible to show them how good the full ensemble sounded but we didn’t have electricity. Still, when we played through the 6 songs at 5pm as a final rehearsal and on playing the WTO heard it earn a loud round of cheering and we had all of them standing up during the national anthem and could quite plainly hear their muted words to the Star Spangled Banner.

I’d already asked dad at breakfast if he could arrange to pick me up at 5.30 and he’d parked his car and was waiting outside it listening to the ensemble practice. On the drive home he said we all sounded pretty good for an amateur school band and I explained to him that we would’ve sounded a lot better if we’d been able use the electrical instruments we used at school. Dad turned to me momentarily and grinned as he informed me that he saw one of the park/oval’s lighting columns had a power connection at the base we could use before laughing at the expression on my face after being told about that!

He also mentioned how I had a bit of interesting news to look forward to reading when we got home. This seemed quite trivial to me at the moment since I was already on my mobile and phoning up the guitar and keyboard players and telling them about the power access. Dad listening in told me after I disconnected from my last call, (which was to Penny about the park practice tomorrow) he had a half day in the studio tomorrow and would arrange to bring down all the necessary cabling and even a couple of old microphones and amplifiers as well as an out of date portable sound mixing console.

It wasn’t until after we’d eaten tea and I’d cleaned away the plates that dad handed me a letter from Crazy Music Records (CMR). The letter showed my EOI songs sales record to date as of Friday week ago. The two recordings dad had given them had combined together now sold/downloaded over 50,000 copies with my first EOI recording “It’s always too late” having now sold over 35,000 across two southern states (Louisiana and Mississippi) and was becoming a regular request on MTV as well as local television stations in the far south. The letter stated that CMR would now be targeting the rest of the southern states and was projecting potential sales well in excess of 200,000 for the song and if all went well, then they’d release it nationally.

My second EOI recording “Don’t Stand to Close” was now being revised promotionally and would be rereleased both within our state and of course along all of the southern states, certainly first of all in Louisiana and Mississippi with much greater backing from CMR because they’d only been looking at the market in my own state and only released it because of my local popularity there. The song was very different from “It’s Always to Late” but both dad and I had always been of the opinion it had been a far better commercially viable song then “Don’t Stand to Close”.

When I finally looked up from reading the letter and absorbing all of its statistics, there was mom looking at me with a huge happy smile. So was dad before he interrupted my thoughts and told me that we’d better start looking at a third song to record and offer to CMR quickly, so as to improve my chances of a better recording contract offer when they finally woke up to themselves. He then informed me that as my agent CMR had deposited into his bank account a royalty payment which after deducting his “own” agent’s commission would leave me more than enough money to be able to purchase a small car, if I wanted one……My own car, too right I did which the look on my face again had both him and mom laughing loudly.

School the next morning comprised of unannounced quiz tests in all of my morning classes (the results of which would be part of my final assessment grading) which was fine by me. I’d never had too much trouble soaking up knowledge in class and along with my studying usually saw me getting at least an A in all of them with an A+ in my favorite mathematics class. Gym after lunch was now at least sufferable. I was left alone by the Queen Bee and her friends who no longer seemed to care what I wore under my clothes as school fashions change in a second. Mr. Dean’s Music class today concentrated on explaining the reasons for using of “Harmonic and Melodic Minor” scales as opposed to using “Natural Minor” scales! His enthusiasm for the subject left everyone else in the room confusingly bemused however!

Band saw everyone concentrating on practicing another two songs. At the rate the class was progressing, it’d be impossible to learn all fourteen songs before Friday week, which with today only allowed us nine more days to learn to play them competently including the weekend, which was exactly what the section leaders had asked me to tell Old Sid would be needed to be done. As long as we didn’t run too late on Saturday for Steven and I to shower and change, to allow him to pick me up to go out again this time to the town’s only acceptable restaurant for a date/dinner.

That afternoon after school I learned that dad had already arrived at the park/oval and set up all of the cabling and lead boards that only required everyone plugging in their own amplifiers. The singers now had 5 microphones between them to share, while dad had also bought along his studio’s miniature electric drum kit for me to use, which I’d completely forgotten about. Needless to say Wednesday’s park practice was 100 times better than yesterdays and yesterday’s “crowd” seemed to be slightly bigger too.

While Old Sid had made me Co-director of the ensemble I designated Anne (who was the ensemble’s 1st chair) to control the practice in regards as to the order in which each piece of music was to be played. Dad had at my insistence (pleading) listened closely to give me (and therefore Anne) helpful tips as to how to improve our playing. Even Jerry Potts had to agree with some of dad’s suggestions.

By the time Saturday rolled round the ensemble had mastered (if not yet perfected) 10 songs plus the WTO and the National Anthem. So Saturday’s practice, this time overseen by Old Sid saw us perfecting the 10 and attempting the last 4 songs of the possible program. This time though, instead of using the school’s playing arena, (because they were only part way done getting it rewired) we used the Music room instead, while advising everyone that Sunday’s practice was no longer going to take place. Steven and I didn’t get to go to dinner on Saturday night due to an enthusiastic over run of practice time and although I would have liked him to, he didn’t accept my mom’s offer to join us at home to eat.

By Tuesday Band and with just two and a bit more days to practice, the Audio teacher advised Old Sid the rewiring of the school’s arena was completed and we spent Wednesday Band and sometime after final bell practicing outside in a hasty dress rehearsal. It was also then told to everyone that the WTO would now be part of the program, although not being used to play the team onto the field apparently because soccer teams “walk” and never run or charge out onto the field!

Because of the large increase in the size of the Band we would now no longer be playing in our Purple People Eaters uniform and would instead wear white or purple shirts (depending on which student had what colored shirt in their wardrobe) and wearing long grey trousers (skirts were an option for the girls). As yet no decision about the new uniforms had been given either. As for the cheerleading group, they hadn’t bothered to get back in touch with Old Sid so the half time break consisted of little more than cheers to the crowd on our side of the park while Lennon High’s cheerleaders did the same on their side of lightly filled arena.

Still the crowd from both towns who did turn up that Friday seemed to like our pre-game show and some of them were even heard singing along. But to us musicians, it was a bust of epic proportions. Still Old Sid stated when everyone was packing up that he now thought he had enough information of his own to determine a musical program for the sports we’d be playing for during Autumn/Winter to at least keep the musical interest of enough new people for the band. It turned out that after a few more weeks nine students eventually gave Band away, mainly girl singers no longer interested but also several musicians from both sexes.

The following two months however saw my own personal musical ambitions begin to bloom. Emerald, CMR’s publicity department had decided was a more gimmicky name to promote than Jane Seymour and besides was already out there. The combined sales of my released songs now totaled over 858,000 downloaded sales plus over 3 million hits on line. I’d certainly have enough to get through college if I didn’t earn a financial scholarship. My 3rd and 4th releases had also done well although none managed to “break” through the market out there and become a nationwide hit. Still CMR decided it would sign me to a 3 album contract over the next 2 years, which dad told me they’d ask him to be the producer for.

Regrettably I also learned what genetic girls already knew about and had suffered from since the start of time. First crushes almost inevitably never last very long and alas Steven and I only survived three more weeks before he dumped me. With hardly any form of apology, he simply stopped asking me out and I soon learned from other ensemble girls that he’d apparently started dating Simone from the ensemble’s choir and despite my tears and silent plotting of a spiteful revenge, they seemed suited to one another. The break up also caused me to get my first ever “D“ for a class assignment that saw me being looked at both in sympathy and annoyance by the subject’s teacher. It also merited another parent’s letter needing to be signed and returned, which under the circumstances mom decided to cut me some slack over it.

On the school band front, we performed Friday evening shows at both inter school and home games and were starting to gain a following among the local townsfolk. To ensure we didn’t become stale, two new songs were rehearsed each week and swapped in for others to ensure we didn’t begin sounding repetitive and our repertoire soon numbered almost 30 songs we could choose from. Mr. Dean had even organized for lyrics to be printed in the local paper for people to read that saw extra cleaning work for the contractor on Saturdays. At least like last year, the school treasurer liked the unexpected additional revenue from Friday evenings again.

With the football season starting in a few weeks time, Old Sid had for the past few weeks been scheming with me and now along with Anne and the other section leaders, about finding ways to assist the “money maker team” which even their coach acknowledged would very likely have a mediocre season of results barring a miracle.

He’d already made it known he wanted the WTO played when the team ran out onto the field both before the start of the game and after half time break renewal. The ensemble also now all had their new uniforms which had finally been approved by the school board made even though they’d been paid for by the ensemble member’s parents.

The ensemble had also decided that although we were expected to play at other schools for their home games, it wouldn’t be feasible to try and load onto a school bus all of the necessary cabling, speakers and amplifiers required to produce our unique sound and try to set it up in their school’s arenas. Then afterwards need to break it down to reload onto the bus for the trip back to our own school and unload it there before then having to store it back inside the Music room, while using the typical school busses that had been provided to transport us to those schools.

Instead at away games, we’d decided to play a combination of modern and classical tunes as well as the WTO to entertain the people attending those games. The program for away games was set in stone and actually sounded quite good to listen to possibly because of the two song changes made each time. Besides we only had to play for 30 minutes and then play short stirring excerpts from the WTO though out the game (if our team needed encouraging) to fulfil our commitment. Besides, the halftime break was always the responsibility of the home school to provide.

So Old Sid had been using band classes for the past month to concentrate on rehearsing for the five “Theme Nights” programs to cover the school’s “home” gridiron football games. It came as quite a surprise when the list for the theme nights was read out. He actually read out more than five Themes, ranging from “Golden Oldies, Cats, (who’d have thought that) even the old standbys of school bands everywhere “Rocky Horror” was on the list. But no one expected Dance Crazes to be there or for that matter, musicals such as "Phantom", "Aspects of Love", "Evita" or even "Starlight Express". But Old Sid justified why a particular theme had made his list and besides he’d already organized for all the printing so everyone had to accept it now and accept a copy of the manuscripts concerned.

Our sporting events performing along with Mr. Dean’s incredible ability to have our local paper continue to give us free plugs as well as printing the lyrics to songs we’d be playing that week, soon saw as many as 1,500 people who didn’t have children or knew of students competing at the games attending each week. It was discovered that some brought along their children with them to try to get them interested in playing a musical instrument.

But it was always thought among the ensemble that most non parents turned up holding onto the newspaper pages showing the songs (some dressed up, others not), simply because there was nothing better to do for so cheap an entry price. Everyone no matter what age also invariably ended up watching the game and enthusiastically cheering when our teams played well. That would then see the following week’s local paper mentioning players who had done something special if our school had won, especially against a school that had a particular rivalry with and sometimes publish a photo of the crowd or individual supporters.

Band classes were now not just educational classes, but also a forum to air musical ideas and sometimes complaints. The worst of those was on learning that while the ensemble’s new uniforms had been paid for by our parents, the Cheerleading squad had been allowed to have new uniforms paid for by the school (along with several supporters). Especially so since it was common knowledge that no college people had made special visits to view their performances so far and that they’d competed in a greatly reduced number of contests for school cheerleading squads.

Their coach Mrs. Grebopple had even given Old Sid a list of songs she required the ensemble to play for their half time break show, which he had agreed to and had made the ensemble rehearse for, yet surprisingly never critiqued our playing any further after she had made it known she didn’t like his personal interpretational changes to her music choices. So he and therefore the ensemble simply lost interest in how we played their half time program. The ensemble soon noticed after a few half time performances how the crowd from both towns tended to get up and go to buy food or for personal breaks when we played it at our home games anyway.

It was after our last away game and when everyone was loading their instruments on-board the third of our school busses that Mrs. Grebopple came storming over and gave everyone a verbal spray not only about our playing of her half time music program, but about the ensemble’s skill level at even playing musical instruments. There were quite a few pissed off student’s heads looking out from the three busses windows listening and we all cheered when Old Sid looked at her and told her to “drop dead you silly old bat!”

Back at the school and unloading, Mr. Dean called the music section heads together and told us we had the rest of the weekend to come up with a better musical program and convince Mrs. Grebopple, “otherwise I may need to find another school to teach at next year” he told us primly before walking off to go to his car and driving off. The other section leaders all turned towards me as if I had the answer.

While mom was driving me home I spent the entire time talking on my phone to each Section leader and finally with Anne our 1st chair. Mom had been listening to me on the phone and on easing the car into our garage and turning the engine off suggested I should ring everyone back and invite them around tomorrow, then talk to my dad after I’d eaten something. Instead I decided to do everything mom had suggested in reverse and on hearing dad tell me the studio was free for the entire weekend if I wanted to use it, told me “get moving young lady and make the silly old cow choke on her words” and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, then a short shove towards the kitchen where mom was plating up my rewarmed dinner.

Between mouthfuls of casserole I phoned every section leader back and invited them around to my place tomorrow for a special music session that I had an idea about and wanted to try. I told Michael Lee to make sure every singer came even if he had to phone the others to arrange transport and that I’d take care of tomorrow’s lunch. Mom had as always sat at the table to make sure I ate everything after Friday night performances before telling me she’d see dad about getting the BBQ cleaned away tomorrow morning and saying she’d make sure there was enough food for 30 people at lunch tomorrow. It turned out we only needed to cater for 27 because a few of the girl singers couldn’t make it however much Jenny (the joint leader of the choir section) insisted.

After I’d eaten and changed into my jimjams, I went down to dad’s studio and using the equipment played and then sometimes replayed a number of songs before eventually downloading and recording 4 songs that would run to about almost 17 minutes of continuous music before going to bed. I’d thought about the half time program a few months previously, but back then the pressure was on getting the ensemble performing well and like everyone else didn’t care about half time or the cheerleaders.

In the morning I waited for everyone to start turning up to listen to what I had to show them. But I knew I had a few critics among the ensemble and two of them would be here today so if they and a few others didn’t agree with my idea, it may all be just a waste of time. Fortunately by 9.30 am everyone was starting to turn up when I had asked them to arrive, and when Anne got out of her parent’s car followed by the school’s Queen Bee Vivian Jones, I wasn’t sure whether to cheer or ask WTF is she doing here.

Instead I kept quiet for the moment and led everyone around to the large covered patio area out the back where mom had set up several trestle tables with enough timber, plastic, fold up and kitchen chairs as possible to sit on along with several buckets of ice containing cans of cold drinks. I’d also put my CD player on one of the tables with the CD I’d recorded last night in it.

After everyone had a cold drink I started to explain my idea, after which I played the CD though its entire 17 minutes before it shut off automatically and waited for someone to say something. It was Anne who did so first saying she liked it before explaining to everyone what Vivian was doing here. As soon as she finished explaining and asked Vivian what she had thought of it, I just hoped the Queen wouldn’t throw a hissy.

She stood up slowly while carefully putting the can she was drinking from back on the table. “It’s so raunchy I can’t wait to devise a cheer program for it” she said enthusiastically. “Can I call a few of the girls to come around and try out a few things Janey” Janey? Where’d that name just come from, which I knew meant that for the rest of the day and at school from now I’d be probably called Janey.

Everyone then tried to speak all at once about the music, but best of all no one seemed to have any objections to any of the songs. Michael Lee managed to be speak the loudest and said he just wished we had the ensemble here to practice the music so we could possibly play it first thing at Band on Monday. Penny (who before Anne joined the ensemble had been in charge of the String’s section) knowing about dad’s business and had seen the studio before asked me if dad was working today, and with my negative head shake asked aloud why we couldn’t do it today, which had most of the others looking confused.

Looking over at mom and telling her we’d see her up top around 1ish, I asked everyone to follow me and led them towards dad’s underground recording studio. Once downstairs and with the lights turned on, the squeals of excitement or disbelief had me quietly chuckling to myself before I nonchalantly asked Jenny which girls she thought should sing which songs, then asked Michael who wanted to be the school’s next school’s heartthrob. Everyone who hadn’t been inside dad’s recording studio before (which was most of them) was still walking around and looking at everything there while I asked Jenny and Michael.

So to get everyone’s attention focused I gave everyone a brief demonstration what could be achieved using the studio’s equipment. I began so by playing the first song on the CD “Man I Feel Like a Woman” and breaking the music up into musical sections and even changing the pitch of Shania Twain’s voice. I did the same for the next song which was an old ZZ Top song “Legs” which was a raunchy and cheeky oldie. After that, I started to get all the singers into various soundproof areas that held microphones and then move each group of singers to one of the various microphones in each room, so there was a distinctive soloist in one room and then a separate vocal accompaniment in several others.

The section heads watching all of this now realized that for today at least, no one would be playing an instrument in the studio although Jeromy Potts quickly realized how unless someone scored the music, not many of the ensemble might be playing the half time music. So it was him who suggested that we'd need to get Old Sid here and up to speed quickly, so he could musically score the music for the rest of the ensemble to start rehearsing as soon as possible next week, which saw Anne phoning him and asking if he was free today and if so could he organize to come out to my place and decide if we had a good idea. Vivian had already arranged for some of her cheerleading girlfriends to come over after lunch, but we did need Old Sid here as soon as possible so Anne got it all arranged to happen.

After I had copied the lyrics of the two Shania Twain songs I’d recorded and handed out the first one, we tried to determine who would be lead female singer. It was a coin toss between Judy, Nicole and Jenny so I tried all three singing the soundtrack before the section heads all agreed on Nicole for the first song. The other girls then all huddled up close to two other microphones while the guys gathered around a combined bass and baritone microphone.

It took almost an hour and a possible phone call to get dad’s help before I finally decided we had a passable recording we could use for a test bad level in future practices. Mr. Dean turned up shortly after we had nailed the first song and after going back upstairs to get him led him back down to the studio where he simply stopped in total shock at seeing both the studio and how crowded it was.

When I played him the master tape he grinned before jokingly saying he wished Mrs. Grebopple was here right now to see and hear this. I then played him the first song rerecorded with our voice dub while excusing myself for the lame effort, but told him it had been agreed to so as to allow me to continue on with the next song. Old Sid seemed surprised that I’d said the recording was lame and said for a test bed level, it was very good before excusing himself and telling me it was extremely good.

“Legs” was quite difficult to over dub the words to but not because of the music or the lyrics which were both simple to play and remember. It was getting a consistent gravelly sound from the lead singer Michael. Poor old Michael Lee’s voice was ruined by the time Old Sid and I were in agreement that it was good enough to use for the test bed at rehearsals and copied it to a separate CD then with the CD in a cover led a very excited group back upstairs to find mom talking to five more cheerleaders while dad kept an eye on the BBQ meat to make sure it didn’t overcook and burn.

During lunch Vivian asked if she could play the tape for the other girls to listen to, which caused a noisy riot as soon as they heard the first few bars blaring out of the speakers. The other cheer girls had all turned up in their uniforms which till now had been the ire of the entire ensemble, but now the girls outfits were being admired by everyone for just how glitzy and stunning they looked on them. I know dad was admiring their outfits no end.

We had to hurry through lunch and even then didn’t start back downstairs until 2.15pm. Everyone had been warned to phone their designated driver about now turning up at 6pm instead of 5pm. Even then it wasn’t until 6.20pm that everyone started walking out into the now night which had the house’s outdoor floodlights all switched on to cater for as over 40 cars were parked over the front yard and dirt driveway.

Mr. Dean was the last to eventually leave and was like a dog with two tails he was so enthusiastic. He used the afternoon half of the recording session to work with the section heads about instrument ideas needed for various songs and making notations on keys to be used. Vivian had used the afternoon staying upstairs trying to work out the steps and moves she thought could go best with the five other cheer girls. One thing was for sure, the cheer squad now had a half time music program that they thought was worthy of them! Mr. Dean was told not to worry about Mrs. Grebopple and that the senior girls on the squad would get her in line on Monday morning.

For the rest of Saturday evening from about 8pm onwards I was inundated with texts or phone calls discussing the music today. The ensemble members who hadn‘t been asked to come were even texting me. In each case they were texted back telling them to contact their section leader and that we’d all get the chance to talk at band next Monday. I turned off my light just after midnight and mom’s 2nd visit to remind me it was late and we had church in the morning. Even there it was hard not to have to deal with ensemble members without having to explain why he or she hadn’t been invited or else to listen to suggestions about who could and should sing which song. There were several very definite guy or girl alternative volunteers if illness or misfortune should strike someone.

During Monday morning it seemed everyone wanted to know what Mrs. Grebopple had said or if she’d even spoken to Mr. Dean yet. During lunch Vivian let it be known that she and the other five girls had both spoken to Mrs. Grebopple as well as playing her the master CD and telling her they thought it was real brill idea.

In Band, Mrs. Grebopple came in and speaking with her usual pushy tone of voice said her girls thought the music they were played over the weekend could be made to be satisfactory for their half time performance provided we worked to bring it up to the level required!! I have to give Old Sid his due, if it had been me she’d been addressing, I might have suggested something extremely un-lady like as to what she could do with her opinions, but Old Sid simply thanked her and said the ensemble would try it’s best, which she only deemed her due before walking out of the room. He’d already configured the score for both Shania twain songs and had had them copied. How he’d been able to do so beggared certainly my imagination as both scores covered all four sections of the ensemble allowing all of them to contribute.

The next four Band classes were spent practicing the two scores and all that was needed was to try and blend the songs into whatever type of dances and cheers were being worked out by the Cheerleaders. What was then needed to be decided on for the season opening football match was the Theme Night. Although Mr. Dean always claimed final say on all matters musical, because of what had happened over the weekend he at least allowed the ensemble some rights as to vetoing. So "Dance Yourselves Crazy Music" was to be the first home (and season opening) game’s Theme Night.

He already had decided that since around half the crowds watching the soccer and other games we played at were parents aged between their late 30’s to late 40’s, to start off with “Let’s Do The Time Warp”, then “Put On Your Dancing Shoes”, “Do You Want To Dance”, “Rock and Around The Clock”, “Blue Suede Shoes”, “Let’s Twist Again”, “ Staying Alive”, “You Make Me feel like Dancing”, “Achy Breaky Heart”, “Dancing Queen” and finishing it off with a more up to date song “There’s Nothing Else I Can Say” which would total up to round about 30 minutes.

The WTO would then be played for the team’s entry onto the field. Even then Old Sid told the ensemble he’d speak to the coach to make sure the team didn’t actually run out onto the field until two minutes eight seconds of the WTO had been played, to ensure both the team and the crowd heard the more stirring second half of the music to rev everyone up. Therefore he told us we had to make very sure we all commenced on his time and kept to it.

The following two weeks saw us out in sports arena seating for Band class where the ensemble had already been sitting so far this year practicing. We practiced both the 30 minute Theme Night segment of music as well as the cheerleaders 15 minute half time show and would then replay the 30 minute show again, except this time without the cheerleaders having to stay. At the first outside rehearsal and band class, it saw the cheerleaders come out and hear Michael Lee saying that he’d like to thank everyone who did so for coming out onto the field tonight and dancing or else sitting in the grandstands and singing and hoped that everyone enjoyed it and that the half time gala would be nothing short of sensational.

At first Mrs. Grebopple took instance to Michael Lee’s speech and poor old Mr. Dean had to patiently tell her that Michael wasn’t trying to pre-empt the cheerleading squad’s performance. He had to allow her to first sit through her cheerleader’s program which she felt necessitated having to repeat one of the songs twice before she was satisfied and allowed her girls to leave. She however then sat through the 30 minute pre game performance to learn what Michael had meant with his closing address to the crowd.

It came as something of a surprise to spot her moving her lips to most of the songs we played before allowing Old Sid to assure her that the ensemble would not be changing the show very much if at all and assured her that Michael would not attempt to change his closing speech in anyway unless she was permitted to veto the changes!

The next afternoon saw the Queen Bee sitting down after the cheerleader’s rehearsal and listening to our pre-game show. The next day saw the entire squad listening to our rehearsal and by the following Monday and with the game on Friday night, the squad was practicing cheers to our playing, now with the blessing of Mrs. Grebopple.

When Friday afternoon rolled around, there was nothing more that Old Sid could have done to not only have the match publicized locally, but also several nearby towns. He’d obviously been on the phone pleading his case for more publicity for the event.

The arena started to slowly fill up on both sides of the field as the other school’s player’s parents, relatives and friends parked their cars and entered the stadium’s far side entrance. Our own side of the stadium appeared to be filling more than normal, while the opposing school McCann High’s band was setting up in the opposite corner to ours and ensuring their instruments were in tune. At 5.30pm and with a cool breeze starting to make the coming evening cooler, they started playing their musical program while their side of the stadium started to fill again with more spectators.

By the time our turn came around the McCann High band received a fair smattering of applause for their efforts which our own ensemble also politely applauded. Michael Lee than stood up and gave a very brief welcoming talk addressing it to both school’s supporters and inviting both to either come out onto the field and dance with us as we celebrate dancing music or else to sing as loud as they could from the grandstand.

With his baton raised in his right hand and showing the ensemble his crossed finger on his left, Old Sid waved the tempo and smiled broadly when everyone hit their opening note perfectly and together. The first notes of Time Warp are so well known, you could actually hear people exclaiming their amusement or pleasure. By about half way through the song, there were about 80 people out on the field dancing the "Time-Warp" with quite a few in the stands singing the words. Our choir sang together and in tune so that before the end of the song, Michael was asking for people to come out and join our cheer leaders encouraging McCann’s cheerleaders to do the same for the rest of the night.

By the end of the program there was probably around 150 people on the field dancing and having a lot of fun judging by the laughter and cheering after each song. The stands on both sides were very vocal and it appeared all of our hard work and Mr. Dean’s chivvying in our classes had paid off. As both sets of supporters vacated the field, McCann High’s band played their school’s song as their football side ran onto the field and over towards their side of the stadium and their supporters.

Someone had evidently gone to the effort of making a paper Mache sign wishing our school team good luck and it was being held out for the players to run through. Mr. Dean had Jeromy Potts stand up and on bringing his baton downwards, signaled for Jeromy to begin the playing the lone solo notes for the commencement of the WTO charge. Soon he was joined by the other trumpets and coronets and finally by the entire ensemble. Our own spectators were cheering loudly and waving their hands as if conducting. As we passed the 2 minute mark Old Sid must have somehow signaled to someone for the team to run out onto the field, because they only “just” missed their mark before crashing through the paper Mache sign which had our supporters cheering even louder and applauding enthusiastically.

As the WTO came to a rousing crescendo near the end, I looked look across the field and saw our opponent’s supporters and parents trying to enthusiastically mimic our own side of the field’s crowd in imitating Old Sid conducting us. With the final loud and abrupt finish, both sides of the stadium roared their approval with even our opponent’s school band applauding our playing.

The game had already been written up in the news section of the local paper as a game McCann High was expected to win reasonably easily. But by the half time siren, they were behind 20 to 7 and our team had been pressing for another score before the siren sounded half time. As both sides left the field, Michael stood up and introduced the half time entertainment while both school’s cheerleading squads looked for space on their sides of the field to perform on.

But from the opening notes of the brass section and with Nicole saying “let’s go now girls” along with my exuberant drumming, our side of the field was filled with supporters shouting encouragement and / or singing the words of “Man I Feel Like A Woman”. When it ended and we seamlessly commenced playing “Legs” with Michael singing, while our cheerleading girls began dancing even more provocatively than they had for the opening song. The ensemble managed to all end on the same an abrupt ending note (instead of the fading finish on the recording). Then several male seniors raced out to pair off with specific cheer leaders while the other cheer leaders hurriedly moved away towards our side of the field before Anne invited anyone from either of the field to come out onto the turf and dance if they wanted to.

The instant both sides of the field’s crowd heard the distinct opening to “Living La Vida Loca” it seemed like half the other side of the grandstands was either squealing in excitement or else trying to find a way to get out onto the field to dance as well. I could easily see the same thing was happening on our side of the field although everyone stayed well away from our cheerleaders and their male partners who by now were dancing up a storm of excitement, sex, enthusiasm and perspiration.

As the song ended and everyone started to find a way back off of the field, Simone started singing “That Don’t Impress Me Much” and to the ensemble’s delight she managed to sing the entire song faultlessly and in tune while Vivian out on the field marched and paraded in time leading the others. McCann High’s cheerleaders had already given up trying to cheer during "Legs" and were now merely waving their pom poms in front of them waiting for the 2nd half to begin where they could try and cheer to their side of the grandstand.

The return of our team to the WTO saw the same thing happen as had done so before the start of the game. But now you could visually see how pumped and excited our own players were. The final siren saw us getting an upset win over McCann 30 to 20, as our players happily left the field while giving silent hand claps to the ensemble as they passed in acknowledgment of our playing this evening.

As both sides of the arena emptied several of the McCann High band came over and congratulated us on our playing tonight. Old Sid and their director shook hands and exchanged words of encouragement. The school’s drum kit was quickly carried back to the Music room along with any cabling that wasn’t an ensemble member’s own property. A few had already decided to join the victory party which was usually held at a nearby soda shop, which most likely now would turn out to be far too small for the jubilant crowd.

I was invited along but had already been told by mom we had appointments tomorrow so I begged off albeit reluctantly, but not before having Mr. Dean shake my hand and thank me for my efforts adding that we seemed to make a good team.

Next key – F Minor which will hopefully be ready by the 12th June 2020, new vison permitting.

Look up “Shania Twain - Live from Vegas” on the web to listen to both of her songs in this chapter.

Previous Key played – F Major…… I was invited along but had already been told by mom we had appointments tomorrow so I begged off albeit reluctantly, but not before having Mr. Dean shake my hand and thank me for my efforts adding that we seemed to make a good team.

A Different Key – F Minor

When I woke up through sleep encrusted eyes the next morning, the “buzz” from last night had me quickly looking on my phone for any messages. WTF it was showing 53 unanswered messages and I hurriedly looked through for the names I wanted to text back first. By the time mom knocked and entered my room to see if I was awake there still needed to be 30 texts replied to.

Excitedly showing mom my message bank had her snatching the phone out of my hand and telling me it was Saturday and that she and dad were leaving for the shops in half an hour before walking off with it. Knowing what her tone of voice signified I quickly got showered, dried off, dressed, raced to the kitchen kissed both of my parents while saying good morning, ate a piece of toast and swallowed some OJ, put my things in the dishwasher, got in the back of the car and buckled up as dad turned the ignition key. Mom turned around from her front passenger seat and then handed me back my phone.

But instead of allowing me to keep going answering texts, mom kept interrupting my thought processes and kept making me have to talk with her while dad drove. Once he’d parked and we were all headed inside the centre, friends quickly raced over to say hello that saw mom finally concede and tell me in exasperation they’d meet me at Chico’s for coffee in an hour before leaving me and my friends to rehash about last night.

It took hearing my phone ring and seeing “MOM” on the screen to make me leave everyone and go find my parent’s outside Chico’s, where they were seated and armed with their heart starter mugs of cappuccino. After a short confab about any needing of necessaries such as pantyhose and the like, poor old daddy had to then endure another uncomfortable hour of waiting around inside several clothing stores while mom and I tried on several dresses or skirts, because I really did need to unwind and mom knew how to make me do so.

On Monday morning and I hadn’t even walked more than twenty feet inside the school grounds before I’d received at least ten shouted complimentary remarks from other students, with even one of the cheerleaders coming up to me and giving me a hug with air kisses while telling me how much the school Band rocked Friday night.

Between morning registration and the bumping and swerving along hallways as well as sitting through morning classes, by lunchtime I discovered anyone who was involved with the football team or was a cheerleader, or even an ensemble musician was now a school celebrity, depending on who you were hearing shout out to you. The unexpected football game win appeared to have raised the school spirit beyond anyone’s expectations although probably 90% of the school population hadn’t been at the game. But the power of social media with all of the Facebook videos that had apparently been doing the rounds throughout the weekend, it now had everyone wanting to be at the next football game.

Five weeks later and completely unexpected by anyone, our football team who even their own coach had said would have a mediocre season this year had so far managed to win every game they’d played.

In the four years I’d attended FDR high I’d never seen so much spirit being displayed. Almost every yard of the school’s hallway walls was covered in painted signs of victory slogans or photographs of players, coaching staff and even aerial photographs showing the floodlit field and the jam packed stands along both sides of the field.

Rumors appeared to have started making the rounds after FDR’s third win in a row that some of the football players had been interviewed for possible college scholarships. When the local paper released a story about receiver Miles Donovan signing a letter of intent and he began telling other teammates and school friends about it, school spirit fever rose even higher. By half way through the week leading up to a possible 6th straight win in a row, not only had eight more football players confirmed they were now going to colleges on football scholarships, but so had three cheerleaders as well as several Music students under different scholarships.

Admittedly the scholarships were only to lesser colleges within the state, but there might be the possibility that the football players might be able to transfer out to one of the better known colleges if they performed on the football field. For such a lesser known high school’s students (if they weren’t star athletes) to even be offered full scholarships was very unusual, but in the Band ensemble’s case our reputation for performing was now becoming quite well known thanks to T.V. news media showing a 30 second film of one of the school’s pre game performances, with a regional sports program showing the cheerleaders dancing so provocatively to “Legs” that it was now part of the T.V. show’s opening each week.

Mr. Dean was behaving like a dynamo preparing for each home game’s Band performance. The next game’s Theme was “Phantom” and he was at pains to make sure the Band ensemble would be at its best. Home football games on Friday evenings now saw both sides of the field’s grandstands packed tight with spectators. The other side of the field’s stands had just as many FDR supporters as the opponent’s side had, while our own grandstand was overflowing to filling both ends of the oval.

Our school’s Audio faculty had somehow managed to obtain two transportable large video screens that with the use strategically placed cameras, could now show replays of exciting moments throughout the football game. At halftime the cameras concentrated on the FDR’s cheerleaders who were now considered local sex symbols once close ups showing how sexy they looked as they high kicked to a song were replayed.

Needless to say that at our 6th straight win playing over at Queens Port High playing field, the pre-game Band performance as was as good as could be expected considering the lack of power connections available, while the cheerleaders performed there planned away game cheers and dancing performance to Queens Port’s band playing well enough to enthuse FDR’s travelling supporters.

The rehearsing for both the “Phantom” night and then our final home game Theme Night had been going on for the past few afternoons after school at the nearby park, where because of the extensive local media coverage about the Band ensemble’s musical playing at games, we had been granted permission to continue practicing until 7.30pm if we wanted. The home owners along the street next to the park that had been listening to us from our first afternoon, now often numbered over 400 sitting on the wooden seating or bringing their own fold up chairs.

There was even a mobile food truck parked parked there now doing a thriving business selling hot and cold food and drinks, which the local authorities now charged a rental on, to allow the food truck’s owner/driver exclusive rights to trade there. Once the additional time extension (which had not been asked for by the school board) had been given, (entirely due to requests by citizens surrounding the park) it became possible to now have the time to rehearse the music not only for Theme night games more thoroughly, but also to ensure the non-electric away game performances were as good as possible, which because of "Old Sid’s" pedantic need for excellence had to see us always rehearsing to the best of our playing abilities.

The Thursday morning local newspaper contained its four page hand out in the middle of the paper showing the lyrics for that week’s Theme night songs, but for the past few weeks had also been publishing photographs of the local populace taken either at the park while we rehearsed or on Friday nights at the game itself. This in itself garnered a lot of interest among them because everyone does like their 15 minutes of fame and they could always show it to family relatives whenever they visited. The three radio stations serving our region (not including FDR’s own low output transmitter) were taking turns to also broadcast the football team’s games both at home and away, which was to the complete amazement of everyone living here as it had never been done before even when a school in our regional conference had had an exceptionally talented team.

When Mr. Dean had first handed out the list of Theme Nights to the Band, everyone in the ensemble had been skeptical as to whether the local populace would even be interested, let along actually want to come along and listen to us play. The first home game Theme “Dance Yourselves Crazy Night” had certainly seen the people who turned up and participated seeming to have enjoyed it if the publicity about it afterwards was any indication. Our second Theme night “Barry M” while again not entirely accepted by ensemble musicians saw just how many of the public liked Barry Manilow songs, which although termed an evening of musical schmaltz by every singer in the choir during rehearsals, saw them deliver a brill rendition of every song they sang that had the crowd happily swaying to and fro.

Our third Theme Night “How Britain Invaded America” was when it became obvious to even the worst sceptic in the ensemble that stupid “Old Sid” must have been wiser than anyone thought he was. Admittedly the publicity surrounding the ensemble’s playing might have had part to do with the final acceptance, although no one had the slightest trouble in agreeing that our half time cheerleading show music was totally unique to play, sing and listen to. All of us had “at least” a couple of photographs downloaded to phones or tablets showing individual girls dancing to one of the songs being performed. Heck the raunchy performances had been captured so well by the regional TV station’s audio and camera crew, it had become not only a part of the opening theme on the station’s sport’s NFL show, but must have been seen by college recruiting scouts since three of the girls had since been offered scholarships.

And perhaps the local newspaper editor must like musicals too, because for the past four weeks he’d been mentioning in small spaces inside the paper about the “Phantom” night even outside of the four page hand out spread. Certainly the local people living around the park we were using to practice at were enjoying the music judging by the enthusiastic applause each evening we practiced the program.

On the Friday morning of the "Phantom game” as Mr. Dean now termed it, everything looked set for an evening where the ensemble could enjoy ourselves, because initially “Old Sid” had been able to obtain (through good friends he told us) a genuine copy of the New York production musical score which we had used to practice with. He’d also been amenable to incorporating several small changes to suit the ensemble’s instruments and the choir’s vocal musical ranges. Michael Lee sounded brill as The Phantom, while Jenny vocally “was” Kristen, while Geoff Smartz as the Count Phillipe Chagny’s had his well known and loved duet with Kristen bottled and ready for everyone to enjoy.

Mr. Dean had also arranged for the ensemble to do the full 30 minute performance several Sundays from now at the region’s hospital, where we would also play and sing an additional hour long program of songs that the ensemble had performed from the other Theme Nights all in aid of charity. Being the perfectionist he was and with the blessing of our school principal and the student's teachers concerned, we were going through one the absolute final dress rehearsal before the 5.30 starting time. The show this evening wasn’t simply just our usual stay in the same places at microphones and sing. This time the main singers were using throat microphones that allowed them to move about the field, with during “The Phantom of the Opera” song Kristen needed to be led down the grandstand’s stairs by the Phantom but sometimes needing to look behind her to see if she was being followed.

We, (well Jenny anyway) must have done this at least a dozen times during practices held at the playing arena without the slightest hiccup. But whoever the wiseass was that termed the phrase “good luck, break a leg” must have been looking on, as Jenny somehow got her shoe or foot tangled up Kristen’s long flowing white dress while she was turning her head round as if to see if anyone was following her and the Phantom before doing a face plant onto the concrete stairs. Her microphone amplified the terrified shriek she made as well as the sound of her body hitting the concrete stairs loud enough for the ensemble to immediately cease playing and several of the girl singers screaming in horror. When she didn’t appear to move to get up, everyone in the ensemble began standing up and a number were racing around to where she was now surrounded by a small huddle of panicking people. "Old Sid" had raced across from conducting us and as soon as he got to where Jenny had fallen and seen the result, had simply put his face in his hands and shook his head in despair.

The ensemble as one all started to head for where Jenny had fallen and when I was stopped by the scrum surrounding her was left in no doubt from the students in-front of me that tonight performance was in deep faeces. As soon as an ambulance siren was heard the crowd started to disperse with "Old Sid" asking several girls in the chorus to get ready to rehearse singing Jenny's songs. The ensemble was soon back and seated while Mr. Dean announced which of the girls he wanted to rehearse first.

After the forth nervous singer tried their best, "Old Sid" simply stopped conducting and despairingly said it was a complete disaster and that we’d better start thinking of ways to move the other songs around as well as ways to lengthen the instrumental sections of the score before turning to look at me and ask if I had any ideas then asking the ensemble as a whole if anyone had ideas.

I’ll swear if I’d been able to I would have gone and throttled Rick when he suggested that Jane could sing Jenny’s part if we started practicing straight away. Gavin was just as enthusiastic as he came over from his own kettle drums and asked me for the drumsticks I was holding onto. As if hit by an electric shock Mr. Dean stood stock still, open mouthed and looked at me as if I was an escaped lunatic before he changed into a sudden gust of wind, telling me to get up and move away from the drums and tell me the key I was expected to sing “Think of Me” in.

After twenty minutes of me being completely unable to hit the high soprano notes of the song in tune, he said we’d leave it for the moment and then asked me to sing “All I Ask Of You” with Geoff Smartz, which didn’t sound too bad and even “Old Sid” thought so as well.

By 1pm, except for “Think of Me” everyone including me thought I could sing “Kristen’s songs and duets that involved Michael Lee and Geoff Smartz. Jenny’s white dress had been somehow been returned and after some hurried alterations to the dress’s front hemline had been given to me to get dressed for tonight. A very hurried lunch break saw 'Old Sid' discussing with me and Anne our 1st chair the problem of me not being able to sing the high notes in the song. He was certain I could sing them as he said he’d heard me sing just as high an octave note in my recordings which certainly had me fooled because I knew for a fact I hadn’t sung anything that high for C.M.R.

Anne had the idea of having me sing the high notes a third of a tone lower and simply slide up onto the higher note that way. After about 4 or 5 attempts with Anne’s violin only, I was managing to sing the high notes acceptably well for someone with no opera voice training. Just how knowledgeable most of the ensemble musicians were quickly became apparent as they quickly understood what Anne was doing and with “Old Sid’s” comments managed to play “Think of me” with the now ascending slide into the high notes sound like they were the original score.

While all of this had been going on, the audio and visual people had been setting up the large screens on the sides of the field and checking that everything worked properly. Michael managed somehow to convince “Old Sid” into letting me attempt to walk down the grandstand stairs that Jenny had fallen on, that with a cleverly sewn in lace loop hidden in the folds on the front of my dress now allowed me to lift the front of the skirt up high enough for me to not trip on and I tentatively walked down the steps quite easily.

Just after 4pm the buses carrying Tempe High’s band turned up and they began to walk over and start setting up for their 5pm pregame show. Their football team had arrived an hour before them and had had to listen to me proving I could be lead down the grandstand’s stairs and sing as the same time for our very last rehearsal as they came out for pregame warmup exercises.

As I was being led off to have makeup put on, I could see that the number of people outside lined up waiting to get in sure was impressive, before Vivian our head cheerleader hurried me into their change rooms where a makeup station was in full operation behind a large curtain and where Michael Lee and Geoff Smartz were already seated and being made up. The other cheerleaders were wondering what I was doing here wearing Jenny’s “Kristen” dress and Vivian had to explain to them what had happened, however the heck she’d found out!

After explaining to me about how to move about without the crowd being able to see me, I waited nervously for when I was to follow Michael and climb up a rickety extension ladder placed at the back of the grandstand in the shadows and stand very still at the back wall before the ensemble finished it’s opening theme and the narrator had given a brief synopsis of the story yet to unfold.
Then I’d be highlighted by a spotlight as the ensemble played the short introduction to my first song.

The wobbly swaying climb had me hoping that if I slipped and fell the cheerleaders waiting below (to catch me in case I did slip and fall) were able to catch me! But eventually I was able to lift a leg over the top of the mesh and place a foot onto solid concrete (without snagging my dress) and trying desperately to recover my breath and relax enough to sing. Michael had silently managed to disappear until his first duet with me, which would follow shortly after my solo.

With a blinding brilliance from the spotlight, I somehow managed not to fluff the start of my solo song thank goodness. The person operating the spotlight had managed to lower the spotlight just enough so it was no longer blinding me, which allowed me to sing in key and to also hit the high notes with the slide up we’d rehearsed a bit over an hour before. As I hit the final high note and cut it off, the ensemble finished off the music and the spotlight turned off leaving me once again temporarily blinded while all around the arena there was tumultuous applause.

With perfect timing the ensemble then began playing Michael Lee’s and my duet (and the Theme night’s) major song, “Phantom of the Opera”. While the crowd had turned around slightly to listen to me sing my opening song, once the spotlight had switched off I managed to silently walk over to the concrete stairs and could just see Michael’s faint outline as the introduction was played. Kristen’s part of the title song isn’t sung in such a high pitched key so I was comfortably able to commence on the starting note while Michael now wearing a partial face mask took my hand and placed it on his arm before leading me slowly down the stairs to loud spine tingling organ music and loud drums. We would pause walking after each opening verse was sung for Michael to make sure we were in the right position before continuing to walk down the stairs sing our duet verses and near the bottom of the stairs I began singing higher while Michael shouted sung encouragement and as the song came to a sudden end with me hitting a short high note the spotlight turned off allowing both of us to walk the last few steps to the bottom landing and hurry down and off the grandstand then disappear behind it.

The applause was deafening as he calmly told me where I had to stand for my next song before he raced off to sing a solo of his own which I was only now able to accept that so far the performance had seemed to go very well for so little rehearsal time with me singing. When I had finished my next song, I managed to walk onto the field in the darkness caused by the spotlights changing over to another position as the start of “Music Of The Night” commenced.

I realized that Michael was now standing fairly close to me so I could slowly move towards him as if drawn by his musical words. He would then move away from me and make me have to walk/glide towards him, until he was almost finished singing the song, where it had been planned for me to gently touch his face and for the mask to fall off in my hand, whereupon I was to faint into his arms. I managed to do this while he was able to sweep me up into his arms as I dropped and while still singing in key, he carried me slowly and carefully in his arms over to a makeshift cot lying over white satin drapes and place me onto it (with me still supposedly unconscious) and as he finished the song. Then the bugger leaned down and quite deliberately kissed me lightly on the lips, which I knew wasn’t supposed to happen and then the spotlight dimmed and in darkness I heard him softly chuckle and whisper to me that he couldn’t resist doing it before moving away for the next instrumental break.

In those few moments of darkness I moved from off of the makeshift bed and off the grass to stay in the shadows beside the grandstand to wait for my duet with Geoff Smartz "All I Ask Of You" which saw “him” kiss me as well at the end of the song when we were only supposed to hug that had the entire arena cheering while our narrator ended up the story before the ensemble played the end of “Music of the Night” loudly and dramatically before the lights all went off for a minute. The entire crowd erupted into loud applause and shouts of appreciation before the field's floodlights were turned back on to show the three of us now standing beside one another in the quickly brightening light holding hands before we bowed together and hurried off.

The crowd was still very excited as Tempe High’s football team ran onto the field to a pretty average rendition of “Eye of the Tiger”. Then Jeromy’s entire brass section stood up and began playing the commencement the school’s unofficial war song the William Tell Overture then being joined by the entire ensemble, which had all of the FDR High supporters once again cheering loudly as the now generally accepted conductor mimicking was done from both sides of the arena while our team raced onto the field.

I then went around to the cheerleaders changing rooms and got undressed and changed back into my Band uniform before waking back out of everyone's sight around behind the grandstand to where the band was set up and gave Gavin a friendly tap on the shoulder to get off of my stool, which I sat back onto as everyone around me offered their congratulations.

Our guys played a good game that night and had the game sown up by half time when our kick ass half time cheerleader’s show once again saw the other schools’ cheerleaders stop cheering until the kick off for the 3rd quarter. FDR High wound up winning the game by 42 to 14 and as we packed up everything a number of the crowd came over and told "Old Sid that they had come here tonight on a friend’s recommendation and would have paid a lot more at the gate if they’d known how good we were going to perform.

Mom and dad were waiting for me at the usual place where they parked and mom was gushing in enthusiasm for what had taken place. Dad agreed and asked if the kisses had been part of the performance and almost wet his pants when I curtly told him they weren’t and said I’d have to explain it to Jenny on the phone tomorrow because Michael and her were thought of as a couple although neither would admit to it if asked. All the way home dad kept repeatedly asking me if the kisses were deliberate or not and just couldn’t believe they hadn’t been staged for the crowd’s benefit. After dinner my face was still scarlet colored according to mom.

Final key – G Major probably uploaded next weekend.

Previous Key played – F Minor…… All the way home dad kept repeatedly asking me if the kisses had been deliberate or not and just couldn’t believe they hadn’t been staged for the crowd’s benefit, to the point that my face was scarlet colored by the time the car was inside our garage.

Glossary: CMR - Crazy Music Recordings. WTO William Tell Overture. EOI – Expression of Interest.

A Different Key – G Major (finale).

Friday nights now equated to late suppers after the game. Tonight’s supper however also meant having to put up with mom and dad talking about the two stolen kisses and offering outlandish remarks during the entire meal. Judging by their grins they loved every moment of teasing me too. After I’d cleared away the dirty plates into the dishwasher mom told me I could have an hour of phone time to catch up with friends before I’d have to give the phone to mom to keep until tomorrow morning, same as last week.

Since most of my ensemble friends had already unloaded on me during the football game, after answering my most important friend’s texts first, I saw there were only 14 unanswered texts when I begrudgingly handed back my phone to mom. The most important call I didn’t make though was going to have to wait until tomorrow and I wasn’t really looking to talking to Jenny and explaining to her I had no idea that Michael was going to kiss me and because of where we were, couldn’t scream out an objection under the circumstances.

Saturday morning was always grocery shopping day and usually we headed off to the shops around nine o’clock. Because I’d already talked to mom about phoning Jenny later, she cut me some slack and said I could phone her first and we’d go leave about 9.30am. The moment I heard Jenny’s voice answering I began bleating my complete innocence to her and blabbered on for about two minutes before her loud laughter made me pause.

Finally when she stopped laughing she told me not to panic and that her and Michael had been planning to kiss her last night in the performance anyway, then added that she now had a broken her nose and loosened two front teeth slightly but was otherwise OK and she’d be back at school on Monday. When she told me that Michael had already phoned her this morning to tell her all about the performance and also about how he and Geoff Smartz had decided between them to double prank me for fun and hopefully mess with my head, even I was laughing at the audacity of the pair. My vow to her that I’d get even with Geoff had Jenny telling me she just hoped that her and my friendship wasn’t hurt and told me I should knock myself out getting revenge.

At school on Monday I took the expected teasing in my stride and laughed along with everyone else over what had happened. Michael and Geoff were also going around hinting that the other one was holding a secret crush about me (all with Jenny’s ok I found out the next day) and by the time “that” prank became common knowledge, I’d once again found myself with the unwarranted tag of being a bit of a hottie.

During Band class Mr. Dean told the class that last Friday night’s performance had been exceptional although it could have done without my publicly pashing off the two male singers during it, which had everyone laughingly roasting me for a few minutes that even had “Old Sid” chuckling, having obviously been made aware of the prank.

The local paper when it came out on Thursday wrote how despite the last minute change of the expected female lead, the performance had gone off brilliantly and that the singers took on the roles so seriously as to exchange tender kisses, which the reporter said made the performance even more captivating. Fortunately the TV station showing the game hadn’t filmed the pre-game entertainment.

Mr. Dean was already having us prepare for the hoped for final football home game which if everything went to plan and both teams won their games this week, would see the final game being played between undefeated (so far) FDR High and the also undefeated Cleveland High for the right to claim the region’s championship and possibly get invited to compete in the playoffs for the state championship.

The away football game against Ibrox High that week saw FDR High winning fairly easily which saw the hype around the school the following Monday at fever pitch. In a twist from allowing the ensemble to practice by itself at our usual park, “Old Sid” had been given permission to rehearse at our own arena. As soon as word got out that the ensemble was rehearsing KISS music, Monday and Tuesday afternoon’s practices saw the grandstands filled with FDR students all wanting to see how we sounded. About halfway through Tuesday’s practice the noise of the student’s singing along with our own playing and singing saw the football coach walking over and animatedly talk to Mr. Dean, which saw practice cut short. Evidently our rehearsing along with the student’s singing was distracting his players “Old Sid” told us.

So the next afternoon after school saw the ensemble along with “Old Sid” going down to the nearby park to practice. It wasn’t so much a “practice” but more of a “fine tuning” which saw “Old Sid” conduct us and after each song, critique where he felt it appropriate to. Since the “Phantom” game we hadn’t had to use the park to practice at, as we’d been using either the Music room or else our sporting arena.

It didn’t take long though for the wooden seats over the far side of the park to start to fill up once we turned up and did a very quick sound check. Someone among the spectators must have phoned the mobile food truck guy, because about an hour after we arrived I spotted his large white van pulling up to his usual space and quickly start opening up his shutters.

We had already practiced playing the 6 songs that had been chosen, which quickly saw the locals joining in lustily. Because of the need to allow our singers to rest their vocal chords, “Old Sid” allowed a ten minute break, which he used to walk over to the seated locals to talk. When he came back he had our sound tech geek turn up the volume of the park’s speaker system as well as our electrical musician’s amplifiers and singer’s sound equipment before telling the ensemble he wanted us to play loud enough to rattle the windows of the houses over the other side.

So we did….. and although it did sound slightly distorted, after a few tweaks and slides of controls it had us hearing our music reverberating back quite clearly, very loudly but still clearly understandable, although this time without the crowd’s singing distracting us. Our four designated male singers, Michael, Jeff, Geoff and Rick were absolutely excited at finally being able to sing without any restrictions and the rest of our male voice chorus along with our female chorus were really bopping. After a 2nd run through, “Old Sid” decided to spend the final ninety minutes going over the hospital performance program although this time with the volume turned back down to more normal levels.

The next afternoon (our final dress rehearsal for tomorrow night’s game) saw us playing the exact same performance although this time the crowd had printed lyric newspaper sheets. The local police had to arrive and oversee that the crowd now overflowing onto the road, weren’t delaying passing motorists too much. A number of the locals had even gone to the effort of putting on KISS makeup and were definitely adding atmosphere to the rehearsal. I along with everyone in the ensemble had never seen so many people here before to listen to us and it really helped to fine tune us so that even Mr. Dean could find little to fault about our rehearsal. After we had finished the ensemble stood up and applauded the locals who were applauding our final rehearsal.

Mom and dad had to put up with one really hyped up daughter that evening although they could understand how I felt. That didn’t stop mom however from announcing time for bed at 10pm. Part of my hype could have also been because dad informed me (and mom) that he felt he’d been sent my final CMR - EOI song that morning and once the ensembles commitment to the football program was over, he wanted me to listen to it for myself and see if I agreed.

It was impossible to ignore the hype around FDR High the next day. Although the principal had made it very clear that no one was to come to classes wearing KISS makeup, he had conceded just enough to allow the cheerleading girl's to do so. The cheer girls then stretched his concession even further by including the male cheerleading squad aides and tumblers who they had face painted so it was impossible to avoid seeing a KISS face somewhere around school. All three lunch periods saw the canteen walls echoing to the loud and out of tune student caterwauling of KISS songs and being encouraged to do so, by the cheerleading squad members designated for that lunch period. Several of the canteen staff even wore KISS makeup on as a sign of old fart’s solidarity for the football game.

In another first, the principal had agreed to allow ensemble members to be allowed to miss afternoon lessons so we could set up and sound check the instruments and electrical equipment for the 6.00pm kickoff start. This also allowed everyone involved to afterwards head for the temporary “makeup” station behind the Western grandstand and get made up as well. It had already been agreed to that each person using the facility would have to pay $2, which would be handed over to the PCYC to purchase further equipment for kids using their facilities.

By the time the first Cleveland High bus pulled up, any car parking spaces surrounding the arena were already taken as were most of the surrounding streets. The Cleveland area’s populace had been informed about FDR’s Theme Night by their local community newspaper as well as the radio stations and both had encouraged everyone to participate by wearing KISS makeup if they were going to the game.

When the extent of the possible numbers of people attending this evening was becoming more obvious, Mr. Dean had quickly organized for the ensemble to begin playing music from our repertoire to entertain a very quickly filling arena before the Cleveland High musicians turned up. So by 4.30pm the arena was very noisy as spectators and supporters from both schools had been invited by “Old Sid” to sing along (if they knew the lyrics) to our playing and were certainly doing so.

By the time 5pm rolled around and it was the turn of the Cleveland High musicians to commence “their” pregame program, the arena’s gates had had to be closed (for safety reasons) as the arena’s officially stated spectator capacity of 7,800 had already been over extended by approximately 1,600 additional people, and almost everyone was wearing KISS makeup! The Cleveland High School band like our own ensemble used electrical instruments as well as normal musical instruments in their performances and it was a pity that they hadn’t had the opportunity to do a sound check before they commenced playing.

But although they didn’t sound bad, the extent of the noise volume created by the larger than expected crowd or possibly “nerves” perhaps, saw them only receiving modest (although arena wide) applause when they finished performing.

When the arena’s announcer introduced our ensemble and asked everyone to show their support, it was the first time I’ve ever felt a cold shiver up my spine as the loud roar both from our side of the arena as well as from FDR supporters across the field showed they were anxious for us to start playing. Our program had been pretty well mapped out several weeks prior to this evening and although no one had ever thought it was possible to have a crowd so hyped up already, our opening song was meant to do just that.

“Shout It Out Loud” soon had even our sound technician frantically struggling to overcome the noise of the crowd singing while allowing our own performers to be heard clearly. The two portable video screens showing the lyrics on either side of the field didn’t help either. “Old Sid’s” shouting out “play louder” was almost lost in the noise although quick shouts from the ensemble’s section heads soon had everyone trying to do so.

At the completion of the song, our lead baritone vocalist Michael who this evening was the ensemble’s M C thanked everyone for being here and yadda yadda before allowing our tenor baritone voice and lead singer for the show Geoff Smartz to commence the next song “Sure Know Something”. It was planned for the first three songs to be a mixture of combined orchestral strings with a smaller contingent of brass, woodwind and timpani accompanying. Our electric instrument musicians were to be the main focus along with his vocals.

The volume of the crowd's singing had also subsided although it was easy to hear their muted singing, Mark our sound geek had just as quickly modified the volume though the amplifiers and speakers. When Geoff sang “Shandi” everything fell into place as the crowd obviously knew the song and the applause was one of genuine appreciation more than just hyped up enthusiasm.

We kicked up a quite a considerable notch for “Detroit City Rock” and followed it up with “I Was Made For Loving You” to have the crowd now extremely noisy and keen. Everyone in the ensemble had Googled KISS and the MSO during the past few weeks for inspiration and so the final song's introduction from Michael was so obviously plagiarized it was laughable, but it didn’t matter to the crowd before the ensemble launched into “Rock And Roll All Night”, which at the end saw “Old Sid” turn and bow for the ensemble before allowing the Cleveland High musicians to play their football team out onto the field while the crowd continued to voice their appreciation for the ensemble's pre game performance.

By now the kick off time was well past 6.00pm as Jeromy stood up to commence the WTO introduction. The enormous roar being emitted from around the arena drowned out any possible jeers that might have come from Cleveland High supporters and that was before the FDR High football team finally appeared, (on cue) which even had our opponents stopping in their tracks to watch our players race out onto the field and towards our own side of the field.

Mark and the entire vocal section then went and eclipsed even their best rendition before and sang the national anthem to an arena now emotionally choked almost completely silent, before the roar of appreciation and enthusiasm to get the game started swamped them. The ensemble meanwhile took the kickoff and the first few minutes of the game to catch our breaths and gather our emotions back together again.

The first half was as uncompromising a game of football as anyone had ever seen for a High school game. It was only surpassed by our half time show where our cheerleaders surpassed even their highest standards of cheer performing. Unlike some other half time shows where the opposition school’s cheerleaders would give up, Cleveland’s outfit raised their performing levels too (as we found out after the game when their female coach came over and congratulated everyone).

By the final whistle both teams had played themselves to exhaustion as had both music bands so enthralling and completive was the game. However there could only be one winner and “she” was FDR High 31-28 in O/T would you believe! The chaotic scenes as everyone swarmed out onto the field to congratulate the players had to be seen to be believed. The ensemble played “Sure Know Something” 5 (or was it 6 times) as the players milled with the crowd and everyone singing and raising their first finger’s high in the air to show who was number one.

Jenny finally got to perform her singing role as Kristen/Christine to sustained applause afterwards when the ensemble performed for the patients and staff of our region’s hospital three Saturday’s later. For the rest of the school year the ensemble performed at school baseball games and other fixtures as well as being invited to play at several fund raising events for charities or associations. Our final performance together was at our school’s graduation day, where I along with so many others said our goodbyes to friends going away to colleges outside our state.

I was one of the students who was leaving for far away climes. Even when I’d been Michael, it had always been my hope of attending USC and I was over the moon when I found out I’d been accepted for enrolment there. Mom and dad had already agreed to me going there if USC accepted me even though it was going to be expensive. This was all well before Jane received a full musical scholarship to attend college within our own state, curtesy of “Old Sid” having given a glowing written recommendation to that college’s recruitment officer about me.

Regardless of this I still wanted to go to USC and knowing that if I wasn’t accepted there I’d still have a college education awaiting me. Jeromy along with Michael and our 1st chair violinist Anne had also applied to USC among other colleges and in some instances were hoping for financial assistance from full or partial scholarships. I’m just not that certain however that it was Jane that won the scholarship to USC, because the day after the football match dad and I had sat down together and after listening to it together agreed the song he’d been sent was ideal for me to sing, so he and I spent all of Sunday recording it before sending it off to CMR.

Although we’d used my “stage” name “Jade” for the recording, everyone at FDR High was pretty well aware of who I really was. So it came as quite a surprise to find out through one of dad’s music friends that USC was hoping to recruit “Jade” for the start of their next term. It doesn’t matter now if it was “Jane” or “Jade” that got accepted to USC, (with a full scholarship I'd like to add) I was going to USC regardless.

Obviously part of that meant joining their marching band (which of course I was compelled to do already) although I declined to be part of their choral group after CMR had instructed dad that they wouldn't allow me (Jade) to sing there. That would have certainly meant changing keys!

I’d like to thank those of you who read “A Different Key” in all of its keys. I think (for a while) I’ll stick to writing solo stories. That way I can switch from one fantasy idea to another more easily…..To all of you out there, stay safe and healthy and try not to cough or sneeze (well not out in public anyway).

A Starr is Born Pt2
Reworked by Wendy C
A story by Mistress X

It was a couple days later and I was out of the hospital but still on my medication. I was frankly too scared not to take it, as bad as I felt taking the anti-depressants I was already on. I simply didn't want to think about what I'd be like without them.

They had told me the gynospores worked fast…… and boy they weren't kidding. It had been less than a week and I was already a different person. I was standing in an office building lobby wearing sweats and a sleeveless hoodie, looking nothing like I ever had.

Beforehand I had been a specimen of masculinity, built, cut with a triangular torso that looked ripped, even by average pro-wrestler standards. Now I looked like a pretty defined body-builder tomboy and I was fading fast. I could almost see the mass streaming off of me and I really wanted to get back in the gym and mitigate the loss as much as I could, but instead was standing here waiting for a meeting.

Nigel came up behind me and patted me on the back. "Hey Casey," he said. "How’s it hang…ing……?" I glared at him, eyes like saucers, pinprick pupils, brow furrowed. "Oh man, I'm SO, so sorry. I simply wasn't thinking just for a moment" he pleaded.

Well at least “IT” was still hanging for the time being, just not as low as it once had. "Let's just get this over with," I said in my new weird, high-pitched, almost prepubescent voice, which I'd been cringing over since before I’d left the hospital. We were here now to talk about my contract with the NDW lawyers they'd sent up to Cleveland, so now we were heading into the office they had rented. "Just make sure you ask them, first thing."

"I'm telling you Casey, they're not going go for it," he said. "They've already said it's off the table. Ironically I'm pretty sure they're trying to avoid a wrongful termination suit."

"I'll give my consent under oath. I'll have it recorded," I insisted.

"Nope," he returned. "We already talked about that. They know you're on anti-depressants. It could be argued that you weren't in the correct state of mind. Besides, it's not just YOU they're worried about. If word got out they'd terminated the contract of a……of a transgender wrestler, they'd leave the office that day and find their cars on fire. Doesn't matter what you'd say, there's people who'd still want their blood."

"Excuse me," interrupted a dark haired, professionally dressed young woman with frameless glasses and a tablet. "Mr. Cullen? They're ready for you now."

"Showtime Boss," said Nigel as he strode through the doors. I kissed my shoulder for luck and followed.

Inside was a pretty El Cheapo office room typical as a daily rental and in the middle of it was a long table. At the opposite end of it already seated, were five suits I didn't recognize, a skinny hipster guy with a poorly kept beard and thick glasses who I recognized as one of the show writers, another hefty well-built guy wearing one of the NDW trainer's polos, as well as a computer monitor which displayed Mike sitting in another arena office. Obviously Mike couldn't be there in person because the booker has to go on with the show and they were in Detroit by now.

Mr. Blake, Mr. Cullen," said a bun wearing lady in a black suit, who had just risen in the middle of the seated group. "On behalf of Next Dimension Wrestling we'd like to express our condolences for the terrible crime you've been the victim of and we hope the following necessary proceedings can go as smoothly and easily as possible. Please," she motioned to the chairs in front of us "be seated."

Nigel pulled out a chair and was about to sit down when I elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "Ow! ...oh, right," he moaned. "Um," he stood upright and faced the group. "My client would like to begin by repeating his desire to be released from his current employment contract with Next Dimension Wrestling."

The same lady, now sitting, tented her fingers and spoke. "I am...afraid we're not currently authorized to do that, although we have been given discrepancy to offer very favorable new terms."

"Huh, fine," I groaned. "Let's talk. But I'm not promising anything."

We sat down. "First of all," Nigel began. "My client demands a 25% minimum yearly salary increase with continued options for merchandising, bonuses, and percentages of gate sales. That’s non-negotiable."

The suits huddled and whispered with each other, having a very public secret conversation.

"We're amenable to that," finally answered the lady.

"In addition," Nigel continued. "My client wants a guaranteed title reign of no less than one month within the first two years, barring injury, as well as an advertised match in at least one pay-per-view event each fiscal quarter, or numerical equivalent. Again of course barring injury to him err herself."

"What are you doing!?" I whisper yelled in his ear. "I don't want that kind of exposure!"

"What are you talking about?" he whispered back. "That's going to increase your merchandising and bonuses by a ton. Besides, it’ll justify the pay increase they give you if they can utilize you more."

"They’ve already agreed to the pay increase you moron!" I snapped. "Besides, I'd rather they didn't, I'd rather you just play hard-ball enough that they’ll let me out of my contract."

"Casey," he argued. "You like wrestling. You always wanted bigger matches, the titles and more exposure, so what's the problem?"

"I DON'T WANT TO BE SEEN LIKE THIS!" I shouted completely aloud.

One could have heard a pin drop. There was an awkward silence in the room for a good ten seconds after that. To my dismay the suits didn't display the appalled expression I would have expected, not all of them anyway. The lady in the middle just cracked a subtle, amused smirk.

"We appreciate your concern," she finally broke the silence. "But the fact is we already lost one useful piece of talent in this debacle and you are a gifted ring worker as I’m led to understand. You were a good utility that went, underutilized. We're willing to correct that now."

"But I don't..." I warbled. "I just..." I threw my hands down in frustration.

"If I may?" interjected the writer guy on the side, who had up until this point, been typing at his computer, likely working instead of paying attention. "We've already given out the dirt sheet on this whole thing in the locker rooms, but we haven’t made a public press release yet. If it's your public image you're worried about, all the fans know for now is that you got sick."

"What are you proposing?" Nigel questioned.

"We could just invent a new persona. We do it all the time," he answered.

I hadn't considered that. It wasn't like my name was actually Casey Blaze, we did characters. I knew guys who'd gone through three or four in a career. I knew one guy with a chiropractor shtick who put on a dinosaur mask for a year and a half, and by the time he took it off again, nobody knew who he was, and I was gonna look way more different than before. Wrestling fans were stupid. I could make this work... if I had to.

"You're damn right we are," Mike spoke up from his computer screen. "We're doing that anyway. No way I'm booking “Casey the Tranny Wrestler”. But that might be a problem” pointing at his own computer screen, which didn't translate correctly into physical space, but I instinctively knew what he meant and was pointing at. I looked over to where my hand was scratching my star tattoo. It was sort of a trademark, identifiable.

"Nah," spoke the trainer casually. "There's a thousand ways we can fix that. Sweat resistant makeup, cover up ink, perhaps even having the tattoo removed entirely, hell it may only need something as simple as the right outfit."

"No it's an opportunity," said the writer with a little excitement in his voice. "You were gonna need a new name right? I've always been a name guy but everybody comes in with something already in mind. Star," he said holding his hands up as if he were picturing something. It was an odd thing to do for a sound. "We'll call you Star."

"I don't want to be called fucking Star" I insisted. "It sounds like a stripper."

"No worries," he said. "We'll add an extra R to star. Make it sound like a surname. But you'll need a new first name. Guessing you don't want to go too fem, so something neutral, something that sounds good..." he contemplated. "Got it," He snapped his fingers. "Got it, Sam. Sam Starr. Snappy, great alliteration."

I put my hand on my temples and sighed.

We were sitting in Nigel's car after the meeting. By the time we were done in the meeting I had guaranteed rights to a title, a minimum number of matches, minimum air-time, an action figure, a new t-shirt design every other fiscal quarter, pay-per-view appearances, a 33.33% pay increase, etc. all under the name Sam Starr. Woopty-do.

Under a doctor's recommendation and due to my own still changing appearance, as well as Sam Starr's need to have her own move-set of wrestling holds, I would be going back into training instead of going into the ring right away, but they wouldn't be sending me back to developmental. I'd go back to touring with the show, but I'd just be back-stage practicing. They’d have to rearrange the whole tour bus order to make that happen, but for now I'd be riding in a car and staying in a hotel room until the changes were done. Then I'd be bunking in one of the women's buses with a couple of lady wrestlers named Violet and Cassidy. Cassidy would also be my training partner for a while, along with my new coach. The trainer from the meeting, a guy named Jerry Norman.

He'd been a minor league wrestler I'd never heard of some fifteen years ago as it turned out. Cassidy was part of the main roster, so I knew her. She was, let's say, bottom heavy, but was still pretty damned agile, liked to do high-spots and a lot of flips. She was a decent worker in her own right, even if she didn't gel with my preferred style.

Nigel slammed his car door closed as he adjusted himself in the driver's seat and then he held out a box of french-fries he had in his hand to me. I grasped a few of them and started chewing on them. Damn my diet, I was hungry. This whole process had my metabolism completely out of whack.

"That went better than I expected," he said. "We got a great deal."

I started crying.

"Aww, geez," he said. "Look, I know you're going through something unimaginably hard right now. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make a bit of a silver lining. We just got a deal former world champions would kill for. It's what you’ve always wanted isn't it?"

"I wanted me to do it!" I screamed at him, sounding like a pissed-off teenager yelling at her dad. "I, ME, you get that? Not, Sam Starr."

"So what! Don’t you like her persona?"

"It's not about fucking personas" I said, realizing it was about that as I spoke. "Casey Blaze wasn't a persona. Casey Blaze was me. He wasn't some damn character. That swaggering, self-absorbed asshole was all me," I rolled my eyes at my own hilarious, morbid confession, not just to Nigel, but to myself. "That's what I mean, me. I wanted to be famous. I wanted to be on top, as myself. I'm not FUCKING ME anymore! Sam Starr is NOT ME! Casey Blaze was me. I'm more nobody than ever."

Chapter Five

I sat on a bench outside the rental car place looking at my phone. I noticed the time and reached into my bag for my medication. I shook out a couple pills and downed them dry before putting the bottle back.

"Casey?" said a voice above me. "It's Jerry, we met at the contract meeting," he reached out his hand. I stood up and shook it with disinterest. Jerry was a bit of an older guy, but he still kept the wrestler bod in some ways. I could clearly see the outline of his pecks through his polo and it irritated me to realize, at the rate I was fading away, he was already bigger than me. Worse still and the thing that really turned my stomach, was that as I shook his hand, I realized how much bigger his was than mine, encompassing it almost. "I guess we're riding together. Come on, the car's over there."

I picked up my bags, he had a roller, and I followed him to the car. It was a basic A to B sedan, into the trunk of which he put his luggage and I threw my bags in the back seat.

He settled in the driver's seat and started the car, triggering a monotonous little ping. "Seatbelt on" he said. I just looked forward with my arms crossed. "Look it's not going to stop pinging till you do."

I sighed and pulled the strap over my shoulder, clicking it in place. "Whose buthneth ith it but mine ifth I go thying through the windthield?"

"Excuse me?" he looked puzzled.

I sighed much harder, frustrated. "My lipth are thwollen okay," I declared defiantly. "They thay I'll geth useth to it in a day or two."

"Yeah I guess they are," he said with a disengaging tone and put the car in drive before pulling away. "Dinner?" he said after a while.

"Whath?"

"It's more than 150 miles to Detroit. Where do you want to eat?" he explained.

"I doth care," I said, frankly pouting.

"Well let's see if we can find a steakhouse. It's good to keep those protein levels up," He pulled out onto the highway and we sat in silence for a long time before he broke the tension again. "Look, uh, I know you're upset. I know what it's like to have a career altering mishap..."

"I donth care about my damned career!" I insisted.

"No that's not what I meant. It's, it's to have everything you are and worked for flipped upside down, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You ring workers, you're all body proud and you had to work to earn it, then to just have it torn out from under you. I get it. It's rough."

"You donth know whath iths like," I grumbled staring out the window.

It was about an hour later when Jerry took an off-ramp and pulled into the parking lot of a roadside eatery. He put it in park and got out of the car. "You coming?" he questioned, poking his head back inside. I jerked the door handle and stepped out, still obstinate, but hungry as hell.

Inside was this weird countrified place where the waitresses wore wicker Stetsons and fiddle music played over the sound system. It was the kind of place that was too good to have peanut shells on the floor, but not so nice as to keep the red and white picnic blanket checkerboard pattern from off the tablecloths. "Whath the hell ith all of thith?" I said.

"Never been to a roadside steakhouse before?" Jerry asked. "I've seen a lot worse than this."

"Just the two of you?" asked a girl who had cowgirl boots poking out from the bottom of an apron bedecked sundress, holding a stack of menus across her chest.

"Uh, yeah, that'll be all of us" Jerry said.

"Right this way," she responded and led us to a table behind a wood and glass partition in about the middle of the place. Looking at the wallpaper I figured this used to be the smoking section back when that was a thing. Jerry and I sat on opposite sides of the table and she handed us each a menu. No sooner had she wandered off than an identically dressed girl, with slightly longer red hair, as opposed to black, came over.

"Can I take your drink orders?" She asked.

"Uh yeah" said Jerry. "I'll take a medium cola please."

"Bourbon," I said flatly.

"Um... okay," she said. "But I'm going to need to see some ID then."

"Thoda," I acquiesced. "Thmall," As much as I'd been starving lately, I just couldn't put nearly as much food away. Time was I could eat a pound of roast chicken in a sitting before a workout, but already I couldn't stomach a fraction of that.

"Alrigh," she said returning to chipper. "I'll be right back with your drinks and to take your food order."

"Crap, I hope you're not a vegetarian" Jerry said as he flipped through the menu. "This place takes the steakhouse thing seriously."

Fortunately I wasn’t. Of all the changes that were happening to me, my taste-buds were thankfully not among them. Still I wasn't in the mood to work too much for my meal, so I didn't want something I needed to cut up. The small cheeseburger looked like a good choice.

"Hi," said the waitress when she returned and placed two glasses of dark liquid down on the table, "two sodas."

I wrapped my puffy lips around the plastic straw and drank. Quickly some of the soda began dribbling out of the side of my mouth, since I didn't quite know how to use them.

"Ready to order?" she asked.

"Yeah" Jerry answered. "Um, I'll take the small T-bone, medium and a baked potato with it."

"Great" the waitress said taking notes on her tablet. "And what will your daughter be having?"

My eyes tried to escape out of my head as I glared. Jerry looked embarrassed, while the waitress was clearly confused at the sudden awkwardness we were displaying. I seized a napkin holder from the table and gazed into the reflective metallic surface of it. I saw big bright green eyes, short, wavy red hair, a rounded jaw, a little button of a nose, thick, peachy lips and perfect skin. I even looked a little younger.

When did all of this happen? I knew my features were changing but this still felt like it had snuck up on me. I flung the napkin holder across the aisle where it landed in the leather cushion seats around the table across the way. I tore out of my seat and ran through the eatery, hearing the Jerry’s voice profusely apologizing behind me.

When I got outside I discovered it had started to rain. It was cold even through the fabric of my hooded jacket. I got in the car and balled up in the passenger seat with my feet up on the cushion, crossed my arms and sobbed.

It was a good ten minutes later when I heard the driver’s side door open and in came Jerry. He sat down, and put a paper bag with a big yellow 'M' on it on the center consul between us. I looked at it, puzzled, which he noticed.

"I didn't want you sitting here by yourself. So I walked to the McDonald’s across the street instead. I didn't know what you liked so I just got you a plain burger, but I placed some ketchup packets in the bag if you want ketchup."

"You didnth hath to do that" I sniffed, but nosed into the bag anyway.

I pulled out a small package and began to unwrap it and Jerry did likewise. "No I really did. She was totally out of line in there. There's NO WAY I'm old enough to be your father" he smirked, and I glared at him dead eyed.

"Justh give me the kethup."

It was well past dark when we made it into Detroit, and Jerry found a hotel for me to stay at while he headed for the arena. He said he'd pick me up in the morning and left me there with nothing but a bag of limp soggy French fries along with my thoughts.

"Back to training tomorrow" I thought, sitting on the hotel bed later on. My T levels had pretty much bottomed out by that stage, so the doctors said it would now be okay to start exercising again. I wouldn't have the same energy as before, but I probably wouldn't pass out again. I stuck my arm out and looked it over. It was so much thinner than before. It still had some muscle on it, but was nothing compared to how it once was. It looked like something I could have snapped with my thumb when I’d been Casey Blaze, but even my thumb was smaller now too.

"The rain in Thpain fallth mainly on the plain," I said out loud now that nobody else was here to listen. I was determined to get my speech back in line, though I did still cringe at myself just from the pitch of it. "The rain in Thpain falls mainly on the plain. The rain in Thpain falls mainly on the plain. Thpain, Thpain, Sss-pain. S-pain, Spain," I slowed down. "The rain in... SPAIN falls mainly on the plain. FINALLY," I declared and I licked my lips. They felt distractingly funny still, almost like a chipped tooth you can't help but run your tongue over. They felt dry. Even my tongue felt dry. The one sip of soda I had gotten at the steakhouse was all I'd drunken the entire day. I pulled my wallet out from my back pocket and retrieved a few bills, hid the wallet back in my bag, then headed outside.

Outside my room, I wandered the halls looking for a drink vending machine that these cheap hotels usually had a few of somewhere. It took a couple of minutes walking around and turning corners, but I eventually found a couple side by side and I bought as many cans as the bills I’d brought along would afford me. In truth I'd overdone it, because I was now struggling to keep all of them under my arm without any slipping out. I sat there juggling cans for a good minute before I heard a voice behind me.

"You need any help?" it said. I turned to find some frat looking dude-bro eyeing me over. He wasn't so big but he “was” big. Big in a way that probably five days ago I'd still have thought nothing of him, except that maybe he looked like an ass-wipe. But now he was bigger than me, noticeably bigger than me and he was a stranger approaching me in a strange hallway in a strange city.

"Um, no," I answered almost timidly and I stood up and walked around him in a wide arc, leaving a couple of cans rolling across the floor behind me.

"You dropped a couple" he called down the hall.

"Keep them" I shouted back without turning or slowing my pace.

"You here with friends?" he called, but I ignored him and headed straight for my room.

I fumbled my way into the room and slammed the door behind me, then hurried straight past the first bed and over to the second, where I dumped the sealed cans and climbed up onto it and then up against the headboard. I wasn't conscious of it at the time, but I've thought it over since that time. About when I was a kid, a small kid and I travelled with my parents. They'd always make me sleep in the bed furthest from the door. It was safer they always told me.

It was the weirdest sensation just then, a sort of sick feeling in my throat. I wasn't used to it. I looked over and saw the TV remote on the stand and picked it up. I flipped through, found the local channels and eventually came to a show from one of the local Indie wrestling operations. Amateurs, they were trying to get into the big-time like I’d done once upon a time, not so long ago really. These guys had the same problem most Indie set ups I'd seen had, the same problem James Phoenix’s we had. James Phoenix. I almost spat at the thought. I'd kill him if I ever saw him again. They were spot-monkeys! They liked big flashy moves and they had to get them in. They had no concept of ring psychology, or how to tell a story during a match. Hell, most of them couldn't even chain grapple unless it involved eleven back-flips and ended in a head scissor takedown.

Eventually I calmed down enough to gain the presence of mind to actually go lock the hotel room door and then I returned to my spot back up on the bed. I curled my feet up against my chest and soon calmed down more. I popped the top on the first soda can and downed it, albeit much more slowly then I used to. I continued watching the show and drank another soda, then another, then another.

I woke up to nature's call, not having remembered falling asleep. It was more like nature's bullhorn, because I had to piss like a terrified race horse. I rolled out of bed flipping the TV off as I went and made my way to the bathroom. In the privy I kicked the toilet seat up and unzipped my pants, then reached for the little nub I had once so proudly called my dick. Aimed as best as I still could and let loose.

"SON OF A BITCH" I yelled as piss began soaking all over my hand and down the front and crotch of my pants. "What the hell?"

It took me a moment to put it all together, even after having seen it visually. Vaguely I recalled being warned about it, but at the time I'd been too emotional to process it fully. In a man, the urethra was channelled through the glans at the head of the penis, but in a woman the glans is at the clitoris, and never the two shall meet.

My urethra was currently making a break for it, which threw off the plumbing somewhat. It appeared my days of standing to pee were at a very final end. I slammed my fists against the sink and slumped down onto the now piss filthy hotel bathroom floor, too crushed to care about any future.

Wishing everyone a safe and Merry Xmas - Wendy C

.

A Starr is Born Pt 3
Reworked by Wendy C from
a story written by Mistress X.

A pounding at the door woke me up. I rolled again out of bed, this time wearing nothing but a pair of now very poor fitting boxers and staggered over to the threshold. I looked through the peep hole to see Jerry standing there, so I unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Good morn," he began. "WHOA!" He looked down over me and then averted his eyes, probably out of some sort of reflex modesty.

I looked down at my already more hourglass than triangular thin frame, the boxers riding high on my hips, the slight tenting in my chest with much more pronounced protruding nipples. "Yeah, grow up Jerry," I said dryly. "I don't have anything you haven't seen before”. Then I thought back to the events of the previous night. "Or maybe I do."

"Yeah well" said Jerry at the door, his hand up flat against the side of his head like a horse blinder. "Get dressed, um dressed to work out. We have a long session this morning, then a couple of meetings afterwards". I threw on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, both of which were loose as hell, except around the hips.

"My shoes don't fit," I confessed. "I mean I can wear them, but they're too floppy to work out in."

"Um, okay," Jerry said. "We'll see about borrowing some when we get to the gym. But come on we're gonna be late as it is."

We piled into Jerry's rent-a-car and he drove us over to the arena. We passed the big rigs that carried the equipment from show to show. They also brought the gym equipment too, so it would probably be set up near them.

When we got into the gym a lot of other people were already working out, I shrank into myself slightly, being embarrassed to be seen the way I was. "Anybody have some shoes or boots Casey can borrow?" Jerry called out.

"Yeah," answered one of the junior trainers. "What size?"

"Shriveling," I answered. I stared for a moment and paused. "I don't know," I admitted.

"I'll see what I can find in the spare gear," the guy said.

The first fifteen minutes of my workout session were taken up by trying to find some footwear that would fit me. Ultimately I had to settle on some knee high lace up boots that were made to resemble tall sneakers, women's sneakers of course.

We came to one of the rings that had been set up for practice in which a couple of low-card guys were standing. "Hey fellas," Jerry called. "We're gonna need this ring," Being one of the senior trainers, Jerry's word had a lot of pull in the gym and the two abandoned the ring, and we climbed in. "Alright," Jerry addressed me. "First things first, blow-up drills," I wasn't shocked but I was still disappointed. In wrestling 'blowing up' was the term used for when somebody got winded or gassed, too tired to put on a proper match. Blowup drills were meant to build up stamina; they were very repetitive, very boring, and it was a lot of what we did in the gym. It wasn't all about weightlifting. "Let's start with bumps and kips," he said.

"Fine," I said unenthusiastically and I centered the ring. I bent slightly at the waist, then threw myself backward and slapped the mat with the palms of my hands as I impacted back first. That was a 'bump,' a back bump, the act of throwing one's self to the ground to emulate being knocked down. But instead of kipping up, springing back to my feet, I just writhed.

"Come on Casey kip, you don't have to sell the back," Jerry instructed.

"I'm not," I complained. "That hurt. I don't think I landed right."

"Crap," Jerry said. He stepped over and helped me up. "Your center of gravity must be off. We'll figure that out. Um, let's just run the ropes instead."

Another blow-up drill, running the ropes was an exercise where we'd run back and forth across the ring, hitting the ropes with our backs and bouncing off, over, and over again. Ideally you'd grab the top rope, tuck an arm over it, push your shoulder blades into the rope on the turn, and bounce off. Then you'd repeat, again and again across the whole ring for as long as the drill went on.

I positioned myself on one side of the ring, and started the run, I took three big steps, reached for the top rope, but it was out of range, my hand ended up going under it, and on the turn I missed the top rope altogether and fell between the top and second ropes, falling out of the ring completely and landing on my head on the thinly matted floor.

"Casey, Casey, are you alright?" I heard a warbling voice say and then a bright light hit me in the eyes.

"Nnngg," I moaned.

"I don't see any signs of concussion," said the EMT as he emerged from behind his flashlight. "But you might want to put some ice on that and sit it out for a while."

"Is the rest of my life okay?" I said rubbing the aching knot on my skull.

"That was my fault," Jerry apologized as he helped me over to a bench. "Can somebody get an icepack over here? Look, you're shorter than you were. I think you need to take an extra step and hit the ropes with your feet closer to the apron."

"Can we not do this Jerry?" I pleaded.

"And maybe kick your feet up more on the back bump, that'll get better rotation through the lower center of gravity."

"Jerry, can we not do this? I don't want to do this, any of this."

"I'm sorry Casey," he said. "But that's what contracts are for, and we both have to do our jobs. They're putting a lot on you. I can give you a few minutes, but then we're gonna have to walk you through those rope runs again. WALK."

We spent a good 45 minutes getting me used to one of the most basic things in wrestling again. Learning the ropes was a term as applicable to pro wrestling as it was to sailing.

"That's it Casey. That's where I want your feet when you hit the ropes" Jerry said. "Now I want you to try hitting them a little faster." I ran at them this time, using FOUR steps instead of my old three and hit the ropes successfully, bounced back and did it again, and again, and again. "That's good Casey," Jerry cheered. "We'll be doing the universal spot by the end of the day at this rate. Let's do this for another three minutes, then we'll move on to the latigo spot."

The latigo spot, or Mexican whip, was a wrist lock chained into a hip toss, which you were expected to roll through and end up back on your feet. We'd lock back up into the collar and elbow and then apply it again, taking turns throwing and being thrown. Jerry, to his credit, actually had a lot of gas in the tank for a guy his age, but I was already destroyed. I was huffing, and puffing, and doing whatever I could to get air into my tiny lungs. "Ca... can't bre... breathe," I huffed.

"That's what the blowup drills are for Casey," he responded.

"I'm ima......"

"Okay Casey, one more minute of this then we'll work on figuring out the bumps problem. You're rolling well so far."

I managed to somehow stick it out through the last minute and at the end collapsed on the mat furiously sucking air. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so wiped out. It was like my lungs were actually too small, my chest wouldn't expand. I felt like my ribs had been crushed.

"Alright, up," Jerry demanded, but I just lay on the mat huffing. "We're gonna have to work on your wind. Come on, I mean it get up, let's work on those bumps, unless you want to do another minute on the latigos."

I struggled to my feet reluctantly.

"Okay, like I said earlier, your center of gravity is lower and your back is... well, it's less... flat, so you need to throw your legs up more in the bump," Jerry explained. I twisted around and tried to get a look behind myself. It probably wasn't a good sign that I could see the edge of my own ass. They had told me that I would inherit the Zeeg hips, which were larger because they were born with bigger heads. They grew up and died with bigger heads too from what I'd seen. But the point was, I was definitely gonna be pretty thick around that section. Hell I already was. "Come on now. Give it a shot," Jerry clapped.

Still slightly gasping, I dipped forward a little bit then threw myself backward again, making sure to tuck my chin and slap the mat like usual, but this time throwing my feet up in the air further than what was normal for me. It didn't hurt this time.

"Good," said Jerry. "Now kip up."

I pulled them up again and rolled back onto my shoulders, put my palms to the mat behind my head and pushed off. My feet landed flat on the mat, but I was a long way from upright and I fell to the floor again with my feet folded under me.

"Maybe we'll save the kip up for another day!" Jerry relented.

This was so humiliating. Not only did I no longer look like myself, I couldn't do anything right anymore either. There were things I used to be really good at. I used to be a top level performer in the ring, but now I flopped like a green trainee on the first week in school. I used to be good in bed too, I was a real lady killer and now I didn't even have working equipment. Not that I'd be interested anymore if I did. That brought on a dark thought, and I scrambled to my feet and threw myself into another bump. I had to work, I had to do something physical to run away from the realization I'd just had. I got up and threw myself into another bump.

"That's a good idea," said Jerry. "Just focus on the bump right now. Give me another 50."

I went back to my hotel room that night, tired and sore. I didn't dare use the gym shower and I was delighted to find the shower in my room worked pretty well. I stripped down, turned on the hot water, and looked at the “girl” in the mirror. She was a looker for the most part I had to admit in all truth. She had pretty green eyes with short red-brown hair, short because gynospores don't do anything to the hair, what with both Zeeg men and women being bald up top.

She had fuller lips than I would have expected already. She was a little curvy too, towards the bottom anyway. Didn't have all that much to speak of up top but that was slowly changing. All things considered, except for the bits and pieces still down stairs, I would have given her a poke back in my day. She did nothing for me now sexually. Not even a stir, if the thing still worked at all. But it was more than that. Yeah, she was pretty, but that was academic. I knew what pretty was from observation, from comparison. This meets this standard, this one doesn’t. It was all about just rationalization.

I had no SENSE of pretty, so I had to try something. I went back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, still naked as the day I was born, and I pulled my phone out of my bag. I got on the internet and went to some of my bookmarks. Porn. I’d browse through porn to find out.

I started off with softcore and solos. Every girl on there was the picture of sex, and I got nothing from it. I moved on to masturbation pics and vids, nothing, all the same. Then I went on to lesbian stuff, nil. Then to straight sex….and boom. We had a winner that got to me. I suddenly had butterflies in my stomach watching a busty brunette getting plowed by an eight inch cock.

Nothing stirred between my disturbingly smooth thighs, but my nipples tightened up and poked out like the thermostat had just bottomed out. Something climbed up my throat as I listened to her moan and a troublingly similar sound emerged out of my mouth. I clicked it closed immediately. There were still experiments to be done however. I looked up the same model, made sure I found her doing softcore solos, masturbation, and lesbian stuff. Nothing happened, not even a flicker.

This didn't gross me out per se but it was akin to watching two jell-o molds slap together. Then I did another test. I quickly found the male model from before, and took an adventure to the edge. I found a video of him laying pipe in the butthole of another guy and hesitantly I clicked it. That butterfly feeling was back, not as strong as before but it was there. I closed it again. I spent a good half hour then looking through things, and recollecting what I had been told. What I had feared seemed to have come true. I could get aroused on some level, but a necessary factor in that arousal was guys.

Seemingly I couldn't have any sexual reaction anymore to anything but men. I tossed my phone back into my bag and I walked into the bathroom. I slumped down inside the shower stall and then reached over to the nobs and switched it from hot to cold.

When I woke up the following morning I found my boxers were even tighter around my hips and there was enough on my chest to move about when I did. They were real boobs now, still small but unmistakable. I'd heard of girls sprouting overnight but with the rate of these spores it was literal. It was supposedly even faster with v-rays to feed the metabolism. I made sure to dress this time before Jerry came to pick me up, the clothes fit even worse. I laced up the boots I hadn't returned from the day before, having left my own shoes behind instead as a trade. Even these didn't fit as well as the day before.

There came another knock at the door. "Come on, we're burning daylight" I could hear Jerry calling through. I opened the door, my clothes hanging off of me, and then locked up without a word. "Did you have breakfast yet?" he asked. "We have a long day ahead of us."

"Any chance I can hit the weight room today?" I pleaded.

"Nope," was all he said as he headed toward the parking lot

We got back to the gym, and obtained another ring to ourselves. "Okay," said Jerry. "Your training partner is supposed to meet us in about an hour. You got your bumps down pretty well yesterday so let's get back to blow-up drills."

"I wish I could get my 'bumps' down," I grumbled under my breath.

"What was that?" questioned Jerry. "Come on, let's go......... waist lock and break. We'll do some rotations. Start in the collar and elbow."

We centered the ring and tied up, which was harder than it should have been, since Jerry was much taller than me at this point. I wasn't supposed to lose so much height, but I had. I put my hands on his shoulder and inner arm, he did likewise to me, and we pushed against each other, or at least we pretended to. I took my left arm, pushed up his left arm, and slipped under around his left side, stepping behind him locked my hands around his waist and dropping my stance low.

He grasped my wrists, drove forward, appearing to pull me forward, but I was actually following his lead, until he caught the ropes, bouncing off of them at the chest, and pushing me off where I did a back bump on the mat, then rolled through and back to my feet. He turned and we tied up again. Now it was his turn to lock, and mine to break.

He pushed my left arm up, you always go to their left, and he slid around behind me. It was harder for him because he had to go comparatively lower. He cinched his hands at my waist and pulled, I felt him impact against me, and I felt......something poke me.

I hit him with a stiff back elbow to the side of the head.

"Ow!" he yelled rubbing his face beside the eye. "What the hell Casey? That's not the reversal."

"Drop your weight and clear some space god dammit!" I berated. "I don't want to feel that on me!"

"Okay, I get it," he admitted. "But that is not an appropriate reaction," He was right of course. It's not the first time I'd been poked by a dude in the midst of a close grapple. Hell it was even worse in real collegiate wrestling, but at that time I wasn't feeling the most secure with my sexuality and I overreacted.

"Who taught YOU to waist lock dammit?" I continued. "Bend your knees, get low, make a gap for Christ's sake."

"I know," he confessed. "It's a bad habit. My main move was always the waist lock takedown though. You've got to pull up with it," again he was right. His move had been sloppy, but then if you showed me a wrestler that didn't have at least one bad habit in the ring, then I'd show you a pink unicorn. "Just run the ropes for a while," he instructed. "I've got to go check on something."

He rolled out of the ring and walked off. I sighed and began starting to bounce back and forth across the canvas. I was still more winded than I felt I should have been, and I was getting a lot of jiggle in places it disturbed me to get jiggles, but that wasn't my most immediate concern.

I'd been going for a good five minutes when I somehow stepped on the inside of my sweat pants and smashed face first into the mat, my pants around my knees, my underwear, thankfully still on. The noise of the gym changed. It was the only sound worse than laughter, the sound of people pretending not to laugh.

"Those don't fit right," I heard a voice say from ringside.

"No shit," I answered. A feminine body climbed into the ring and a dainty, dark skinned hand reached down and offered itself to me. I took it and she helped me up. She was a little shorter than me, with wild, black hair, in sort of a loose afro. She was wearing a high cut singlet over a set of color coordinated tights. Her expression was one of bemused pity.

"You're Casey right?" she said. "I'm Cassidy."

"We've actually met," I responded, pulling my pants up.

"Yeah, I guess we have haven't we?" she realized. "You look different."

“No shit Sherlock” I replied sarcastically.

"Anyway I'm supposed to practice with you," she said. "But first though we got to find you something that fits you, and gives you some support."

I looked down at my boobs knowing precisely what she meant.

"I'll be right back," she declared, and she was gone as quick as she'd shown up, off doing I hoped not what I thought she was.

While she was gone I noticed the gym go quiet, and there in the doorway was a booker's assistant reading the night's card. Jesus. Had it really only been a week? Seven days? It felt like an eternity since I'd heard this last, right before James Phoenix dosed me. Everything, EVERYTHING had been so different then. What's more, it marked only roughly the half-way point in my transformation. The more outward changes were supposed to slow down now, but the more private alterations would speed up.

"I'm back," I heard Cassidy announce. "Did I miss anything?"

"Uh, yeah," I answered, still half-way lost in thought. "You're doing the job to White Tiger in the last match of the dark show tonight."

"Oh man," she said. "I hate the dark show, I hate losing too. Anyway, come with me a minute," She held up a bundle of yellow and metallic silver cloth that scared me to think about.

"Nooo..." I said.

"Fine, keep falling out of your pants. Just get down here," she insisted.

"Dammit," I cursed. "Fine, but let's make this quick."

I followed her out of the gym and into an adjacent locker room where she handed me the material and I went behind a tile partition near the showers.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I exclaimed as I unfolded it and saw what it was. "I can't wear this!"

"It's all I've got that'll fit you," I heard her echo back. "You need something elastic right? Something that shapes better to you, right"

"This wasn't exactly made with my anatomy in mind," I insisted.

"Wait," she said. "I thought you..."

"Not yet!" I answered.

"Oh," she said quietly. "Then I guess it IS gonna look funny."

"No shit," I called back.

When I did return, it was with me struggling to get comfortable with the clothing she’d loaned me to wear. "How do I even get this thing on?" I “did” actually know how to get it on, so I didn't know why I even said that.

It was a singlet, I'd worn them before, but this one had a more open neck than most. "Aww, man," I moaned as I stood in front of her red-faced. I was now wearing a yellow sleeveless singlet along with a pair of integrated metallic silver tights. It was cut in an 80’s workout fashion design with the hips of the leotard raised super high and it rode up my butt like a drill-sergeant on PMS.

The neckline was very low too, peaking down near my solar plexus. It was still a little loose up top. Cassidy had bigger boobs than me. The most or debatably least disturbing part, was the little bump that poked out where they were designed to display a flat smooth valley between the legs. "I can't wear this. It's almost indecent exposure!"

"What choice do you have?" she asked, choking back a giggle.

"I don't..." I looked at the bundle of my gym clothes in my hand. "Cassidy, go find me some scissors, please."

She came back almost ten minutes later and handed me the scissors she'd found. I took them and made some hasty alterations to my grey sweats and ended up creating what amounted to a pair of little almost legless gym shorts. I didn't know why I cut them as short as I did. It just went with the rest of the outfit better I guess. I pulled them up and tugged the draw-string tight, so now neither my front junk nor my silver clad ass were poking out quite so noticeably. I held up my hands and looked down at myself.

Cassidy kissed her hand and made the 'OK' sign. "Let's get back to the gym, I've got to do our set and then I gotta go talk to Asano (White Tiger) about our match," she said.

I reluctantly followed her back to the gym at a creeping pace and made it back to the ring where we found Jerry waiting.

"Where the hell have you be..." he began but he trailed off and his eyes widened at the sight of me. "... ahm. Um... Don't uh, well just don't run off like that during practice again," His face turned red.

"She had a wardrobe malfunction," Cassidy said. My heart skipped a beat and crawled up into my throat. "She" That was the first time anyone had called me that, and it hit me harder than I would have thought. Truth told, it triggered the realization that people had almost been avoiding calling me that for a while now, avoiding gender pronouns whenever possible in reference to me.

"Well, um," Jerry began. "You two get in the ring and work on some sets."

Cassidy warmed up a bit as we did some drop down rope runs. Basically one of us would run the ropes while the other kept dropping to the mat and standing back up, forcing the one running to leap over them. It was pretty basic but good for breaking a sweat. We were actually working pretty smoothly together when Jerry called and interrupted us.

"Alright, you're doing really well" he said. "You’re finally starting to get your legs under you again. Let's give you a test though. I want you two to give us a few rounds of the universal spot."

The universal spot was a bit of showmanship that pretty much every professional wrestler the world over knew and practiced, hence the name. It was a tad complicated, but it was drilled so much pretty much any real pro could do it in their sleep. It involved a lot of the drop down rope runs with other moves thrown in. The sequence was, rope run, rope run, hip toss, rope run, rope run, shoulder block, rope run, body press, and throw off.

We came off of opposite ropes. I’d duck under her as she leaped bounced off the ropes, then she went under while I leaped. We bounced off the ropes, I’d hip toss her, she’d go to the mat, then I ran the ropes, she went under, we then ran the ropes together, I went under, we bounced off the ropes, she stopped mid-ring and planted her shoulder into mine, I did a back bump, she ran the ropes, and dove down on top of me for a pin, I pushed up on her, and she rolled off.

Smooth as silk, the next set would be the same thing but in reverse. We came off the ropes, she ducked, we came off the ropes, I ducked, she hip tossed me, I went down, she came off the ropes, I went under, we came off the ropes, she went under, but when it came to the shoulder block I stopped short and didn't make contact. She still bumped out of habit, but it looked terrible and the whole sequence ground to a halt.

"What's going on?" asked Jerry. "You were doing great. Are you feeling sick again?"

"I don't know," I said sheepishly. I wasn’t sick, but I realized I couldn't hit her, even fake hit her. There was a time when men and women could be matched against each other, but the sports commissions had really cracked down on that, years before (Why they get to oversee boxing as well, I'll never understand) so I'd never had to do it. It still happens in wrestling schools pretty commonly, but there weren’t any women in my school when I was learning. "I uh, I don't think I can hit her," I mumbled.

"What?" she said amusingly astonished as she crawled up off the mat. "Are you acting all chivalrous for me? Come on lay into me bitch!" She steadied herself in the middle of the ring, ready to take the impact. "Come on," I stood still. I could see the irritation growing on her face. "Well you're going to have to get over that," she insisted, and she hit the ropes.

She came back at me and landed a solid shoulder check, actually putting force into me. I didn't bump but I stepped back, she had legitimately pushed me backward which kind of surprised me. She did it again and again. I just took a step back. "Come on dammit!" she yelled, actual scorn showing through, and she slapped me across the face, stiff, hard.

I don't know what I was thinking, I wasn't thinking, but I slapped her back; it wasn't a semi-closed wrestling fist, but an open handed slap, actual contact. It was a typical lady wrestler exchange. I stared at my stinging hand, shocked. "You feel better now?" she questioned.

"Not really," I admitted.

She shook her head incredulously, then like a flash she had hooked my inner thigh, grabbed me around the shoulder, tucked my head in and deposited me back first onto the canvas. She had body-slammed me. She had LIFTED me, unassisted! A body slam was generally a team effort, done with both parties working together, it was called posting. It would have been impossible at my rightful weight. Even the strongest girl on the roster couldn't have done it, but by now I'd lost all mass. I just lay on the mat, dumb struck. "Come on, I haven't got all day," she said standing over me.

"Cut Casey some slack," Jerry demanded.

"Cut ME some slack," Cassidy retorted. "She's cutting into MY time. I’m supposed to be helping her, when I’ve already got to prep for a match tonight, then I haveta get dressed, DO my damned match, shower, get dressed again, then take a 250 mile trip to the next show in Toronto."

She? Her?

I got to my feet and stood in front of her. I'd had enough of this crap. I slapped her again, stiffer this time, harder. Did I do it intentionally? ..........Unquestionably!

She stood there slack jawed, a redness welling up in her cheek. She wanted to hit me back, I could tell. "Are we done with this shit now" was all she said.

I did a rebound off the ropes and shoulder checked her, stiffer than was my custom. That was my answer.

"Alright," said Jerry with strained patience. "Let's try this again please" and we did the spot.

Chapter Seven

Practice ended early that day, as it often did on show nights. We had to give the road crew the opportunity to tear down the gym. I pulled my t-shirt on over the gear Cassidy had given me and headed to the car. We went back to the hotel, where I showered and re-dressed while Jerry checked me out of the room. It was a hot shower this time, no more experimenting, ever. Then I gathered my things and headed to the car. I obviously wasn't performing in the show so we could get a head start to the next town. Toronto was a good market. There were a lot of die-hard wrestling fans in Canada, and after Toronto, and maybe a couple of other spots up north, the tour usually took us into New England. New York was a huge venue, the gate was always immense, it would almost be a shame to miss it.

It was about a four hour drive between Detroit and Toronto, that is, when it's a straight shot. With food, gas and still very confusing bathroom breaks, it took us five. It wasn't so bad for me since I slept most of the way, completely gassed (slang for exhausted). The real pain in the ass was at the border. I didn’t exactly match my passport photo anymore so we had to sit there in a pull away zone waiting for fingerprint verification and a consultation by the officials with my doctor over the phone. As soon as I hit my hotel room I stripped down and collapsed in the bed.

I woke up early the next morning and I didn't want to wear that thing Cassidy had foisted on me again. So I produced some cheap scissors I'd bought at a gas station and made some modifications to my own gear. Snip here, a cut there, a tie here.

"Sam come on, hurry up" I heard as Jerry banged on my door. For kayfabe reasons Jerry had to call me Sam in public. I was grateful for it. It kept who I really was out of the public’s knowledge. What I was less grateful about was having to cut up one of my own expensive workout shirts instead of one of the free Ts the company gave me because those all had my picture on them.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," I called and I threw the door open. Jerry was more red faced than the day I came out almost naked.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"What I absolutely have to," I answered with a sigh. Again, I'd modified a pair of my track pants into a set of little shorts, completely without underwear I might add. And now, in order for it to not look like a night gown, I had to slit one of my shirts up the middle and tie it below the chest, exposing my whole midriff. The knot pressed up on my boobs, bigger again today, and made them stick out.

"You know its Canada right?" he questioned.

"And it HAD to be summer" I replied. "Believe me. If I had any other clothes I wouldn't trip over in, I'd be wearing them. This thrills me less than you."

"We could send one of the temps out to get some stuff, we do it all the time," Jerry suggested.

"I'm a shrinking boy Jerry," I responded. "I don't even know my sizes and even if I did, they'd be different by the end of the week. Let's just go now, please."

When we got to the gym I headed straight for the practice ring, Jerry lagging well behind. I actually heard a wolf-whistle as I crossed the floor. Whoever it was must have had a thing for the murderously pissed-off look. The two low-card nobs from the other day were in there again.

"Hey assholes, out of the ring," I demanded.

"Whatever you say ma'am," said douche-bro the 1st, with a condescending grin. I curled my lip and walked around the ring as they climbed down and I headed over to the wall of the gym. I found a stack of aluminium folding chairs and took one, as the guy hopped out of the ring I swung it across his back as hard as I could, bringing out a noise that brought the whole gym to a halt. I jumped up on the ring apron and held the chair up.

"The next shit stain that so much as looks at me wrongly, gets it across the knees!" I shouted out.

"Jesus Casey what are you doing!?" pleaded Jerry as he helped the loser up that was writhing on the floor. There was a right way to hit somebody across the back with a chair, and I didn't bother.

"I don't want to be here, I don't want to do this, but since I have to, I'm not taking any extra guff from anybody for anything!" I yelled. "I have had the shittiest week you can imagine and I don't need it getting any shittier! Do you get me?" The question was addressed to the assembly more than Jerry personally. Without instruction I got into the ring and started hitting the ropes, hard.

It was another 20 minutes before Cassidy showed up, and by then my anger had burned through a bit, I was stewing now instead of exploding. Jerry figured working on my stamina was good and all, but I needed to keep the rust off as far as coordination went, so he had Cassidy and I work on a few basic moves and spots.

I threw a clothesline, which she ducked and took me into a waist lock, much better than Jerry's. She threw my arm over the back of her neck and gripped me under the knee; I knew what this signified. She lifted me up high off the mat, a feat which still astonished and disturbed me, and brought me down in an atomic drop. Typically an atomic drop is supposed to look as though the victim lands crotch first onto the attacker's knee, but you really plant your feet early and leave space so nothing gets squashed. I would have liked to blame Cassidy for not being used to delivering atomic drops on guys, but the truth is I didn't yet have a good enough grasp on the length or strength of my legs.

"SON OF A MOTHER FUC...!" I screamed, as I writhed and smacked the mat hard with my palm repeatedly to signify a genuine injury, tears streaming down my face.

"Somebody get an EMT over here!" Jerry shouted as he sprang into the ring.

A couple of guys in the blue medical uniforms ran over carrying a stretcher and jumped up into the ring as well. "What happened to her?" the first EMT asked.

"Him," Jerry corrected.

"What?" the tech returned.

"Him," repeated Jerry. "Him. This is the talent with special medical needs. You should have been briefed."

"Right," the tech realized, still a little put off. "So what happened?"

"I think he squashed his nuts," Cassidy interjected.

"What?" the tech questioned again as he leaned over me.

"Testicular trauma," the other tech clarified.

I just nodded my head vigorously with my eyes sealed tightly shut. They put me carefully onto a hand stretcher and took me to the infirmary where they put me on a table.

"Okay, um, Casey was it?" the tech questioned.

"Yes," I answered.

"I'm going to have to cut these shorts off, is that okay?"

"Yes!" I screamed, still in a ton of pain.

He took a pair of little crooked scissors and cut along the leg of my shorts and peeled them away. Even in my distraction I could see the confusion in his face. He waved the other tech over and they whispered to each other, both while looking down between my legs.

"What is it?" I demanded.

"Um..." the tech hesitated. "Casey are you sure you impacted your testicles?" he asked.

"Pretty damn sure Doc," I insisted. "Why?"

"Um... because... I'm not seeing any testicles."

I tilted my head up. Then I saw spots…………….. And then it all went black.

I spent the remainder of the day, and much of the night in the hospital, first waiting several hours in an emergency waiting room, then even longer waiting for a specialist. Thankfully the pain pretty much subsided on its own before we even arrived at the hospital. As it turned out it wasn't all the consequence of the botched move. The pain was sure, but as far as the damage done it had just helped the twins along on a trip they were already taking. They were inside me now, migrating to a new home and transmuting themselves along the way. While I was there I inquired about something stronger than the anti-depressants I was already taking, but they wouldn't give me anything.

So things continued on this way, my body changing, the tingling in my stomach slowly subsiding as it did, the shape of me slowly settling in to a new norm. About halfway through week two I got a real start, as things began to open up. It was pretty sickening if I'm being frank.

As the second week went, and we moved on to Buffalo, the tingling stopped, my flesh and bone had settled in, and the rest was history. The only good thing was I wasn't so damn hungry anymore. I knew what the spores were and what they were meant to do, but that didn't explain why they had to take all my muscle. Some girls, on the roster particularly, were pretty toned in their own way, and I felt a little gypped in the exchange. All in all, I had a decent shape to me though. Soft yes, curvy though, at least around the bottom. I had those unmistakable Zeeg hips and thighs, not altogether unlike Cassidy's, and she was known for them. I wasn't quite as stacked up top though, I was smaller than her upstairs and she wasn't the top heaviest girl in the locker room by a long stretch. I was short too. Not short for a woman, that's not it, not even short for lady wrestler who average taller than the norm, but I was about average for them, which is still a bigger drop than what was typical for gynomorphs, from my understanding.

Adult gynomorphs tended toward the tall side, so I had missed out on that. The silver lining was I could finally get some clothes that I wouldn't shrink out of any time soon, though I had every intention of putting some muscle back on in short order.

We had been running through a routine in the gym, just like normal. "Alright good," said Jerry kneeling beside the ring apron. "Let's move on to some corner rolls."

"Uh-uhh," Cassidy responded. "We're done today."

"Hey now what do you mean?" Jerry demanded.

"We got things to do, and she’s got to shower," she pointed to me. "And I know she doesn’t want to use the shower with everybody else. So we have to get an early start."

"What are you talking about?" I questioned incredulously.

She took me by the arm and led me toward the ring ropes. "Come on Girl," she said.

"Please stop calling me that," I begged, and not for the first time.

"Alright," said Jerry. "I'll cut you some slack today. But eat some protein because since your body structure has stabilized, we're using the weights tomorrow."

"Yes!" I pumped my arm.

"You happy now" Cassidy asked? "Come on, move it or lose it Girl."

"I got some clothes for you to wear," Cassidy called to me from outside the shower.

"What is this about?" I demanded, soaping myself. God this still felt so weird. My body moved funny, and the water felt so much more ticklish running over it. I almost felt dirty touching myself this way, and I was only being as thorough as necessary.

"You're all done right?" she yelled over the running water. "So you're moving into the bus tomorrow. If you gonna be rooming with me, you need some clothes."

"No" I insisted, but knowing full well she was right.

"You gonna need some new workout gear, and some new walking around in threads. Maybe even some clubbing outfits."

"HELL no," I responded.

"Suit yourself. But you’ve at least gotta get something that fits."

"Fine," I said emerging from the shower with a towel wrapped daintily and probably incorrectly around my chest. "But I'm shopping at the sports wear place, not the boutique."

"It's your money Honey," she said presenting a folded heap of dark blue-grey denim and pale pink cotton.

"What is this?" I pointed.

"I'm borrowing you some clothes," I picked up the shirt. It was pale pink, matching Cassidy's ring boots. There was a picture of her doing a leg drop off the top rope on it, while the background was a stylized picture of a tiger that matched a large tattoo that she had covering her right thigh. Personal tattoos are frequently used as branding in this business.

"It's not my color," I insisted.

"Hey, I posed for the thing, I didn't design it," she said. "If I'm borrowing you something it's one of the free ones, not my good stuff."

I dressed while she took her turn in the shower, which was longer than I'd taken by a good bit. These clothes felt so strange, they fit weird. I'd never worn jeans this tight in my life. They were girl jeans obviously, but at least they were jeans. I could have done without the floral pattern in the stitching though. The shirt was odd too. It was weirdly tight around the mid-section, leaving the area just below my bellybutton exposed. It was also looser in the chest though, due to my smaller bust. It wasn't really a t-shirt, there were no sleeves to speak of, just some really short protrusions over the tops of the shoulder that gave the vaguest impression of sleeves.

"Shit," I cursed.

"What's the matter?" Cassidy popped her head around the tile wall.

"My tattoo is exposed," I pointed to my right shoulder. My star was kind of squashed and it was supposed to fade some, but that hadn't happened yet and it was still pretty recognizable. "I'm not supposed to show it in public. And remember to call me Sam," I reminded her.

"Well I don't wear sleeves," she admitted as she stuck her head back into the shower. "Except for my winter jacket and I don't even have that with me," She poked her head out again. "But I might have an idea."

We walked out into the parking lot and I couldn't help but try to cover myself with my arms. Cassidy led me to one of the tour buses and pulled the side door wide open.

"They moved us in here last week" she explained, "shuffled the whole arrangement around just to get you in here for tomorrow." She climbed up the steps and leaned in. "Violet, you here?" she called. The silence told me everything. "Must still be at practice, come on up."

I stepped in. The layout was the same as any of the tour buses we rode in. Driver and passenger seats were up front, den area behind that, with couches, tables, a TV, etc, closets behind that, bunks behind that, and a tiny bathroom in the back. The decor was decidedly different though, and it smelled a hell of a lot nicer.

Cassidy started digging in one of the closets. "This is Violet's stuff," she explained. "Not that you'd want to wear it any more than mine, probably wouldn't fit as well anyway, but that's not what I'm looking for," She pulled a little case out and placed it on the table. "Ah, here it is. Sit down a minute."

She opened it up to reveal a small makeup case. "What the hell are you doing!?" I panicked.

"Relax you big baby. It's just to cover up that ink on your arm," she reassured me. "I can't use mine, because it wasn't made with your skin tone in mind," She began to sponge some cold gooey stuff onto my shoulder. "Hers isn’t either I guess." Violet still had a slightly paler skin tone to me. "Oh well, it'll look like a birthmark," She popped back to the bunks and emerged a moment later with a purse. "Come on, let's go”.

"I didn't bring my wallet to training," I offered embarrassingly.

"Shit," she replied. "Okay, it's on me. But you're paying me back the moment I drop you off back at your room. Plus, I get a say in what you buy obviously."

We took a taxi to some local mall and I was still nervously covering myself for the entire trip. We made our way to one of the sports gear shops, stopping three times along the way so Cassidy could sign autographs for approaching fans. It was clear now why she actually had me wear that shirt, she was easier to recognize walking next to a shirt with her picture on it. Autograph hounds were a thing I'd had to deal with frequently in the past, but obviously not today, and I was not for the first time, thankful for it.

When we did get there I found myself very tempted to go into the men's wear section but I knew how childish and pointless it would be. The women's section was like another planet. Nothing there looked or felt right to me, and a ton of the garments were cut similarly to what Cassidy had had me wear the week before. The truth was most of them were. It was what was in fashion at the time, very throwback vogue.

"Hey, those might actually fit you this time," said Cassidy returning from a vanishing act I only now realized she had pulled. "You know, without any weird bulges."

"You saw to that," I grumbled. "Where did you go anyway?"

"I was picking up these," she held out a couple of plastic packages, women's undershorts and sports bras. "They look about your size."

"Oh God," I moaned, my knees feeling wobbly. "I don't think I can do this."

"Well you don't want me doing it," Cassidy remarked. "I was being gracious with these, but if you make me pick out your wardrobe, I'm going have fun with it."

"I can't wear any of this stuff," I complained. "It's not exactly neutral. Even if that wasn't a concern none of its sports casual, so I can't exactly wear it in the street."

"There are other places Sam," Cassidy pointed out.

"This is the only sportswear store in the mall," I objected.

"That's not what I'm talking about," she said.

"No, I already said I'm not doing that," I insisted.

"Come on Girl, there's no need for that. There's plenty of perfectly ordinary, plain ass stuff that'll fit you."

"PLEEEASE stop calling me that," I actually begged. Tears started running down my face. I still wasn't master of my own hormones.

"Huh," Cassidy sighed. "Okay... Okay. You go sit outside in the plaza. I guess I'll take care of this."

"Please don't buy me anything weird," I pleaded like a little girl.

"Don't worry. I ain't a bitch," she said.

I sat outside the food court, looking through a planter full of ferns, watching people eat. I was still rubbing the half-dried smear off my face and struggling not to scratch my shoulder. You never have an itch like the place you know you can't scratch, but I didn't want to reveal the tattoo.

I felt such a burdensome weight of frustration. It was just like that itch I couldn't scratch. My whole life had been turned upside down and dipped in dog shit and the worst part was I knew there was nothing to be done about it. I was swimming in it and there was no land in sight. They had told me the anti-depressants were a temporary measure that I'd adjust to as part of the process. Not just a normal adjustment, but like the thing with my orientation. The spores were supposed to alter my brain as well as my body and I'd settle into it. I felt like there was about as much chance of that as there was of a cruise ship suddenly sailing out of my butt.

"Hey, you about ready" I heard Cassidy say. I hadn't noticed her walk right up beside me. It had been bugging me what was taking her so long and I figured it out when I saw she was holding shopping bags from three different stores.

"How much did that cost?" I asked, not really all that interested.

"Didn't cost me a thing," she said. "'Least not once we settle up."

We made it to my hotel and I gave her a couple of bills without really counting. I threw the bags on the bed and sat down. I picked up an ad from the lobby, called in a delivery for a chicken dinner. It wasn't as much protein as a steak, but it was cheaper and I was more in the mood.

I decided I might try to work out some frustration. I got down on the carpet and started on some pushups. God they were hard. Before all this I could do a set on the fingertips of one hand, now the regular kind were way harder than I could ever remember them being before. I did a couple of sets before I realized they weren't serving the purpose I started them for and gave up. I sat down on the bed and turned my attention over to the shopping bags. Inside I was relieved to find some pretty plain, mostly white t-shirts and jeans.

Again, they were women's styles but were observably less girly than what Cassidy had had me wearing all day, and I still was for that matter. There were also the sports bras as well as boy-shorts and regular cut women's panties. I'd often tried to get into them but this was not the meaning of the phrase.

In one bag there was, of course women's workout leotards. Three sets. I couldn't really blame Cassidy. There wasn't much to choose from and at least she'd chosen less appalling colors. There were even a couple of pairs of tennis shoes. Trying them on I found they were close enough to a proper fit to work with. She had a good eye for sizes it seemed.

A knock at the door caught my attention, and looking through the peep hole I saw it was the delivery boy.

After I ate dinner and let it digest, I engaged in a little aerobics and took another shower. I fell asleep that night wearing a set of grey boy shorts and a sports bra.

A Starr is Born Pt 4
Reworked by Wendy C from
a story written by Mistress X.

The next morning I realized I didn't have enough room for all of this new stuff in my bags. Well, it wasn't like my old clothes were any good to me anymore anyway. What had once been a shirt that hugged tightly around my chest was now a tent, and I had little choice but to consign them to the hotel's lost and found.

I finally changed into one of those damnable workout suits, the blue and white one, but I covered it with my home-made shorts and one of my new white Ts, and waited for Jerry to pick me up for the last time.

I packed my bags into his car and he took me to the stadium. I carried my stuff through the parking lot in the crisp morning air and found the same bus Cassidy had brought me to the day before.

Rapping twice on the door I stood and waited and it finally swung open. There before me was the same brown eyed bombshell blond that I'd spied on in the shower a few weeks before. She was taller than me now and was currently wearing a set of lacy pyjamas.

"Oh, hey," said Violet groggily. "You must be the new girl we’re expecting?"

"I'm the new bunk-mate... I guess," I answered uneasily.

"Oh well, come on in," she said with her exaggerated drawl. "I'm Dotti, but everyone calls me Violet."

"We've met before," I pointed out.

"Have we?" she questioned. "I don't remember you."

"Violet you idiot," said Cassidy through the curtain to the bunks. "You've been told about her condition."

"Oh shucks," said Violet. "Of course I know. Remember it's just the character I do."

"It's half a character," Cassidy jibbed.

"You can call me Sam I guess," I said. "Sam Starr is the name they gave me."

"Anyway, come on," Cassidy called out to me. "You get the bottom bunk on the right side, and you can put your stuff in the right closet," She came through the curtain and looked over at Violet. "And you need to get dressed. There ain’t anybody here that’s going to want to look at that."

After I got my stuff moved in we headed in to where the gym was set up, we wouldn't have to use the ring today, which was fine by me because I was finally able to get back to weight training. I stepped up to the free-weight rack, lamenting the lost progress on my now scrawny arms. I looked at myself and sighed. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could go right back to using 70 pound dumbbells, I'd probably never be able to use those again. Deciding to be more conservative, I elected to start with 30. I grasped one of the 30 pound weights from the rack and pulled upward.

"Casey, what are you..." Jerry began.

I heard a pop, and felt a sharp pain in my shoulder………. Then I screamed like a banshee.

"What the hell am I going to do with you?" groused Mike as he sat across his desk from where Jerry and I were sitting. I now had my arm in a sling and was holding an ice pack to my shoulder. "Been back in the gym for less than two weeks, and it's already hurt itself three times. It even had to go to the hospital for pity sake. Jerry if I didn't know better I'd have to ask if you knew what you were doing."

"Relax. Mike," Jerry insisted. "People get hurt in this business all the time, you're not liable."

"That's not the point god dammit!" Mike slapped his desk hard. "I gotta make use of this talent, you understand me? The executives are making me use it, I've got to make that work and you're not making it any easy here."

I really wanted to tell Mike to stop calling me “it”, but quite frankly I wasn't keen about him saying the alternative.

"Look, Mike," said Jerry. "It's an adjustment period. This first month or so was always gonna be the roughest. But there's a lot more to work with here than if you pulled some raw kid off the street. Hell, she knows more than any wrestling school graduate you're ever gonna find. It's the body she’s having trouble with, that’s all. She's gotta get back into shape. Trust me, it'll all work out by the time she's scheduled to go back in the spotlight."

"You know I have other responsibilities here right?" Mike huffed. "I've got two shows to book this week, the weekly show here in Buffalo, and the pay-per-view in Manhattan. That's one of the biggest shows of the year. I gotta keep this whole circus organized, and I don't have time to be holding yours or her hand, and I don't have the patience to have you disrupting the whole gym every five minutes. I've got no choice but to let you get it in shape, but please, Jerry, no more headaches for me. Alright?"

By the time we were back in the gym, and I was allowed to work on my remaining good arm, Jerry was already hammering into me the adjustments to my workout, lifting technique in particular.

"Look, Casey," he said, "you're never gonna be able to recreate the body you used to have. You don't have the T levels anymore and you can't take in the calories. Look over there," he pointed across the gym to where Luke Power was working out with a barbell that weighed more than I ever did, and next to him was a 98 pound trainer with a clip-board, who looked like he was about one sandwich above blowing away in the wind. "You have to understand, that from here on out, there's a much bigger difference in testosterone levels between you and that trainer, than between that trainer and Luke.

You just can't lift what you used to, and you can't put on the mass you used to have. Besides which the execs wouldn't like it even if you could. So what we're gonna do right now is to focus on wire strength. Let's get you fit enough to earn the pay check then we'll worry about making you look good for the hard-cam. So, let's stop acting like we're slipping on some beach muscles. I want you to pick up something lighter, something lighter than even your first instinct, and we're gonna do two or three times as many reps with it as you’re used to."

It's impossible to describe the kind of disappointment I felt, not entirely due to its depths. No, it was different. This was something I'd been looking forward to, but on some level I already expected to be let down. I had been lying to myself and not very convincingly, true to form. I wanted to reach for the 15lb, but I heeded what Jerry had suggested and reluctantly picked up a 10lb.

"Okay, now pump it, nice and smooth," Jerry instructed.

I started curling.

"A little slower," he said. This was a little humiliating, but it was surprisingly heavy. By no means was it giving me the kind of strain I was used to, but it was still offering more resistance than I would have guessed. By the twelfth rep it was actually starting to burn, but Jerry pushed me to the full 20. After that we moved on to leg curls, which were easier, and I did a full set of 30 before Jerry had me lie on the floor doing sit-ups.

Then it was back to the free weights for another 20, this time though he made me extend my arm over my head at the top of each curl, which added a lot more to the workout. That's how it went for a long time, rotating around different body parts long enough to give one a rest, then start over. I was pretty wobbly by the end of it in truth. "You look pretty wiped out," Jerry remarked.

"No problem" I said, my what I hesitate to call, bicep quivering. He knew what he was talking about, but I couldn't very well admit to being wrecked by a workout like this. I had to preserve what little pride I had left.

"Good. Then you can hit the treadmill."

I stifled a moan.

"Gotta get that stamina up to snuff too."

I practically crawled back into the bus and fell onto the couch. At least it was a show night, and the girls were working, so I had the place all to myself. I looked up and saw my pitiful reflection in the black TV screen across the little room.

"Channel 818," I commanded, and the TV turned on. The camera was panning over a crowd of people who I could hear as a faint buzz from where I was laying. It focused in on the ring, and a set of dancing spotlights to keep people's attention before the live show started. After that it cut to the commentators, who were busy hyping up the matches on the card for the night, as well as 'speculating' on what consequences those matches would have on the PPV in Manhattan. You always have to bring up the big money show. I didn't have much else to do, or the will to do much else, so I just settled in and watched.

The first match was the debut for those couple of nothing guys, fresh out of developmental, that we'd been fighting over the practice ring with. They were still raw and pretty meh. They hadn't developed any personalities to speak of and were pretty interchangeable as far as I was concerned, so I didn't really care who won, not that that really mattered anyway.

The next match was Cassidy teaming up with another girl named Ruby against Terri Vixen, and Bella Donna. They all had experience, but Donna, fresh off of a face turn, couldn't play the good-guy to save her life. All in all it was solid. Cassidy finished it up with a top rope leg drop for the go home spot, and went over. That is to win, in layman's terms.

After that they cut to commercial and came back to a back-stage interview section where they asked the queen bitch herself Angel Madison how she thought the last match went, which she used as an opportunity to talk herself up and hype her own match later on the card, and again, the PPV.
Nothing to complain about really, it was her job and she did it well enough. It was probably pretty easy to do since her actual personality was so close to her character.

Next up was actually a pretty good match. It was a “No Holds Barred” match between Kurt Robins, and Black Hat McCoy, two past their prime ring generals who never had much charisma, but had enough experience between the ropes to pull off the really dangerous looking moves safely, which was really the point of the no holds barred gimmick. These two could do pile drivers and brain busters all day without worrying about anybody actually getting hurt. It was a real piece of work and I was really more interested in the good ring psychology and professional work than who won or lost. I had to admit, it was good booking on Mike's part. He'd really utilized their strengths to their fullest.

Now we were moving up the card, with the first real feud match of the night. Violet was announced, followed by Angel, carrying that gaudy as hell pink strap they called a Ladies' Title. Oh man I was not looking forward to having to be seen carrying that thing. At any rate, the match itself was nothing to write home about. It was non-title, just set-up for the title match at the PPV, which usually meant one thing, a gimmick finish. Sure enough, as soon as it looked like Violet had the upper hand, Angel roll through the middle rope and to the floor where she put on an 'I'm hurt' act a four year old could see through. She had to. Four year olds were supposed to. The only person who was supposed to be fooled was the ref.

Violet stood in the middle of the ring while the ref “checked on” Angel, when Miami Dawn emerged from under the ring with what looked to me like a wiffle-bat, smacked Violet in the head with it and ran off. Violet played dead. Of course the ref “didn't see any of it” and Angel “mysteriously recovered” just in time to jump back into the ring, so the ref could count to three. Never mind of course that Violet had suddenly gone from winning the match to unconscious, and that the bat was still lying in the middle of the ring!

Now the stakes were set up in the minds of the fans. "Oh Violet could have won if Angel hadn't cheated. What'll happen at the PPV?" Uhh. I happened to already know that Angel was going to retain her title at the PPV.

Then after another commercial break there was another backstage interview. This time it was to set up the main events of both tonight and the PPV in Manhattan, Luke Power vs Tsunami Akimoto. The ring reporter stood between Luke, who was giving his all-American golden boy shtick, and Genbo. Genbo was Akimoto's mouthpiece. Aki spoke English alright, but he wasn't quite fluent enough for mike work, which with the crooked manager going along with the strong silent heel, was a recipe as old as the pyramids. Ironically Genbo was a native born Hawaiian, so he actually played up the Japanese accent.

I wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying though. I was sort of zoning out. Had Power changed his gear? I couldn't put my finger on it but those little blue and red trunks looked particularly tight on him tonight, especially with those big, cut-marble columns he called thighs sticking out bare beneath them. Also when he talked, he would pump those huuuge boulders of biceps up and down his tree trunk arms. Wrestlers are taught to use a lot of body language in their promos, and he did. When he talked his colossal rock-hard pecs would flex, bouncing up and down the title belt he had resting on his shoulder, so that the strap would hang down and tickle that steel grill of out of this world abs he had. My fingers brushed lightly past my knee and rested on my thigh. They moved slowly, almost of their own accord, upward and inward, further, further...

Ka-chunk!

The door to the bus opened up and my hand snapped back like a bungee cord. "Hey," said Cassidy popping in from the night, back in her civvies, her hair still wet from the shower.

"Hi," I returned nervously, not fully conscious of what I'd been doing. "They uh, they didn't need you anymore tonight?"

"Nah. It was just one and done, so I showered and walked over," she said. "But I stopped by the catering table on the way out," She held up a paper plate full of cookies. I sat up and gave her some room to sit down, and she dropped down, stretching her back as she did. "Oh man. I know I hate losing, but damn, I kinda hate winning too."

"Nobody made you take the leg drop as a finisher," I remarked. "It's not conducive to a long career," as I sneaked a cookie.

"I know, I know," she confessed. "I gotta phase it out pretty soon," she popped her neck and then opened her eyes. "You actually watching this"

"Well, what else am I gonna do?" I asked.

"So how'd Violet do? Did she look good?" she inquired.

"She did alright," I said. "Your match was better."

"Oh I know Honey," she said smartly. "But I ain't a six foot blond with big tits, which is why I'm not in the title scene. And don't tell her I said this, but she ain't a six foot blond either. That girl's hair color
is about as natural as Angel's boobs."

"Well I'm not a six foot blond with big tits, and I have a guaranteed title coming up," I insisted.

"Yeah well I ain't a six foot blond, AND I ain't got an agent with some leverage," she said.

"Half the girls on the roster have boob jobs," I remarked.

"Way more than half Honey," she corrected, and munched a cookie. "The vast majority of us belong to the silicone squad, including yours truly. I just went more modest. I know which side my bread is buttered on," and she shimmied her hips a little. "Besides, I'm gonna have back problems as it is."

I giggled at that, honest to God, I did a genuine, stomach turning giggle. Cassidy smirked at it.

"Anyway," she handed the plate of cookies off to me, stood and stretched her back. "You think they'd let me renegotiate my contract if I faked an injury? If I'm gonna take this much pain, I'm gonna need to get paid more."

"I've looked into the injury thing," I said. "Believe me, I've looked. They have it covered solid. If anything it works in their favor."

"Poo," she said dropping back to the couch. She took another cookie. "So what are they doing now?"

"They're doing the tag-team feud," I answered. "But all the commentary is talking about is the main event."

"Right! Isn’t Aki supposed to jump Luke Power during his promo right?"

"Yeah," I answered. "He did it right after you came in. Now it's all “will Luke Power be in any shape for the main event match? Will he be in shape for the title defence in Manhattan? You know how it goes."

"Sometimes I wish I could find a bookie willing to take bets on pro-wrestling," she mused.

Ka-chunk

The door came open again and in came Violet. "Oh hey," she said as she saw us. "Oh, you're watching the show? Did I look good out there?"

"I'm sure you looked fine," Cassidy answered.

"So where are we?" Violet asked as she plopped down right between us and snatched a cookie.

"They're about to start the main event," I told her.

"Oh good," Violet nibbled on the cookie.

They introduced Akimoto first. He was a huge Japanese guy in black tights that had the image of one of those Japanese wood block paintings wrapped around the right leg. It was the one with the wave crashing over the mountain. He was a former legit sumo champion, that's not to say he was a tub of guts mind you. Yes, he had a barrel for a torso, but he was surprisingly fit and defined for a guy his size.

While he didn't have quite the same solid marble sets that Greek goddesses drool over rippling physique as Luke, and honestly who does? he did have the size to portray a convincing opponent for him. He also kept his hair up, kept it looking nice, because even though he was booked as a heel in North America, he was always a baby face in Japan, and he had to be able to play off the good guy. Quite honestly, I could see it.

No introduction was bothered with for Luke. In a bit of wrestling story telling, as soon as his music hit, he rushed down the ramp and to the ring, sporting a fake limp to sell the revenge angle from earlier in the night. He slid right into the ring and they began trading pulled punches, starting out not as a wrestling match, but as a brawl, already swinging before the bell rang. It was a good start. In an excellent bit of physical narrative, Aki repeatedly attacked Luke's faux injured leg to make him look cut-throat, and to give Luke some vulnerability. At any rate they got into a professional swing, really selling the hate for each other and soon it was a showcase of two big... sweaty… glistening... bulging... hunky bodies slamming into each other.

"Hey Sam," a voice called.

"Huh, eh, what?" I questioned.

"Sam?" Violet repeated.

"Yeah Violet, what?"

"Ain't Luke sexy?"

"Violet, don't ask her that," Cassidy berated.

"Will you introduce him to me?" Violet requested.

"Huh?" I said puzzled. "How should I? I don't know him. I only talked to him a couple times."

"Jerry's your trainer now right?" she said incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Well he's Luke's trainer too. He's the one who taught him to wrestle," Violet explained.

"Really?" Cassidy questioned.

"Yeah," said Violet. "I heard he's his uncle or something."

"Huh," said Cassidy. "I guess they do kinda look alike," She wasn't wrong, once I thought about it. Jerry did sort of resemble Luke, just fifteen years older, half a foot shorter and just as much narrower across the shoulders. Jerry was in good shape but Luke was... I bit my lip lightly.

In the end Genbo and Aki pulled some manager interference shenanigans and ended the match in a disqualification, thereby preserving the heat for the title match. The road crew tore down the ring that night and we were off, to the next exotic New England location, but we were all in our bunks by then, pretty tired from the day’s events.

I was lying in my bunk, feeling the road moving beneath me, and watching the lights moving across the curtain of my little sleeping pod. I had my good hand behind my head and I was thinking of the show, and the bouts, so that I couldn't help but feel like I actually wanted to get in the ring again.

Chapter Nine

The PPV (Pay per View) went on as planned. Angel retained the strap, there was some storyline gimmick that led to the tag-team titles being in contention thereby extending the feud, and Akimoto pinned Luke for the title after Genbo 'tasered' him while the ref was distracted. All I could do was sit in the bus and wait while everybody else was working.

When we got to Boston I was contacted by a lawyer and I had to miss a day of training so I could tape a deposition for James Phoenix’s trial. By the time the show went to Jacksonville I had to fly back to Cleveland to give testimony in person. My part therein was mercifully short. Sitting up there in front of people and staring across the courtroom at the face of the person I hated most in the world, without jumping out of my chair and strangling him in front of the judge, jury, and God himself, was the hardest thing I'd ever done. Fortunately I was only required for a few days, with the possibility of being called again, and I caught back up with the tour in Orlando.

It had been over a month now since James Phoenix had dosed me, and almost a month since my body stopped changing, on its own anyway. In that time I had regained considerable stamina and coordination and I was finally starting to put on the tiniest bit of muscle. It was still too soon for anything easily noticeable, but I could feel that the progress was underway. "So have you thought about a finisher yet?" Cassidy asked sitting beside me on the ring apron, toweling off the back of her neck.

"No," I answered.

"Well you should," she said. "I kind of noticed you've been trying to stick to your old moves. You really want to not be recognized, you gotta change it up. The finisher especially," she mused for a moment then spoke again. "How about an inverted deathlock? It's still a submission, it's different enough that it won't be recognized, and few enough people use it that it'll stand out."

"I'll think about it," I said.

"You feeling alright?" she asked. "You've been kind of sluggish today."

"No, I'm fine," I said with a dubious lack of enthusiasm. "I've actually been feeling better lately. Been, getting a feel for it I guess," I thought for a second. "Hey how do you know my moves anyway?" I asked. "Well enough to know I hadn't changed them I mean. Are you a fan or something?"

"Nah," she said. "But we got that game console in the bus. We got the video game from last year; I've been practicing with you. You know you were kind of sexy."

"Thanks, I feel loads better now," I grumbled sarcastically.

"Hey Casey!" a familiar voice called, and I looked up to see a crowd being led over by Jerry. The voice was Nigel’s, and he was among a bunch of suits and writers from the company.

"Nigel, what are you doing all the way down here?" I asked.

"Oh, business" he answered and scanned his eyes up and down me. I knew he was trying to get a lay of the land. I'd changed a lot since we'd last seen each other. "Wow," he muttered more audibly than I'm sure he meant to. "Um, anyway, some of the execs wanted to check on your progress and I insisted on being here for it. Truth is I tried to get them to push this back to next week."

"Why?" Cassidy interjected.

"Because next week we're in Miami," I answered for him.

"Casey, these are some people from image and marketing," Jerry explained. "They wanted to come take a look at you."

"Would you and your friend here be willing to climb between the ropes and give us a bit of a demonstration?" asked one of the execs, a lady with fogged over glasses whose suit, hair, and posture all said the stick up her ass had a stick up its ass.

"I'm a little tired today, but I think we can make a go of it," I answered. I knew the dance and how to dance it. "Come on Cassidy let's give them a short demo."

The two of us went into the ring, Jerry followed after us to act as referee. "Um, Mr. Cullen, you see that bell over by the table?" Jerry pointed out. "Would you mind ringing that when you're ready?"

Cassidy and I whispered the opening to each other as he walked over and picked up the striker.

DING

Cassidy made a quick step and hit me with a lariat. A lariat is akin to a clothesline but the implication is that it's more of a hook than a strike. I did a back bump, and Cassidy lifted my foot in preparation for a toe hold, but she stopped to gloat for the imaginary crowd first, and I put my foot into her hip and kicked her off. She stumbled back and did a butt bump, landing sitting up. I kipped up (It took me too many weeks to be able to do that again) and bounced off of the ropes into a low flying shoulder check, knocking her flat. I picked her up and put her in a sleeper hold, a rest-hold choke. We frequently use it to catch our breath and call the next few moves for each other, which is what we did.

The ropes were too close behind us for her to do a heel hook escape so she instead fought her way to her feet, and then dropped to her butt again, hooking my head into a stunner, I bounced back into the ropes and hooked them, not having the space to run out. Cassidy got back to her feet and Irish whipped me into the corner, I made sure to go in back first and lay in to drive home the impact. She then cut the corner of the ring, came off the ropes and charged into me, jumping and turning at the last moment, hitting me with a flying butt thump, one of her signature moves. I tumbled out of the corner, giving her some space and acting dazed. She leaped onto the second turnbuckle, her rear towards me, looked back, and jumped backward. Hooking my neck with her arm she dragged me down into a flying DDT. I rolled all the way through the impact and back up to a seated position, giving her a free position for another rest hold.

She then put me in a dragon sleeper, a variation of the sleeper hold where the attacker's arm is hooked the opposite way around and the head is pulled back instead of pushed forward. It was truthfully more of a neck crank than a choke. We called out next set and in an inverse of the spot earlier I now fought to my feet. I slipped out from her hold, hooking her wrist along the way, and pulled her arm behind her into a hammerlock. I pushed her off and she did a chest bounce off the ropes and straight back to where I was waiting with a waist lock that I transitioned immediately into a bridging German suplex. I lifted her into the air, leaned backward, and slammed her shoulders into the mat while maintaining the waist lock and pointing my toes, thereby forming my own body into an arch.

With her shoulders down Jerry dropped to the mat and slapped down counting "one" before she kicked her legs signalling the kick out and I released the hold. We both stood up, clinched into the collar and elbow, and we called the final spot. I shot under, hooking her arm along the way. I applied some touch leverage to the back of her shoulder “forcing” her to the mat face down, and then put her in the cross-face. She began slapping the canvas immediately with her free arm signaling the submission and Jerry called the match.

DING-DING-DING

Nigel struck the bell thrice and Cassidy and I stood up, catching our breath, and looking out over the audience. The suits and the writers were all huddled up whispering to each other, one assistant filming the whole thing with his phone, and I watched them as I took a pull off of my water bottle. After a while they seemed to come to a consensus and a doughy looking greasy guy stepped forward.

"We've seen enough ring work for the moment," he said. "But how about your mike work, can you talk for us Honey?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, my contempt crawling up my spine. "Honey?" I said, venom dripping from my voice. "Honey! There's nothing “honey”' about me!" I shouted. "I'm not in the fly catching business here Porky. That smells more like your job. I'm in the wrestling business, I'm in the ass kicking business, but even if I was, I'd be ALLLLL vinegar," By this point Jerry had caught on and approached me handing off a dry erase marker to stand in for a microphone.

Contrary to what a lot of people think, neither wrestling matches, nor promos, tend to be scripted. We would usually be given the broad strokes, the intent behind it, yeah, but the words themselves had to all come from us. Pro-wrestling was one big improv show at the end of the day. "But if its honey you want, you better be prepared to get sticky, because I'm about to jump out of this ring and STICK my boot laces up your flabby ass!"

I leaned over the ropes and leered at him. "Unless, you wanna try buttering up, squeezing through these ring ropes, and taking a tour around my house," I flicked the marker at him, bouncing it off his doughy chest, and walked back to center ring. Again they huddled up and discussed, again the aide filmed it all, again I watched.

"We'll have to talk this over at greater length," said glasses lady finally. "We'll be in touch shortly," and they all walked toward the door, Nigel giving a silent thumbs up as he followed behind them.

"That was solid work," Jerry said. "Smooth as silk. They're not gonna find anybody in the Indies that could hold up a half a match like that."

"They already said they were going to use me," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but now they have to decide HOW they're gonna use you," he said.

"Wait, wait... how do you pin?" I demanded as I desperately mashed buttons on the video game controller.

"Don't worry about it" quipped Cassidy next to me, showing a much greater mastery of her own. We were back on the bus after practice, and she was showing me the video game she'd told me about. I'd remembered getting scanned for it, blew a whole weekend in a suit covered in silver balls to make this thing, and I'd never played it before. Naturally I was playing as myself, my old self, my good old, handsome self. Cassidy was playing as Jackson Castle, a solid upper-middle card worker.

"I thought you were practicing with me," I complained, secretly certain she could have trounced me playing as the ring announcer.

"Yeah I was," she said. "But I usually play as Jackson, when I can't play as myself that is."

"Why him" I asked? It wasn't that he wasn't a good worker, but as far as game stats he was pretty average. He had a really built muscular physique. REALLY good I thought now that I gave him another look, kind of ….... nice.

The problem was he was on the small side, a bulldog one could say, and it didn't lend to the intimidating presence that would have taken him further. That and he wasn't the best talker.

"I don't know. He probably would have been offended if I picked somebody
else," she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well it's his game," she said. "I sort of stole it out of his apartment one time."

"Wait," I began, "are you saying you dated Jackson Castle?"

"Well," she said. "I wouldn't call it that personally. I fucked him a couple times, but it wasn't too serious. A lot of us girls have dated guys from the locker room. All that prime man-meat walking around, it'd be a waste to do otherwise."

"You all always treated me like crap," I complained.

"No offense honey ...... but you were kind of slimy," she said. "You were good looking and all, but you had kind of an asshole rep."

I looked at her slack jawed. The voice on the video game counted out "1... 2... 3!"

"It's not like you weren't damn sexy or anything," she pointed to my digital form laid out on the computerized canvas. "We just like some dick. We don't need it to be all dick if you catch my drift."

I dropped the controller and walked back to the bunks.

"Where you going?" she asked.

"My stomach hurts," I answered.

"Hey Sam, get up," I heard Violet's voice say. "You're gonna be late for practice."

I just curled up into a ball in my bunk and moaned like a dying cat.

"Come on Girl. What's the problem?" Cassidy came in. "Get up."

"Nooooo!" I groaned.

"What's the problem?" Cassidy slapped by panty covered butt.

"My stomach HUUURTS!" I wailed.

"So what?" said Cassidy. "We all gotta work through it now and again. We both did since you moved in."

"Yeah," confirmed Violet. "Mine was kind of heavy too."

It took me entirely too long to realize what they were talking about, my eyes grew wide when I did. "No, no, no, no, no, no..." I chanted as I rolled out of my bunk and on to the floor. I crawled out to the den area, literally dragging my sheet with me and I stuck my face in the couch cushions, hiding in my blanket like a frightened child.

Cassidy stood in the curtain, arms crossed, fingers tapping in frustration. "Huh," she sighed. "Violet, you got any pads" she asked? "I don't want her staining those sheets," She came and pulled me up,
guiding my pitiful blanket bedecked form back to the closet, tears streaming down my face. "Come on. Let's get you some clothes, and Violet will take you inside and find you a nice secluded shower stall that you can get good and hot."

"What are you gonna do?" Violet asked taking my wrist.

Cassidy headed through the door to the outside and stopped in the frame. "I'm gonna go tell Jerry she's probably not gonna be any good for the rest of the week."

I wasn't COMPLETELY useless the whole week, but it wasn't a very productive one. I did eventually manage to get into the gym, wearing some new sweat pants I'd bought, and mostly doing the lightest things I could. Thus began a new and horrible chapter in my life, wherein I had to actively apply knowledge I had never wanted to gain.

"I can't do this every month," I said sitting on my knees in the middle of the ring.

"It's not always like this," Cassidy reassured me from her perch on the top turnbuckle. "A lot of the time there's no cramps at all, it's just bleeding."

"Well that's no fun either," I said, looking down and fingering my water bottle.

"That's rich, coming from someone I happen to know took a razor blade to their own forehead just to better sell a chair shot. Just think of it as getting color."

"That's gross," I said. "And that's different, that's... part of the job."

"And this is part of life," she retorted.

"Not my life," I grumbled under my breath.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she chided. "I forgot you were special."

"Well I'm not exactly normal!" I snapped. I put my face in my hands and moaned. "I need to call the pharmacy."

"Just go to the infirmary," she said. "They can give you something for that."

"No I mean..." and paused, "for my anti-depressants. I... I didn't get the last refill on my prescription and I kind of feel like I need them right now."

A Starr is Born Pt 5
Reworked by Wendy C from
a story written by Mistress X.

It was a couple of days later when Jerry and I got called into the conference room. Sitting there around the meeting table were the same people from the demonstration in the gym. Nigel, the suits, the writers, plus some other new people.

"Please be seated," requested the Glasses Lady. We sat down across from them and she continued. "We've looked over your ring work and decided you have plenty of potential, and we'd like to discuss your future with NDW productions," It was a stock address if I'd ever heard one. I already had a guaranteed contract with the company that even I couldn't get out of, I'd tried that! "We need to talk about your image, your persona. We feel that while you perform more than adequately in the ring, and your demonstration on the microphone was quite good, other areas need improvement."

"Such as where" I probed.

"Your presentation," she said. "Your body language isn't yet what we're looking for and frankly, your look needs work. That's why we've brought Gabriela in here to consult with you on that," She motioned to one of the new people, a really made up lady with teased hair and about half the Sherwin Williams catalogue on her face. "She's going to be your style coach."

"You're sending me to finishing school?" I questioned.

"It's nothing so formal," said Glasses Lady. "She's just going to help you with appearances. You've made quite a lot of progress on that as it is from what I've seen."

"Say what?" my jaw slackened.

"You already carry yourself in a pretty feminine manner" Gabriela interjected. "But there's still certainly room to improve. That swagger and confidence hasn't carried over and that's something you'll need to have."

I was dumbfounded. I hadn't actually paid much attention to how I moved or to my mannerisms outside the ring. My moves between the ropes were all I'd been focusing on. Had all that really changed too?

"I'll help you bring that out. And I'll help you with your look too. For starters, we must do something with that hair. Are you married to the short length?"

"Kinda," I said. "It doesn't grow very fast anyway. The... the gynospores stunted the growth rate. It's a side-effect."

"Well I think we can do something sassy with it anyway," Gabriela said. "What do you know about makeup?"

I swallowed hard. "Nothing."

Gabriela took some notes and then leaned over and whispered to another new person; a young lady in glasses with long straight hair covered with a beanie. "Oh this is a colleague of mine, Nikki," Gabriela said. "She designed a lot of the ring costumes for the talent, almost all of the women. We consult with each other fairly closely."

"Do you have any padding requirements?" Nikki asked with a low, shy, almost croak.

"Um, knee pads and one elbow pad I guess," I told her.

She took down her own notes and then looked back up at me. "I'll need you to come back in and take some measurements sometime," she added.

"She's not in ring shape yet," Jerry butted in. "She's still got some weight to put back on."

"Yes, concerning that," said Glasses Lady, conspicuously adjusting her namesake feature. "We've consulted with marketing and Gabriela here and we think it would be wise to....... let's say, focus her weight in a........particular area."

"What are you saying?" Jerry asked.

"We're suggesting that Ms. Blake consider some, augmentations," she said. I was paralyzed. "We've already discussed it with her agent, Mr. Cullen. The company would of course pay for the procedure, and offer an increased percentage of merchandising rights, as well as a substantial bonus should she agree. Add that to our increased sales projections due to said alterations, and we're all looking at a considerable bounce."

"Y... y, you... want me..." I stammered, "to get..." I sat there stunned with my hands out in front of me, palms in, hands opened wide.

"It would be a fairly minor change compared to what you've already gone through," she said. "And it could be a boon to everyone involved."

"Would you please excuse me for a moment," I said wearily, and then I walked out of the room.

"What's going on?" I heard Nigel's muffled voice coming through the wall.

"She's feeling a little sick obviously," Jerry's voice reverberated as well.

I leaned over the sink, still trying to spit the taste of puke out of my mouth, and I looked myself in the mirror. Standing there on the other side was a very pale, very unhappy lady. They really thought they could market THAT on her looks? God, no wonder they thought she needed augmentations. She really didn't have the biggest top floor I'd ever seen, it was true, but the very idea that they'd ask that, with everything I'd already been through. It was so.......... out of touch.

"Well I need to talk to her," Nigel said.

"It's the ladies' room," Jerry countered. "Don't be weird."

"Stop me," Nigel said.

"I can stop you," I heard Jerry announce, and then there was a loud bang.

"Knock it off!" I demanded as I re-emerged out into the hall, finding Nigel climbing out of a planter and Jerry standing over him. "I'm not in any mood for this shit."

"Jesus Casey, get this goon off of me," said Nigel, knocking potting soil off of his blazer. "I should sue."

"You're not gonna do that," I told him. It was a definitive statement not a request. "Both of you just cool off."

"I need to talk to you about that deal Case," said Nigel. "It's a good deal."

"Oh fuck right off Nigel," I said, crossing my arms.

"Look, I know, it's hard. It's not what you'd have picked, but that's the name of the game. We both stand to make a lot more money this way and if you don't... we could lose a lot."

"What the hell does that mean?" I demanded.

"It's a loop-hole in the contract," he said. "They have a right to reset the conditions of the contract if you don't meet certain marketing stipulations. We could lose that pay raise if you don't do it."

"God damn it Nigel!" I kicked over the planter and put my hands on my head. "I'm in no mood for this today, I warning you."

"I know," he pleaded. "But it's not so bad though right? Against everything else that’s happened?"

I shoved him aside and walked down the hall back toward the parking lot. "Meeting's over... I'll think about it," is all I could say.

The next morning I woke up and stretched my arms high above my head, arching my back like a cat. My cramps had finally subsided and it felt like finding the pot of gold at the end of one shitty ass rainbow. All things considered I was in comparative heaven.

I poked out into the den section of the bus where Cassidy and Violet were already trotting about, making coffee and raiding the mini-fridge for a quick breakfast. Like me they weren't dressed. Violet was wearing the same lacy getup from before and Cassidy had on a pair of loose pyjama bottoms and a cotton tank top. I couldn't help but give attention to how their breasts moved as she moved about. They were both bigger than me, both “augmented”. There was no sexual interest in my examination. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd been turned on by any part of the female anatomy, it was just, casual, academic.

"Hey," Cassidy looked at me. "You want some coffee Hon?" she asked.

"No," I thumbed toward the back of the bus. "I was just about to brush my teeth," It surprised me how nonchalantly these women paraded around half naked in the same room as a half-naked me. More accurately, I was amazed at how NOT amazed I was. It all had this weird, dreamlike, natural quality to it. "Cassidy" I said?

"Yeah Hon?" she answered.

"Do you..." I began. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

All activity in the bus stopped at that moment. Cassidy looked at me for a brief eternity before she spoke. "Yes Casey. Yes I do," was all she said at first. Her tone was staggeringly matter-of-fact. It was as if someone had asked her if she thought it would rain today. "At any rate you look a hell of a lot better than you have the last few days. What brought this on?"

"I don't know," I blushed. "Just something some image consultant said the other day."

"Oh I get it," she said, pouring steaming brown liquid into a small mug. "Nobody makes you feel uglier than those people."

"They want me to.......... never mind" I said. "They just, I gotta meet with somebody else today. So, you're on your own with practice."

"That's cool," she said, and she took a sip. "I need to spread my wings anyway. But we still gotta work on getting you some new moves."

That day instead of going to the gym, I was directed to another conference room. I’d been told to still wear my workout gear, one of the same leotards I had been wearing. The unease at how they showed off the lines of my body had been fading with each workout. Inside the office I found that the conference table had been moved against one wall and none other than Gabriela was sitting cross-legged upon it. "Hello Darling," she said. "Today I'm gonna teach you how to walk."

"I already know how to walk," I said crossing the room, almost as if to prove the point.

"You know how to put one foot in front of the other," she corrected. "There's more to it than that," She stood up. "Yes, you can get from point A to point B, you even walk like a girl," that statement put a knot in my throat, but I kept silent. "But you move like a mousy little thing. You lack confidence and that's unbecoming of a member of NDW talent," She strode around me, her head held high, her shoulders deliberately back, her hips swaying with every step. "You are supposed to be one of the meanest, baddest, most self-assured women on this planet or any other planet for that matter…… But your body isn't saying it."

I looked down at myself. Oh man, it suddenly struck me how right she was. I was standing like a school-girl being dressed down by the headmistress. My toes and knees were together, my hands were clasped down in front of me, my shoulders were hunched up with my head buried in them.

"Now don't worry," she said. "We're not going turn you into some sort of vixen. I'm not teaching you pole dancing here, that's not your character. YOU are the “pure” athlete. You're not the girl who's up there in the ring because she looks good in a pair of vinyl booty-shorts. You're up there because you're one of the best sportswomen in the world."

My heart actually soared at this. It was a weird kind of relief not quite like any I'd ever felt before. It was like I was eased of a weight I didn't know I'd been carrying, alleviated of a worry I didn't consciously think of.

"But that comes with its own kind of confidence, its own swagger."

"Then why do they want me to get..." I held out my cupped hands in front of my chest.

"If you asked them," she stopped in place. "They'd probably lie to you, but it's because they want to sell tickets and merchandise to teenaged boys....... and 20 something boys and 30 something boys, as well as middle-aged boys. But me, I think you could really use the confidence boost?"

"The what" I demanded!

She sighed loudly. "Look at you Sam Starr. You’re a cute looking girl, no doubt about that. But that's what you come off as……..a girl. You have nice hips, true, but between the regenerative skin, the weight loss, and the self-doubt, you look more like a lost kid. We need a grown, mature, self-confident WOMAN.

It goes beyond the self-assuredness that looking sexy will give and believe me, it will. But that IS a big part of it….... Look, I know about the spores and how they weren't your choice. That was forced on you and I know that was wrong. But I don't think you're reading this the right way. Yes, the spores made you female against your will. FEMALE. Listen to the language I'm using," she faced me and took me firmly by the shoulders. "There's no going back, we both know that. But what YOU get to decide is where you go from here. You can stay the mousy little girl the spores made you, or you can CHOOSE to be a WOMAN."

The rest of the day was spent with me walking circles around the conference room. Every loop I made, Gabriela would correct me on something, then make me do it again and then again the other way around. She taught me different walks, and different stances, and by “'taught” I mean she really explained it to me, like as if I was still a guy looking at me now as a woman. She even produced a pair of high heels, insisting I learn to walk in those, claiming it would help with the rest if I could do that. It wasn't the impossible task I’d been led to believe. Making a slight heel slip every now and then was the worst it got. Soon I could walk around in them but I was sure it looked far from a picture of elegance and grace.

I crawled into my bunk that night a nicer kind of tired. Every muscle wasn’t screaming in pain like most days, my back wasn't a road map of bruises like sometimes, but man did my feet ever hurt. I lay there in my pod thinking about what Gabriela had said to me, and watching the orange twilight rays creep down below the gap in my curtain.

It was like I was trapped in a tunnel, the entrance collapsed behind me, no way back. I could stay where I was, or move forward. This was maybe the first time I could remember when I had a choice doing something, and Gabriela had reminded me that it “was” my choice. I reached into the little alcove next to my bed and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up the bunk as I scrolled through the numbers, and then listen to it ring on the other end, nervously steeling myself. "Nigel Cullen," I said when the secretary picked up. "Nigel? Yeah, it's Casey," I said. "Look I'll.......I'll do it OK?"

Chapter Eleven

"There's a real privilege to working with it," said the doctor as he probed me. "It's like Italian marble, the best material there is." I had flown home to California while the tour went along as planned. Zeeg and Zeeg women in particular were still very much a small minority on Earth, and they tended to use bio-mods for cosmetic purposes, so there weren't many plastic surgeons qualified to work with my rare type of dermis. There was only the one in Miami and a couple on the West Coast. So here I was, standing topless in a doctor's office, my arms above my head, with pen marks all over my chest. "It heals quickly. It won’t scar and has perfect elasticity. You're actually quite lucky," he told me.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," I told him.

"Yes, of course I'm well aware of the artificial nature of human gynomorphs, it was a turn of phrase only. Umm, do you understand the procedure as I have explained it to you?"

"As well as I can," I told him.

"Excellent," he beamed. "We can put you on the schedule for the end of the week."

I walked into my house and it felt almost like an alien planet. Everything had changed so much since the last time I'd been there. Everything was so much bigger than it had been. I walked through my living room, running my hand over the big black leather couch, looking at the scuffs on the glass coffee table where I used to prop my feet.

My feet couldn't even reach it from the couch anymore. Was this place always such a dishevelled mess? How had I left it this way? The couch cushions were hanging halfway off, the carpet was matted, and the only decoration in the place was four month old dirty laundry and beer stains. How had I lived like this? I didn't know why I did it but I spent the rest of the day cleaning up and straightening the place. Even then it was all so big, and sterile.

My home gym was the worst part, it smelled of stale rank and there were my sweat stained workout clothes hanging on the equipment like laundry lines. I momentarily thought about doing a quick workout, but decided it would be too much hassle to switch out all the weights. Instead I sprayed a whole can of deodorizer in there and hung a pack of those pine tree car things from the barbell rack.

By the time I was done changing the sheets on my frankly enormous bed, all I felt like doing was crawling into it. So I stripped out of my outer clothes, lost myself in my silk quilt, and settled into the soft spot in the mattress.

I woke up moaning and feeling sore like I'd never experienced before. It wasn't a good kind of sore like after a really hard workout, or even after a beastly hardcore match. It was a really shitty kind of sore.

"You're awake?" a voice said from somewhere in the room. Focusing my eyes I saw a nurse standing at the end of the bed, much more chipper than the one from Cleveland. I finally remembered I was in the hospital. I tried to sit up but I got a lancing pain in the sides of my chest. "Hey, don't try to move so much. You’re going to be pretty tender for a while," she cautioned me.

Instead I just lifted my head and saw a hospital gown covering the curve of what, from my perspective, looked like a small mountain range sitting on my chest. "I know they don't look like much now," she said. "But wait until you heal up and the bandages come off, you'll love them, I promise. Do you want some pain-killers?" I nodded affirmatively.

"There's my star patient," came the familiar voice of the doctor as he came around the corner, where the door to the room was. "I thought I'd do my rounds and check in on you first up. So what do you think so far?"

"They're bigger than I thought," I croaked hoarsely.

"Well," he said, putting his hands to his sides. "Part of that's swelling, part of it's just a matter of perspective. We were able to go a bit bigger than what's normal for the first time with you because of the unique properties of the tissue. This size compliments your hips better. It’ll balance your overall frame. We discussed this, remember?"

I nodded weakly as the nurse plugged an IV tube into my arm.

"Unless you have any other questions I'll let you res..." he began, but I was already blacking out.

It was a while before I was able to see what my second transformation had wrought without the bandages. They were a little purple and bruised, the swelling was going down, but they still seemed awfully big to me. They weren't melons that labelled me instantly as a porn-star or anything, but they were big enough for one to get by on for sure. I turned very slowly to get another angle, but I tried to keep them from moving around too much, because it would have still hurt and they looked and felt like they could gather some inertia.

Yes these babies were going to be able to move around a lot. They weren't those fake bubble tits you see sometimes that are just these protrusions on the chest. These ones were free and independent. I was going to have to talk to Nikki the wardrobe girl about these because these were going to constitute an unstable load! Though, if she really designed the outfit that contained Angel Madison's twin beasts, it would be fine because I still didn't stack up to her. Cassidy and Violet might be jealous though.

I was medically cleared to get back in the gym a week before the tour came to San Diego, but in lieu of paying for another plane ticket, the company just decided to give me another week off and come to me. It was fine by me, I was happy to have the down time, plus I wasn't exactly eager for my first experience with swelling silicone inside a pressurized airplane cabin.

I walked across the parking lot of the stadium with my bags in my hands looking for the tour bus. I couldn't help but notice I was getting more looks than I once did, my top didn't exactly cover everything the same way anymore.

Cassidy was standing outside under the awning when I found it. "Hey!" she said and hugged me out of nowhere when she spotted me. Though having done so, she seemed to feel some things before seeing them. "DAMN Girl, look at YOU!" she said finally while eyeing me up and down. "I knew what you was doing, but DAMN. Well welcome to the Silicone Squad Girl. Violet is gonna be so jealous."

"Um, thanks?" I said not really sure how to respond.

"I hope them things aren't gonna throw off your balance or anything, because I'd hate to see all that practice go to waste," she said.

"I mean, I definitely feel the weight of them" as I consciously adjusted the new twins. "But I don't think they're going to change my form or anything."

"I was kidding Girl," she said. "Come on Big Sis, put your stuff inside and let's get to work."

For the next month Jerry, Cassidy, and I worked on altering my in ring style, and coming up with a new move set. We decided it would be a good idea to step away from power moves and more into a technical wrestling style, more shoot moves, leverage, and agility. I retained my trademark flying forearm shot, though I had to alter the delivery somewhat, and Cassidy insisted I change my finishing move to a Butterfly DDT.

Bumps were an entirely new experience. Yeah, my old boobs had moved when I bumped already, and they made a front bump more uncomfortable. But now that was multiplied by ten! I really needed better support upstairs. I finally began showing some more muscle as well and started to look like an athlete. Jerry finally gave the go ahead to get measured for my gear.

In the Indies you'd just wear whatever store bought stuff you could cram yourself into, but here in the big leagues your gear was custom made in house, nobody else wore what you wore. I kept practicing with Gabriela too, changing my body language, which she insisted I stay method with at all times, as well as my style. She fixed my hair to be a little more feminine, short though it was, and helped pick my casual wardrobe.

I insisted on jeans of course, but she picked some more stylish ones and expanded my selection of tops to include more tanks and even a couple of halters. She had had a point about confidence too. The better I carried myself, the easier it became, and more naturally I stuck to it, and my mood improved along with it. I let the prescription lapse on my anti-depressants, and didn't renew it. Even when that time of the month came around again, I didn't bother with the quarter of a bottle I still had left, and I was able to work through it better, though it still sucked.

I thrust my foot forward into a toe kick to Cassidy's gut, and she bent forward for the set-up. I hooked each of her arms with my own, lifted them, and clasped my hands behind her back so she was bent down with her head against my ribs, I threw my legs forward and back bumped, she drove her shoulder into my stomach and rolled through onto her back as if her head had actually impacted the canvas, and I climbed on top of her and hooked her leg, rolling my weight across her upper body.

"One, two, three," counted Jerry as he stood ringside, slapping the apron with each count. "That was a good Butterfly DDT, much better, much safer, but I still want to see a little more snap in that toe kick." I leaned against the ropes and nodded.

"Hey, Uncle Jerry," called a deep, but somehow sweet voice across the gym and over strode a rippling tower of perfect musculature, barely contained within a straining under armour workout shirt and a pair of tauntingly tiny gym shorts.

"Hey' Lucas, what's up?" Jerry answered him.

"Hi Luke," I waved my fingers at him.

"Hey Sam," he returned. "So, um Uncle Jerry, I just came out of a meeting with the marketing guys. They asked me to send you two over to them when I got here."

"Sure thing kid," Jerry said, and slapped Luke on the back as he went to his own workout. "Come on Casey, the money wants to see us," he said, and he headed toward the door.

"Sure thing," I called. "Let me just towel off first," I turned to see Cassidy lying on her side in the middle of the ring, with her head resting on her hand, grinning.

"What?" I asked.

"Hi Luke," she said with mocking coquettishness. I gave her a slightly befuddled look. "I saw you hanging them big balloons of yours over that rope to show em off. You’re a fast learner Girl."

"I DON'T know what you're talking about," I told her and I took a towel off the turnbuckle.

"Oh don't even act like I ain't seen you giving the goo-goo eyes to every other guy in this gym," she said getting to her feet.

"You’re imagining things," I insisted.

"Oh, I think you’re the one imagining things," she giggled.

"I have to get to a meeting," I said and hurried off rubbing the towel over my neck and holding a less confident expression than I would have liked.

I found my way to the office, where Jerry was waiting, and we went inside. There we found Gabriela, Nikki, and Glasses Lady, who I'd learned was named Mrs. Carpenter or something. I noticed Nikki was holding a black cardboard box.

"So Ms. Blake is set to re-debut, or rather debut in a couple of months," said Glasses Lady. "We need to get ready with some promotional material. Give her some build-up before her proper introduction. Please go put this on and then meet the photographers in the arena for your first photo shoot," she motioned to Nikki who handed me the box, and I heard some rustling when she did. "The ladies' room down the hall should be available."

I was surprisingly not nervous, as I headed to the bathroom. I guess I shouldn't have been it was something I'd done before. I'd done a ton of photo shoots before, back as the old me and they never bothered me then. I went in the girls' room and put the box on the edge of the sink, and pried it open. Inside was a pair of tall wrestling boots, and a thick opaque envelope. I held up the new boots like they'd just come out of a sewer. "White boots eh?" I complained to myself. Then I picked up the envelope and unfolded it, peeking inside. "What the hell?"

Carpenter and Gabriela were discussing something business when I burst back in.

"What the hell is this!?" I demanded and hurled the racer back crop top across the room at them. I held aloft the little HOT PINK pair of trunks with trails of light pink glitter metallic stars trailing along the sides, like something off of a twelve year old girl's trapper keeper.

"That's your gear Darling," answered Gabriela confused.

"But it's, it's..." I trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Pink. Really, REALLY pink," I sighed. "And I was at least hoping for tights."

"I'm afraid not," said Glasses Lady, lifting the top off the floor. Like the trunks it was made from hot pink vinyl. "We feel your hips and thighs will be more marketable in trunks."

"I had to fight to get them to accept full trunks," Gabriela added.

"And the... PINK?" I questioned.

"We think it fits with the character we're trying to establish," said Glasses Lady.

"What character?" I asked. "Okay, I get why, say, Angel Madison wears pink. She's the captain of the cheer squad mean girl type, it works. But how am I supposed to be bad wearing a hot pink two piece?"

"Bad?" Gabriela said incredulously. "Darling, didn't I tell you? We're turning you baby face."

"F, fa... Face!?" I almost choked getting it out. "I don't know how to play baby face! I've only ever been a heel. I only know how to be a bad guy."

"Well you're not a guy of any sort anymore," said Gabby. "And you're handling that alright. This should be a walk in the park. The truth is we have a dearth of good faces in the women's division. White Tiger is the best we have in that regard, Donna isn't working out well. Another heel isn't really an option right now. It's one of the reasons corporate really wanted to maintain your contract," She took the top from Carpenter and handed it back to me. "Come on, don't keep the photographer waiting."

I sat in the ladies room, mostly dressed. Pink spangled trunks, pink crop top that showed quite frankly, a lot of cleavage, a pink elbow pad, pink knee pads with a bigger version of the same stylized star on them, neon pink wrist tape. I didn't even know they made it in that color. Except for the tape, all of it was really glossy. Vinyl had never been my thing. It looked good on Luke, but I'd always worn spandex, it works with darker colors.

I finished lacing up my boots and held up the last bit. Bright pink kick-pads, with the same star pattern running down the center, like a continuation off of the knee pads. "I don't even kick," I grumbled. After spending way too long figuring out how to put those on I headed out. Walking through the halls like that, I felt naked, worse than naked. It wasn't like there weren't guys who didn’t wear less in the ring, but this outfit screamed “look at me” and I felt like every pair of eyes I passed did.

When I reached the arena proper, there was a whole photography crew, something like ten people along with lights and backdrops down by the ring. I swallowed hard, and went to introduce myself. "Hi. I'm Sam" I said, holding my hand out to the guy who seemed to be giving the directions. "I guess I'm here to get my picture taken”. He looked me up and down, judgment in his eyes then he snapped his fingers at one of the assistant girls.

"Julie, she is not ready," he said to her in a smooth Australian accent.

"She just showed up Mr. Wuhu" she said, before taking me by the arm and dragging me away. She dumped me in a folding chair under a stage light and opened what looked like a tackle box. "I can't stand these conditions," she said pulling out a little brush. "What's your color Honey?" I wasn't ignorant as to what this was, I worked in TV, I'd had makeup put on before. But I'd never been asked for input.

"Uhhh..." I stammered.

"Come on Sweetie, we don't have all day," she said. She knelt down and looked at me in the eye. "You're definitely an autumn."

Without hesitation she slathered powder over my face like Bob Ross made a skyline and then started sponging something on my cheeks. She was back to her box then, and came out with a little brass tube.

"Definitely peach," she said and twisted out a stick of pale pink stuff. "Chin up," she instructed, and physically tilted my head up before smearing the stuff on my lips. "Come on, pucker for me."

I did as I was told, and tasted this weird chemical taste I'd never gotten from any pre-interview powdering before. Back and forth she kept at it, going at an erratic pace. Soon she had me close my eyes, and I felt her brushing something over the lids, then she told me to be very still, and I felt her seemingly drawing on them with a pencil.

"What do you think?" I heard her ask. I opened my eyes to find her holding a glaring hand mirror. Turning my head to get a good look at it I saw something I hadn't imagined. This was not me. Not in a million years would I have guessed I'd ever see that in a reflective surface. She was this, doll in a pink vinyl getup and glossy pink lipstick, her boobs pushed together by the slightly too small top, her eyes lined in black with pale copper shadowing, her cheeks ever so subtly blushed, and she was pretty. When Cassidy had told me that I hadn't really believed her, but there it was, right in front of me.

"Wow..." was all I could say.

"Hey," said Julie proudly. "Give me more than five minutes and see what I can do. Anything else she asked?"

"Umm..." I pondered. "Oh, uh, yeah," I looked close in on my right side. "There's this tattoo. I'm not supposed to show it off. I need it covered up for the photos."

"Relax," said the boss as he strode over. "We were informed about that and we'll remove it digitally," He knelt down and inspected my face. "Yes, yes this will do. Come, pose for me". He dragged me out of the chair heading towards the entrance ramp. "Are the lights for the stage ready?" he called. "Yes? Excellent,"

Up on the stage he positioned me under the videotron and directed me. "Show me some fierceness," he said as he lifted his camera. I slipped easily into one pose I'd practiced with Gabriela after another. He had me copy the same ones time and again, and shot me from different angles. Then we did it all again while he taped me with a video camera. After that we did it all again in the ring, and again in front of a green screen. It was actually kind of fun at first, but after it had gone on for an hour, it started to feel tedious and I just wanted to get out of that outfit.

*

"Mm-hmm, yeah, I'll wait" I said, sitting on the bus den couch the phone to my ear. Violet was sitting on the floor painting my toenails. "Oh, you do? You do? …...Great! Do you do cover ups? ... It's a Nor Cal star.... A nautical star, yes. ….. about, oh three inches. ...... Uh huh..... You're open today? ..... You take walk ins? ..... Great! Bye," I pumped my arm. "Yes! I got to cut this short Vi, I got business to look after. Where are my shoes?"

I took a taxi a few blocks into town and found the place I was looking for. It had taken over a dozen phone calls to find a place that met the specifications I needed. I was almost out of time. I had my first house show tonight and it was going suck as it was. The bell chimed as I walked inside.

"Hello, I called here a few minutes ago," I announced. I looked around at all the framed strips of small pictures. All kinds of things were up there, animals, people, Asian lettering, tribal designs, a lot of skulls.

"Yeah, what can I do for you?" asked a guy in a loose tank top with a nose ring and more random ink than skin.

"Yeah," I answered. "You said on the phone you carry Zeeg-side F?"

He looked me over suspiciously. "Yeah," he said. "But it's more expensive. That's rare, premium ink and uh, you don't look like a Zeeg."

"This isn't some code for a drug deal I'm not aware of is it?" I said. "Look, I've had some bio-mods. It gave me Zeeg skin," I pinched my arm and watched it snap back instantly into place. I turned my right side to him and rolled the sleeve up. "It leeches the ink out. Makes it fade. But it won't go away completely, I need the Zeeg-side F. It's supposed to be the only kind that stays."

"You want a touch-up?" he questioned.

"No, I need a cover-up, on the quick."

He walked around the counter and approached. "Let me take a look at that Mama," then he slipped on a surprisingly classy pair of reading glasses. He looked over my shoulder for a moment. "Hmm... pretty sharp lines," he said. "I might have to get creative. So what are you thinking?"

"I don't care," I said. "I just need it unrecognizable."

"So not another star I guess. Covers up a lot of the shoulder as it is," He produced a cloth measuring tape and laid it over my tattoo. "I think I've got something for you," He went behind the counter and began to sort through something in a low drawer. He crooked a finger at me drawing me closer and then looked at my arm again, comparing it to a card he held. "Yeah, this'll do right here," he said, and he showed me the card.

"That's a butterfly," I said.

"Yeah," he answered. "It's the right size, and it covers the black in all the right places. I have the stencil for it right here. If you don't like it, give me a couple days, and I can come up with something else."

"Dammit, I don't have time," I told him. "I need it done literally today."

He took his glasses off and looked me in the eye. "Today? Well…...Normally I don't like to put on that much black ink in one sitting but........ F doesn't really bleed into the system so it should be safe."

"Should be?" I questioned.

"I ain't no doctor Lady."

"Fine," I said. "Whatever, let's just do this."

I stood behind the curtain in my new pink duds, waiting for my introduction. This wasn't going to be my official debut, this was a house show. It was a small crowd, at a small venue, untelevised. They did these now and then whenever they needed some extra footage. They’d sell a few tickets to a few townies, and let local jobber number seven put a big time promotion pay-check on her resume. A jobber was a wrestler who 'did the job,' and lost. “Enhancement Talent” was the PC term for it.

Real jobbers made a career out of it. Their place was to make the other talent look strong. Now they weren't necessarily jobbers in their own promotions, but if you were being called up from the minor leagues for one match you were doing the job. This match, and a few more that would come along like it, were just to get some back reel of me for usage on the main show. They'd basically be making a highlight reel of me kicking the shit out of some local birds so they could put it on the Videotron and have a record of me. I just hoped they knew how to work.

"And introducing her opponent..." I heard coming from the bass sound-system. "From San Francisco, California..." Uh, I couldn't believe they were billing me from Frisco. "Sam Starr!"

I kissed my fingers placed them to my right shoulder, then cussed out loud because it hurt like a bastard. I headed toward the ring, it was a surreal scenario. A smaller room, tiny crowd, shorter walk. Strangely enough, the most alien part was marching to the ring with no music. I hadn't done that in years. Still, it took considerable concentration to break my normal routine on the way to the ring, even after all that down time. The hardest part was probably being positive with the crowd.
Being a baby face did not come naturally to me, but I tried my best to engage with them and pump them up.

There I stood across the ring from some pudgy girl in an off the rack blue singlet and white boots and knee pads. I'd never worked with her, never even seen her before that afternoon, but now I had to put on a show with her. This was the nature of the game though and I had to play it. Normally, given the circumstances, I'd have made this a squash match. Basically, a squash match is a quick, one-sided affair designed to make one participant look dominant.

The rest of my house matches before my actual debut would be squash matches. However, since I still had my shoulder bandaged I thought I'd take advantage of it. I'd told her beforehand to target the arm, make it look like it was an injury she was taking advantage of. It was cheap heat at which a heel would never get a chance. The only problem was it was actually going to hurt me this time.

The ref was a sort of squat bald guy I hadn't worked with before. He went into his pre-match spiel and then stepped back.

The bell rang and we went straight into the collar and elbow tie up. She took me into a wrist lock on my right wrist, normally you almost always do this with the left arm, but it let me sell the 'injury' without actually hurting my fresh tattoo. Then... she hit me right on it with her forearm. I didn't have to sell that, the scream was genuine. As I was grasping my arm she kicked me in the back of the legs and I bumped; she started stomping at my bandaged shoulder. She leaned down and took me by the back of the head.

"Lay off you bitch," I chastised her, and she lifted me to my feet. She actually pulled my hair and slapped me hard on the shoulder. My first instinct, which I followed, was to clothesline her solidly across the chest, knocking the wind out of her. I didn't want this to turn into a shoot, a real fight, she had a good 25 pounds on me, but if she forced it, so be it. She got to her hands and knees, I wanted to kick her, but that would have been a heel move when she was down, but a stiff double axe-handle to the back, now that was fair game. I sent her back to the canvas and very nearly went for the cross-face but I straddled her back and put her in a chin lock instead. "You gonna play nice?" I demanded. All she did was shriek at me so I cranked back on her head hard and she began to desperately slap at my kick-pad. The ref called the match and the announcer declared it.

"And the winner by of submission, Sam STARR!"

I stood up and rubbed my tender shoulder. "God damn this was a wasted day," I muttered. "What the hell is her problem?" I asked the ref.

"She thinks she deserves the world title," he said.

A buzzing woke me up the next morning. I reached over and picked up my phone. "Yes?" I answered. "Yes. That's me. ... How long? ... Thank you," I hung up and put the phone away then I pulled back the curtain and sat up, leaning out of my bunk. "Huu..." I gasped. Water started rolling down my cheeks, then I began to openly sob.

"Hmm..." Cassidy roused. "Hey, Case, what's the matter?" she rolled out of bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nu... nu, nothing," I gasped. "They, they sentenced him. They put that sick bastard a, away for what he d-did to me-e-e," I was crying openly then and Cassidy just hugged me on the floor. I still didn't know what had driven James to do what he did, or think he could get away with it, I just wished I could never think of him again. I would endeavour to try not to.

After that I had three more house matches, all of which went swimmingly and we'd finally compiled enough footage for my promotional tapes. I was eventually called into the office when the show was in Oakland. Gabriela was there along with an older grey haired fellow with bushy eyebrows.

"Good morning Sam," she said as I walked in.

"Hi Gabby," I greeted her.

"Sam, this is our audio-visual head. He's going to help you with the technical side of your entrance routine."

"Walter," he announced and lifted his hand.

I shook it. "I know," I said. "We've actually met before."

"Really?" he said. "You don't seem familiar."

"I've been getting that a lot," I told him.

"So, anyway," said Walter. "We have a lot to go over. We’ve yet to figure out your lighting, cut together a video package for the Videotron, and pick your entrance music. Have you thought about that?"

"Not really," I admitted. "I do have a question though."

"Yes?" Gabby responded.

"Who decided I should be billed from Frisco?"

*

I spent the next four days sitting in the AV truck with Walter cutting together footage from the house shows and video the photographer had taken, and mixing it with effects packages to create a video to accompany my entrance. Walter, I understand, then spent another week working on tertiary effects and lighting. After Glasses Lady shot down my first eleven music choices, we finally settled on something and I spent the next three days practicing my entrance. The sad part was I knew we were just going to re-cut it all two months after I debuted and when we had some better footage to use.

A Starr is Born Pt6
Reworked by Wendy C from
a story written by Mistress X.

My nails tapped nervously on the armrest.

"Yo, what's wrong with you Girl?" Cassidy nudged me from the next seat over. "You scared of flyin' or something?"

"Hmm no," I said. "I'm just a little on edge."

"Well I'm excited," she volunteered, almost kicking her feet with giddiness.

"Why are you so hyped?" I questioned. "It's almost my first televised match in half a year, my first one ever in this body."

"Oh I ain't talking about that," she clarified. "It's the European tour Girl. We get to stay in swanky hotels instead of that damn bus for a change," She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. "And I hope that blouse fits good because them balloons of yours are gonna pop a button when this plane takes off." I looked down at my chest and tapped my fingers.

"Oh man that plane ride was a bitch," Cassidy stretched as she dropped her bags and crossed the hotel room. "I am just happy to have a real BED for a change!" she sat down on the corner of one of the two mattresses and began digging in her suitcase. "I got first dibs on the shower."

The first leg of the European tour was Naples, and we were all put up in a local hotel, men on one floor, women on another, and Cassidy and I were roommates again. At least I wasn't alone, like in the last few hotels at which I'd stayed.

I sat down on the mattress and leaned back, listening to the water running in the other room. This was a much nicer hotel room than the ones they had set me up with before. I figured they had to provide the established stars a level of expected opulence, for appearances if nothing else. And I “would” be an established star again pretty soon. Looking down, I was also relieved to note that, besides maybe some slight tightness in my bra, the twins had given me no trouble on the flight. Maybe they’d contributed to my stiff neck. I unfastened the top button on my blouse and stretched out on the gold colored sheets and took a cat nap until the bathroom was free.

Once Cassidy gave the all clear I took my chance to use the little girls' room, I'd had to pee since landing, and then I started my hot shower. It felt so good to get under that steamy cascade after stewing in a pressurized aluminium tube for so many hours. I’d already grown to appreciate the way the water moved over my perfect, unblemished, skin. It was like ribbons of warm satin flowing over me, down my neck over my big round breasts, tickling my amazingly sensitive bullet like nipples, washing along my tight belly, caressing my itty-bitty clitty and running down my tender thighs. That water loved me, and it touched me like it loved me. I perhaps stayed in the shower longer than I needed to, having all the time I required for once, but ultimately I left it feeling... frustrated.

Realizing I'd forgotten my clothes in my bag, I wrapped a towel around myself with flourished ease, momentarily checked out my butterfly tattoo in the mirror, and went back into the main room where I found a sight I didn't expect. Violet was there, and she and Cassidy were both dolled up in mini-dresses and heels, and Cassidy was digging through my bag. "What are you doing?" I demanded.

"You really don't have a single skirt do you?" Cassidy neglected the question. "I guess some of these jeans could work and......Oh My God...... you are definitely wearing these," She held up my metallic blue halter top and matching panties. "I didn't even know you had these. Now we just gotta find you a decent pair of shoes."

"What are you talking about?" I asked flatly.

"Nothing....." Violet said sing-song.

"Me and Vie are just two innocent American girls looking for a good time in a strange European city and it's...... well truth is, it's safer the more of us go together, so you commin' with us."

"WHERE" I insisted?

"To the hottest club we can find," she said with a tone that suggested the answer should have been assumed.

"I don't like this," I told her.

"Come on Case" she said. "We wanna have some fun and you NEED to have some fun. You ain't been doin' nothin' but workin' since you BEEN you. So put on these sexy blues, wriggle into your tightest denim, and let's go have some FUN."

"Huh..." I sighed. "I'll go have a drink, and regret it later."

We stepped out of the taxi and into the watchful orange light of a nearby streetlamp. The street here was busy with small cliques of people crowding in and out of the doors of a nearby building. Judging from the music thumping from inside and the dress of the people going to and fro, it was indeed the nightclub the taxi driver promised. I looked around self-consciously and adjusted my top. "Do my nipples show through this?" I inquired tentatively.

"Heh heh yeah they do Vie chuckled.

"Why'd you buy that anyway?" Cassidy questioned.

"I don't know," I answered.

"It was because it's cute wasn't it," she pushed.

"Yes okay," I admitted. "Can we just move along please?"

"Sure thing," she answered. "Dammit," she said suddenly as we stepped directly into the circle of light beneath the lamp. "I can't believe I didn't notice that at the hotel."

"What?" I asked.

"Just hold still," Cassidy said opening her hand-bag. "You really need to get a purse by the by," she pulled out a liner pencil and a mascara brush. "Close your eyes."

"Why?" I begged.

"Because if you gonna be clubbin' with me you're gonna look good doing it," she insisted. "Now close your eyes, it'll only take a second."

I capitulated and I felt her fooling around with my eyelids.

"Violet, do you have any lipstick you can borrow her? I ain't got nothin in her color."

"Sure thing," Vie said and tossed me a tube that I barely caught. Knowing there was no use arguing, I applied the salmon color blindly, pressed my lips, and handed it back.

"You look great," Cassidy commented. "Now let's get our drink on."

Fortunately for we three musketeers, the place was pretty big and the line was moving briskly, so it wasn't hard to get inside. I had definitely had harder times getting into clubs as a guy.

"Alright, now “this” place is bangin" Cassidy said as we stepped through the threshold. Countless human bodies were swaying with the bass that was reverberating through the air. The dim lighting did little to mask the hard contrast between ancient architecture and modern furnishings.

"I'm gonna be at the bar" I enunciated over the too loud music and shimmied off. On the way we cut across the corner of the dance floor, which was segmented glass overlooking an old dry Roman reservoir that had been converted into more night club down stairs. The place really was fancy and the bar was no exception. It was about 70 feet of marble and laminated black wood that separated the clubbers, from what looked like a liquor warehouse framed with mirrors and LED displays of writhing human silhouettes.

"Cosa ordinate?" said the bartender leaning over the counter at us in what had a distinct questioning inflection.

All three of us just looked at him dumbfounded.

"Um, we don't understand... you," admitted Violet embarrassed. He looked us over, and his gaze seemed to catch on my jeans.

He snapped his fingers in the air, summoning an identically dressed other bartender over to himself. "Americane," he failed to whisper to the second man.

The second server then took his place. "What do you want... to drink" he asked in a stilted, heavy, Italian accent?

"Oh," I said. "Um, bourbon," I answered.

"Double that," said Cassidy, holding up two fingers.

"Um..." Vie began. "Can you make a blue Hawaiian?" He gave an affirmative gesture, and without a word went to work. Cassidy and I got our drinks first and clinked our glasses before leaning our backs to the bar and downing our first sips while watching the dancers. There was no need to leave the bar, we weren't done with it.

It wasn't long before it began to hit me, I hadn't yet really imbibed with my new alien body weight and I was probably drinking too fast. I was still sure I was only two sheets to the wind at best, when a guy in a dark grey silk shirt and black slacks approached us. He was an olive skinned fellow with midnight eyes and the most carefully planned mess of casual stubble. "You are American ladies?" he asked in his own very Italian way. "I like Americane."

Then another guy came up beside him, looking like his slightly shorter doppelganger with puffier hair, and spoke to him in their local tongue, unintelligible to me.

"Scusi" the shorter guy said turning to us, his hand on his heart. "I am Giulio, this is my brother Pietro. I, um... I tell him you are famous. You on the television. You um... lottare..." he grasped his hands together and pulled tight. "Ah! Wrestle? Si?" he pointed to Cassidy and Violet. "But I do not know your friend......" he looked at me. "La Farfalla," Pietro interjected.

"Si," said Giulio.

"This is Sam," Cassidy announced loudly, over the booming club music. "You just watch the show this week. Then you'll know who she is."

"Si, Si," said Giulio. "Bravo. You do show here in Naples?"

"Yeah," answered Violet.

"Come," added Giulio. "You must let us buy you a drink, we celebrate!"

So the five of us mingled, or I should say, Vie Cassidy and Giulio mingled, whereas Pietro stood over me, hemming me in in fact. I stood against the bar while he stood close to me, with his hands on the counter on either side of me chatting to me. His English wasn't as good as his brother's and he didn't even bother most of the time, just going on in incomprehensible Italian and buying me more drinks. I'm not sure I'd have been listening even if I could understand. I just looked at him as though there was something I would catch here and there.

"What does 'La Farfalla' mean?" I stretched up and put to his ear. He took a step back and rested his finger on his lip as if contemplating.

"Is... um..." he began. Then he put his hands together at the wrist and made a flapping motion, before just touching my arm. I looked over and was reminded of the black Zeeg-side ink there under my skin.

"Butterfly" I asked?

"Si," he answered, "Butterfly."

I felt my face grow hot at this, and didn't quite know why.

"Hey, we're gonna go dance," announced Violet, with her arm around Giulio's.

"You go play. Just stay where I can see you" Cassidy quipped and the two went off to dance on the glass.

Pietro said something in his smooth Mediterranean lingo in my ear and before I knew it I was being propelled along behind them, onto the dance floor as well. Pietro was behind me, and he had his hands on me, swaying against me. I didn't know how to be the woman in a dance like this, and I don't know why I went along with it, but I did. I could feel the smooth silk of his shirt against my bare back and I could smell his cologne, but mostly I could feel his hands.

They were on my hips and moving up, they were soon on my belly, beneath the metallic satin of my top, and his finger trailed like a faint breath in a circle around my bellybutton, and I felt a quiver, like nothing I'd ever felt before, inside me. Then I felt him pressing his palm flat into my abdomen, forcing me back, and I felt the crotch of his pants pushing against me from behind. I pressed back against him.

We were lost in the crowd now, the dance floor was filled and we'd gotten separated from Violet and Giulio. I could barely see the bar now, much less Cassidy. I was starting to get dizzy, things blurred together. He whispered something in my ear, it tickled my hair and cheek. I didn't understand it, but I knew it was a question.

"Mm-hmm," I nodded.

The next thing I knew I was no longer feeling the warmth of a hundred moving bodies, just the cold night air, and one arm around my waist. We were outside, and Pietro was leading me toward the curb. I saw a car pull up, and then I felt the faux leather seat against my back. We were in the back seat and Pietro was all over me. He was so close I was practically sitting in his lap, his hands on my hips and denim covered thighs, bristles on my neck. I could almost taste him and I knew he could taste me.

The car moved. It rumbled beneath us, he rumbled above me and before I knew it we had stopped in a quieter part of town. I got out while Pietro paid the driver and then took me inside a walk-up, all but carrying me up the stairs and through a white numbered door. Inside was a small living space, a bachelor pad. The whole place smelled of European coffee, with a fresh hint of the salt Naples air wafting in.

I didn't know where I was and as for the notion of why I was there, I was aware on some level and becoming more certain of it by the moment. He led me by the hand into another room, and there, faced me toward a low mattress. He whispered the sweetest indecipherable nonsense into my ear as he wrapped his arms around me. Then I heard a button pop, it was one of my own from the front of my jeans. He had his hands on the waist of them, thumbs inside.

My fingers ran up the inside of his slacks and over the front where they brushed over the most telling bulge. I heard a zipper, while one of his hands was still on my jeans. Then my own hands went from one tab to another, another zipper and then down we tugged. Chilled air washed over my thighs, and I would very soon get to experience what a female virgin does and how she feels losing her innocence for my only time as one. I was oh so ready to experience it too.

One of his hands pressed against the front of my hip, the other pushed at my upper back I bent down without resisting, resting my elbows on the mattress. Something hot touched the naked part of my butt. Two hands slid over my belly, one going forward and scooping under my top, where it found its way around one of the pendulous orbs of flesh and silicone that brushed ever so close to the sheets. Broad, rough fingers found their way to either side of my protruding nipple and the hand squeezed gently. I leaned back slightly and pulled my flimsy top off over my head, exposing my breasts fully. His other hand found its way in the opposite direction, and sneaked into the delta between my thighs.

A single finger traced over the narrow depression in my satin panties, and I was suddenly being bombarded with electricity. My hips bucked fully outside of my control and I heard the most cloying, most feminine moan of contentment. His hand regretfully withdrew and I heard buttons popping behind me and a clump of dark grey silk flew over my head and landed on the mattress in front of me. Then I heard two muffled thumps and then a buckle jingling. And then a third thump clunk against the floor. I lifted my feet each in turn, and pulled off the low heels Violet had lent me, and I heard a package tearing and the sound of latex lightly snapping.

The blissful feeling of the hand returned, only this time the lower hand found its way inside my panties. The rugose digit flowed smoothly over the bedewed crevice. I moaned again, higher, louder more wanton. His wrist turned and the metallic blue satin was yanked down and clumped around my ankles. The coffee smell of the apartment was joined by a familiar smell of womanly arousal I was so well acquainted with, yet so much more appreciated now.

Then the hot thing touched me again, this time smoother, slicker, ever so slightly cooler and I could feel his knuckles around it. His free hand came to my hip, and the thing trailed along the flesh of my ass, finding its way to the steaming gap, it pressed so slightly against the stimulated lips of my labia and held for an aeonian instant, before pressing inside. Something burst, a sharp pain lanced through me, dulled by alcohol and distraction while a warmth soon trickled down the inside of my leg.

Mercifully he wasn’t deterred in the slightest. He thrust into me until I felt his hips press as far into the yielding flesh of my vagina as they could. He held there for a moment, I could feel his dick pulse inside me and then he withdrew again, almost to the tip before driving it into me again. Faster and faster he pumped, driving my thighs into the side of the bed and my face into the sheets, muffling my screams.

One of my hands clawed at the linen while the other came up to my tits and squeezed one of my firm nipples. His hands crept up my sides, tickled my ribs, and cupped my breasts, lifting me off the sheets and arching my back as he pulled me against himself. His naked chest rubbed against my back as he continued to thrust into me and he leaned in to kiss at my neck. I reached my arm around behind his head and twisted my neck around. I felt the sensation of his breath on my mouth as I went in to suck on his lips. He tasted so good.

Almost as a reaction he pushed me back to the mattress, and pulled out of me. He seized my leg and threw it over, flipping me onto my back and in an instant he had plunged into me again. I pressed my hands against his firm chest as he bent down and penetrated my lips with his tongue. I drew hard upon the dorsum of his pallet and at this he drove into my vagina even more fiercely. Soon he managed to extract himself from my mouth and worked his way back down my neck, and to my chest, where he engulfed my nipples separately. His tongue swished wetly around one and I bucked my hips into him at the incredible pleasure I found myself locked in.

He then turned me around so that I was fully on the bed and he climbed on top of me. I coiled all four of my limbs around him and pulled him into another kiss, my tongue this time probing his mouth. We danced together inside his mouth and I could feel the bristles of him against my cheek. Eventually he extricated himself from my arms and sat upright, pulling my hips into the air with him. My fingers curled around the rails of his headboard as he pounded me into the mattress, my round white globes heaving and bouncing in rhythm to the energetic ramming I was taking.

All the while a strange sensation had been building in my belly and in my sex. It had been growing stronger little by little and it was accelerating. It was like a rocket ship pushing its way to light-speed, faster, harder, stronger and faster still, followed by even more speed on top of more speed until it could go no faster and then……… "AHHHH!" My pussy spasmed and began quivering. It began grasping desperately over and over at his cock, trying to draw it in further. The bed’s headboard creaked and he moaned, and then he slammed into me harder than he had before, his hands digging into my hips, his pelvis welded to my own. I thought I could feel him swell inside of me and then his heaving weight stopped atop of me. We two lay there together, gasping for air and glowing with satisfaction.

The sunlight hit my eyes with the force of a splitting wedge against my temple. I groaned and recoiled from it physically, only for my back to meet broad, firm, hairy, flesh. An olive toned arm came around me and cupped at my naked breast. I panicked and flung it off, then shot to my feet, finding myself in an alien apartment. There beside me, lying in the same bed I'd just exited was the swarthy form of a young Mediterranean man, fully nude and exposed. I couldn't help but look him over. He was tall, and fit, and sheened with post-coital perspiration. His cock stood at casual morning attention, not throbbing but just erect enough for me to get a good sense of the size of it and his body was covered in salmon colored smears and lip prints.

My hand shot to my own mouth and came away with almost nothing, just the merest hint of salmon pink, but the hand reeked of sex. It all slowly came back to me as I surveyed the aftermath. Pietro had picked me up in the club, brought me back to his apartment and fucked me stupid. He completely reamed me and even kissed me, no….... I kissed him! We played tonsil hockey and I'd gotten all the way to the net. We'd done everything, we went three or four times and it was........

I looked down and saw my clothes piled in a heap. I gathered them up as quietly as I could and dressed in a hurry. After I'd covered myself I found my way down stairs and out into that malicious sunlight and looked for a taxi driver who spoke English.

I finally got back to the hotel and walked into the lobby. It was a circus in there. Cassidy and Vie were standing there, still wearing what they were the night before and talking to this crowd of Italian guys in Hugo Boss looking suits. Jerry was there on his phone, even Mike was with them. I approached them to ask what was going on but Cassidy darted through them and right at me.

"Oh God, there you are," She hugged me so tight I thought my fingers were going to lose feeling. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Hey, Lucas," Jerry said to his phone, his tone expressing quiet alleviation. "Come on back to the hotel, we found her. She's alright."

"I... I was..." I stammered.

"Are you okay Miss?" one of the strangers approached me and asked in a thick Italian accent. "You have not been mistreated or held against your will?"

"What? No, I'm fine," I insisted. "I was out is all."

"You see?" said the man, "just as I told you."

"You don't run off like that by yourself Girl," Cassidy admonished me. "You don't know this city."

"In other parts of Europe, this is sound advice," said the man, "though my district is very, very safe."

"I thought I told you to stop making trouble for me," Mike loudly butted in. "You're the one in trouble now, running off and disappearing, getting everybody all worked up and the police involved. Well we're not having that again. Rest of the tour, you're under house arrest. If you're not workin,' you're in the hotel, got it?"

"Yeah, whatever," I conceded.

"Well, if there's nothing else," said the main cop. "I think we just call this a false-alarm, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "I've had a weird night, I'm just gonna go take a shower," I parted the crowd on the way to the elevator. Then I stopped, my head was throbbing. "On second thoughts, some coffee first, then I’ll shower."

I stood by the hotel room window, looking over the city, my coffee cup held high in front of my face in both hands, where I could feel the heat off of it. I was playing over the events of the previous night in my head, again, and again.

"Hey Sam, you sure you're alright?" Cassidy's voice rang out as I heard her walk through the door. "WHOA, why aren't you wearing any pants?" she asked.

"They had a stain on them," I answered casually, without looking.

"Case?" she said, her voice coming closer. "You're actin' funny. Are you...….Case you have blood on your leg!" she gasped. "Are you..." she paused. There was urgency in her voice now. "That guy, did he!? Oh my God, I'm calling those cops back!"

"No don't," I swivelled. "Don't do it."

"Case, no," she said, the hotel room phone already in her hand. "It was the Pietro guy wasn’t it? He took advantage of you!"

"It wasn't like that," I told her.

"Case, you were drunk!" she insisted.

"I know I was Cass," I said. "I know. But I'm not now and I don't... I don't regret it. Cassidy, it was AMAZING."

She had a stupefied look on her face; the phone clattered to the floor.

"Cass, we all knew what I was. We knew from the beginning that gynospores make hetero women. I got a dicking. I'm not ashamed of it. The truth is....... I'm embarrassed I was ever afraid of it at all. I don't know what I ever liked about girls, guys can be sexy, I... I like cock. Wow," I almost spilled my coffee with how giddy I was at saying it out loud. The admission was the most liberating thing I'd ever done. "I like guys, I got fucked and I enjoyed it, it was... I released a lot of frustration last night, I feel great Cassidy. I feel better than I have since this whole thing started."

"Case..." she stammered, "I haven't seen this side of you, it's weird, I'm kinda freaked out."

I stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. "Don't be," I told her. "It's alright, this was a long time coming. It's just, the dam broke, that's all. I did something I couldn't lie to myself about anymore, it helped," I stretched my arms out and tilted my head back. "I am woman, hear me roar..." I looked back at her. "And I don't hate it. I never hated it, not really, I was just angry, and frustrated. I feel so much more in control now. I kissed a boy and I liked it," I sang paraphrasing an old song.

"You sure you're okay?" she questioned, still very clearly taken aback.

"Cass," I said. "First thing we're gonna do when this house arrest is lifted, hell, maybe before, is go to the salon, go shopping, buy us a pair of new dresses, and go cruising for guys. Damn, I don't want to
wait, do you have another dress I can borrow right now?"

"No," she said then she cracked a sly smile. "But I have some stuff you can try on after you take a shower."

I sashayed through the hotel hallway wearing a miniskirt and a pair of thigh-socks I borrowed from Cassidy and I didn't care who saw me. I was too big upstairs now to borrow any of her tops but fortunately for me she had, like me hips to spare. It was so much fun to finally quit stressing out over my circumstances. It was almost like I'd been holding my breath for half a year and then suddenly realized I could just breathe. I could finally do what I wanted, wear what I wanted, be who I wanted and it was okay that all that wasn’t what it once was. It was just as good, just as valid just as real. I liked who I was now and I liked what I did. I was a woman and that was a perfectly normal thing to be.

From now on it was going to be a perfectly normal thing for me to be. "Hello rest of my life," I said aloud, enthusiastically. I turned a corner and spied a lone figure struggling with a vending machine. It was one of the new guys on the roster, the one I had to keep chasing out of the practice ring, the one I had hit with the chair. "And hello stud" I whispered to myself.

I put my hands behind my back and skipped over toward him girlishly.

"Hiya," I said. "Having trouble?"

"Yeah, it's the damned exchange rate, I don't underst..." he turned and looked at me. "Oh..."

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," I fluttered my eyelashes at him. "I'm Sam, you're one of the new guys right?"

"Yeah, pretty new," he said. "I'm Nate."

"Nate, right," I muttered. I wasn't really interested in his name. I was scoping him out. He had the look of a college frat guy, but maybe a football player. I decided right there to start watching college ball again. I watched as the vein popped up in his brawny arm as he moved it nervously and I got a tiny shudder. He was by no means the same kind of smoking hot beefcake I had been, but he was still bigger and in better shape than Pietro was. "You bunked up with your friend?"

"Uh, yeah," he answered. "We came out of the same wrestling school, we train together. They're thinking of putting us in a tag-team."

"He in your room" I inquired?

"No, he's out right now. Hey what are you doing here anyway? Aren't the women supposed to be a floor up?"

"Perfect," I whispered, ignoring his question. "So, um about that whole incident with the chair... from before..."

"Um……yeah"

I strode up and pressed my girls against his chest and ran a finger down his arm. "I'm real sorry about that, and I'd looove to make it up to you."

Chapter Thirteen

"You ready for this Girl?" asked Cassidy wearing her full ring gear. She had silver booty shorts and a matching top, headband, elbow pads and knee pads along with cotton candy pink wrestling boots.

"You just try and stop me," I enthused shaking my shoulders loose.

"I'd love to stop you," she said. "But they booked me to get my ass kicked tonight."

"Well I gotta come out of the gate strong," I told her. "Let's put on a good show for 'em."

It was my debut night, my first televised match as the new me, and I hadn't been so hyped in months. I'd been booked to go over Cassidy and we'd been talking about it all day. Now it was moments away and we were waiting behind the curtain. I could hear the crowd buzzing, just on the other side and I couldn't wait to go out there. It was like my first match all over again.

"The following match is scheduled for one-fall," a voice came over the loudspeaker, which was followed by the repeated Italian version. "Introducing first” then Cassidy's music hit.

"See you on the other side," she said and then blew through the curtain.

"...fighting out of Chicago, Illinois, USA... CASSIDY!"

"Hey Sport. How you are holding up?" Jerry said as he approached me.

"I'm chomping at the bit Jerry," I admitted. "I'm ready to get out there and get to work."

"You've done a lot of work already," he said.

"I know. More than I realized," I said. "Thanks by the way. You were a really big help to me and you were really nice when you didn't have to be, when I might not have been."

"I thrive vicariously on the accomplishments of others," he said.

"And I pulled you away from a main-eventer to train me," I said regretfully. "I'm sorry about that."

"And introducing her opponent," the loudspeaker rang out. "For the first time ever, fighting out of Santa Monica, California, USA..."

"You'll be a main-eventer soon," he said, and my music played. "You already are in my eyes."

I reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you Jerry," I said, and then turned and broke through the curtain.

"...SAM STARR!"

I was on the ramp, the lighting, the music the very scale of the arena was so much different from what I remembered. The heat from the crowd was entirely different as well. It was lesser, but that was to be expected, they'd never seen Sam Starr before, but it was more than that. I was a baby face now, they weren't supposed to hate me anymore... and I started to like the idea.

I trotted, almost skipping, down the ramp with girlish enthusiasm, waving to, and high-fiving the crowd as I went. When I reached the ring I circled it once, and then climbed the steps. Instead of rolling under the bottom rope as was my old routine, I bent at the hips and stepped under the top rope. It showed off my butt in the spangled pink trunks and I was absolutely cool with it. Once inside I climbed the turnbuckle and sat on it, throwing my legs back over the ropes in a sort of side-saddle pose and pointed out at the crowd in acknowledgment, then I leaned back, did a falling back-flip and landed on my feet. I'd been practicing that little stunt for weeks, that was the first time I actually had fun with it.

My music stopped and we centered the ring. The ref was a guy named Jay, who I'd worked with a few times before, but he mostly ran the women's matches, so I'd be seeing him a lot more in the future. He went into his whole officiation routine for the audience, and then we went to our corners. I looked across the ring at Cassidy and I couldn't help but smile. I just hoped it looked like smug confidence and not like she was actually my best friend in the world.

The bell rang, and Cassidy came storming out of her corner and forced me into the turnbuckle pads. The plan was she was going to press the attack early, make her look like she didn't have any respect for the new girl. She was a heel so it would work, and would give her some nice easy heat to work with. Then I'd make a fighting comeback and win the match. That way Sam Starr got her first win, her heat would get a running start. I'd look strong and Cassidy didn't have to look weak.

She shoved me against the ropes and gave me a knife edge chop across the chest, which I have to tell you feels remarkably different with a couple pounds of polymer hanging off of it. She did it again and then grabbed me by the back of the head, leaning in as she did and whispering "moon sault," She threw me away from the ropes and I made sure I went down landing on my back and perpendicular to the turnbuckle. She jumped up onto the second buckle with her back facing me, and did an arching back flip, landing on top of me with just enough of a gap as to not actually hurt me. Still, I sold it for her, and gripped my stomach like she'd crushed it. Cassidy took the opportunity to work the crowd, shouting obscenities at them, and then dropped to a knee, putting me into a rear chin-lock, and the other knee into my spine. "Fight loose," she whispered. "Boston Crab."

I grasped her hands, and then began to act as though I was giving the struggle of my life. Slowly I pulled her hands away from my chin, and hooked her near boot, and pulled her onto her back. I popped up, grabbed her by both feet, then flipped her onto her stomach as I stepped over her legs, and sat on the back. I tucked her feet under my arms and pretended to really crank on her knees. She scrambled to the ropes and grabbed on as if for dear life. Jay tapped me on the shoulder as if to warn me of the rope break. Normally I'd have held on for a four count, but I was a baby face now so I let go and walked to center ring. Cassidy hugged the ropes and looked back at me with faux shock in her eyes, as if to say she didn't expect such fight from a green newcomer.

She stood up and approached me with mock caution, indicating her confidence was shaken, and we tied up in the collar and elbow. "Take the kick, dodge in the corner, then give schoolboy," she passed on to me, and then rammed her boot laces right into my thigh, breaking the clinch. After that she whipped me into the corner and charged at me. I stepped out of the way just as she had warned me, and she bounced off of the turnbuckle affecting a stupor. I rolled to the mat behind her, reached between her legs, hooked her thigh nearest my head, and pulled her over onto the canvas, shoulders down. Just as Jay's hand hit the mat for a count of one Cassidy stretched out her body to break the pin.

I went immediately for another cover, and whispered "combo alpha" to her, indicating a sequence we'd worked out together, and she kicked me off again. I picked her up, and as soon as she reached her feet she kicked me in the stomach, and then went for a wide clubbing punch, which I blocked. I reciprocated, she blocked, she tried again, I blocked. I went for a thrusting front kick, which missed, she went for a jumping sole-butt, which I ducked. She over rotated and I hit her with a jumping drop kick in the back, sending her headlong into the corner. I followed after her and put her in a rear waist-lock. "Push off, dodge the back fist, chin breaker, shining wizard, take the punch, move on to the spot," I said setting up a long sequence.

She pushed off the turnbuckle, forcing me backward and then shooting around and reversing the waist-lock at center ring. I spun around, swinging my fist backward, high and wide to give her plenty of breathing room. She ducked, then put her hands to my head, and dropped to her knees. I followed her down, pretending she was pulling me down and stopped just before my chin hit the top of her head. I butt bumped and sat, while Cassidy got back to her feet, ran the ropes, and gave me a light kick to the chest as she dropped to the canvas.

She dragged me to my feet, then I slapped her hand away, gave her a feel nothing punch to the chops, and we moved onto the universal spot. Cassidy ended up on top, but I pushed her off at the count of two. We both crawled on the mat feigning exhaustion long enough to plan the next sequence. "Go under, take the monkey flip, dodge the leg drop, then take it home," she said. Cassidy began slapping the mat to indicate frustration at the failed pin. Then she ran the ropes for some unknown move. I got to my hands and slid under as she jumped over me.

Then we both hit the ropes and came back at each other. She gave me a running whip into the corner, where I rested with my back to the turnbuckle. Cassidy ran across the ring and then climbed up on me, standing on my thighs and grasping the back of my head. She leaned backward, rolling onto her back, and propelling me over her body, kicking me off and sending me flying across the ring into a back bump. This was typically her set up for her finishing move, so she crossed the ring, climbed the nearest turnbuckle to me and sneered at the fans in typical heelish fashion. She bent low then leapt, pulling her legs up as she fell. I rolled away just as planned, making her crash bottom first onto the mat. She sold it like she'd broken her back, which is not hard to imagine because that's a genuinely painful move to pull off. I crawled to my feet, dragged her up into a front face-lock, which I then transitioned into double under-hooks, and gave her the Butterfly DDT which the announcers would dub the 'Starr Crash' and she went down just like we'd practiced. I hooked her leg and lay across her for the one, two, three count.

The audience cheered. I'd actually gotten a face pop. I stood up, the awe on my face probably plainly visible. I'd never gotten a face pop before. It was small granted, my first match, no rep, sure, but it was still amazingly gratifying. The next thing I know I'm bouncing on my toes like I'd just been named prom-queen and Jay is raising my hand.

"And the winner of the match..." the announcement blared. "SAM STARR!"

I trudged back-stage, a little winded, but in a good way. "Hey, good job Darlin.'" said Vie as she met me behind the curtain, and she offered me a fist-bump, which I readily accepted.

"It was a damn fine show," added Jerry, standing just where I'd left him.

"Thanks Jerry," I told him a mite embarrassed. I hoped no blush showed through the red that was already in my face.

"Good job Girl," said Cassidy as she appeared through the curtain herself, looking mildly ragged.

"I couldn't have done it without you," I told her.

"It might have been fun to watch you try," Jerry joked. "You did a great job too Cass," he added.

"Come on Girl," said Cassidy. "Let's go hit those showers."

"Oh hell yes," I said.

"Did you hear that pop you got?" Cassidy called over the sound of running water.

"Yes I did," I returned. "It was kind of wild."

I looked at her, watched her soap herself. It was almost strange how normal this was, the two of us showering together. I had never before shared a shower with a girl I wasn't sleeping with, but now it felt more normal than showering in the guys' locker room ever did. Looking her over it was a completely different feeling than anything it had been before. There was absolutely no attraction, but there was also no disgust like I'd once had at the sight of other men, as strange of a concept as that seemed now. I wondered if I would have been attracted to her, but I couldn't be positive. For the life of me I couldn't understand what it was I'd ever liked about women. I'd come to realize how little of that is actually consciously thought out and how much is just pure animal drive. Sure she was pretty, I knew that on a cerebral level and I was fairly sure she was the kind of girl most guys would go for. But seeing women as objects of sexual desire seemed so alien to me now, almost like it had never been.

"Is your back okay?" I asked, noticing her nursing a twinge.

"Yeah, it's alright," she said stretching out. "I really gotta phase out that leg drop though."

"Well you helped me come up with a new finisher. Maybe I can do the same," I offered.

"I'd like that," she said.

"You want a back rub?" I proposed. She cocked her eye at me. "I'm serious, nothing weird."

"Really?" she said, "nothing?"

"Right, nothing," I said, "just helping out."

"No ulterior motives?"

"Now I'm offended," I told her.

"No, it's just. I still find this sudden change of... orientation.......hard to swallow," she said.

"It's not a sudden change," I explained. "I told you. I've been like this for a while, months. I just couldn't fess up to it. I’ve ripped the band aid off now that's all."

She looked me over again. "Okay," she said doubtfully. "Go for it," She turned and placed her hands on her head, exposing the coffee colored skin of her back to me. I stepped over and put my hands around her waist, running my thumbs down her spine. "Lower," she said. "Down, lower... there," I began to press hard on the dimples of her lower back, right where her butt met her back. "That's the spo......." She suddenly wheeled on me, took me by the head, pressing her breast to my own and kissed me full on the lips.

"What are you doing!?" I demanded, pulling my head back.

She examined me again. "You... you really didn't feel anything did you?"

"Maybe a little shock," I cried.

"No but... like, I'm straight," she said. "But I'm not that straight. Even I'm a LITTLE turned on, but you ain't at all? Like, you're that straight?"

"As a laser," I told her. "Please don't do that again."

Cassidy hadn't meant anything by it, she was just testing me. She labored under the theory that women's sexual orientation was a little more malleable than men's. I could see where she was coming from, but what she had to understand is that a gynomorph's orientation was locked in stone.

The tour through Europe lasted another four months, stopping in a dozen major cities. We stopped in Rome, Berlin, Brussels, Madrid, Belfast, Dublin, Nice, London, we even had a big pay-per-view in Paris, and I got to see it all through the windows of various hotel rooms. My in ring record though remained sound. In the next 13 matches I won 11 clean, mostly still working with Cass, but I got bouts against other girls too. Ruby, Donna, even Vie. A singles match with Violet went in the draw column as a no-contest, to keep us both strong. The other missing W from that 13 was a loss at the PPV in Paris, in a tag match with White Tiger against Ruby and Cassidy. It went much like their last tag match, with Cassidy scoring the pin on Tiger. While the record wasn't spotless it could still be bragged that I hadn't personally lost a match.

I was sitting in the gym on the stack machine, toning my shoulders and enjoying the show. I had always had an appreciation for unisex gyms, it had simply evolved as of late. Watching a room full of sweaty muscle- studs furiously pumping was the next best thing to joining in.

"Case?"

It was a regular butcher's shop selection of raw beef. There was Frank Stone, Jack Castle, that little love machine Vortex, over in one corner was the twins, the Cole brothers, I'd have loved to be the meat in that sandwich, my one time boy-toy Nate was there, and Aki... what a big sexy teddy-bear he turned out to be. I wouldn't have thought I would be into the big boys but man, he looked firm and squeezable at the same time.

"Case?"

Then there was of course, my walking wet dream... 320 pounds of nothing but bone and rippling muscle. I wanted to feel every ounce of it. God, why had I ever not liked Luke? He was the sweetest thing. Nobody, nobody made me quiver at the mere sight of them like Luke.

"CASE!"

"Huh! What?" I looked over at Cassidy, standing against the squat rack.

"Close your legs honey, or people are gonna think you wet yourself," she said.

"Gross Cass," I responded.

"Sooorry," she said. "But you’re staring pretty hard."

"I have a libido," I told her. "I won't apologize for that."

"I have a libido Girl, you’re just a nympho" she claimed. "You're going around like you still got a dick in your pants. And I can see by that leotard that that ain't the case."

"No," I rebutted. "I talked to my doctor. He says it's a phase."

"Fucking every male tourist in Europe is a phase?"

I ignored her and continued. "It's like being a teenager again, like discovering sex for the first time. There's an element of novelty and exploration to it. Call it a second puberty I guess. Plus its WAY easier to get laid now," I giggled. "And there's that side effect with morphs. We're more easily visually stimulated than most women. It’s something to do with pheromones and visual arousal not being turned down all the way. I don't understand it all, myself."

"I'm just glad Mike put you under house arrest through this," she said. "God only knows what trouble you'd have gotten into cruising for guys outside the hotels."

"Speaking of which, it's up next week, when we fly to Seattle," I enthused. "You remember what I said we'd do when it was over?" I dropped down on my knees in front of her and clasped my hands together before my face. "Oh Cass, please teach me to shop," I mock begged.

"Real funny" she said flatly.

I stood up and brushed off my knees. "I'm only like...sort of half kidding."

A Starr is Born Pt7
Reworked by Wendy C from
a story written by Mistress X.

It was a good thing showbiz paid well, because the first thing I did when we got back to the States was replace my entire wardrobe, well most of it. I kept some of the cuter things.

"I'm not your husband," Cassidy complained as she hefted a bundle of shopping bags onto a slatted mall bench and dropped herself between them.

"Oh but you'd be such a good provider" I teased as I piled the bags I carried beside them.

"Do you even have enough room for all this?" she questioned.

"Good point" I confessed. "I'll have to get more suitcases too."

"I think you're taking your new role too far" she groused.

"Well I think she's a lot more fun now" added Violet as she caught up behind me.

"Thank you Violet" I said with exaggerated graciousness. "Come on Cass, Mike had me cooped up for months. I cooped myself up for months before that. It's been almost a year since I felt like getting out and doing something and had the chance" I pleaded with her. "And right now what I want to do is embrace things. I want to make up for lost time, I want to explore the new me. I never really took the time to understand the old me. And right now the new me wants clothes and makeup."

"That's all well and good Hon" said Cassidy. "But the new me, the still kinda jet-lagged me wants to get back to the bus and sleep."

"Damn," I said and snapped my finger. "Sleepwear, I need new pyjamas."

"I know the cutest place for that," said Violet. "I hope they have one here."

"No," said Cassidy. "I don't need both of you in that bus sitting around in the same see-through nothin half the time."

"I'll just have to sleep in my new underwear then," I ribbed.

"Okay dammit, fine," said Cass. "Do what you want". She stood up and piled all the bags into Violet's and my arms. "But I'm going back to the bus."

"You can take some of this with you!" I called as she walked away.

"Nope," she didn't even look back.

Violet and I spent the rest of the day shopping and a good portion of it in the salon, where she got her hair done and I took a makeup class. It's good to learn new things. I myself wasn't really interested in my hair. It's a weird side-effect of the spores created by the bald Zeeg. Needless to say Cassidy was sort of pissed at how we filled the bus with stuff when we got back. The truth was she was just irritated at being back on the bus instead of in fancy hotel rooms. She'd feel better when she got to go home for a while.

The next morning found us in the stadium convention hall for breakfast. It was how crew and talent often started their days, but I hadn't shown up to a lot of them recently. I had sort of cloistered myself for a while, and in Europe I ordered a lot of room-service. Still, catering had gotten up early to put out this spread, and I was hungry. I held a plastic plate in my hand and looked over the table. There wasn't a lot of bread, but there was a ton of ham and sausage. There were a lot of big guys on high-protein diets here after all.

There was a time when I would have partaken, a heap of eggs, bacon, and a pint of orange juice would have been my choice then. Now I didn't have the stomach for it. I'd rather have a muffin, and a strip or two of bacon. Eggs were nice but something seemed weird about eating now that I made my own. The centerpiece of a complete breakfast though was a cup of coffee. Ever since Naples, the smell of coffee tickled me in a certain special way and I didn't pass it up.

I filled up a piping hot cup of coffee and then spent a good three minutes trying to convince myself to get the blueberry muffin instead of the chocolate chip. I'd always like chocolate fine, but now I liked chocolate like a woman likes chocolate, which is a different thing entirely.

It didn't help that the Cole Brothers were loudly arguing about God knows what across a table behind me. In a business with this much testosterone flowing there was a lot of posturing, and fights were pretty common. Everybody has to be the big bad alpha. Men. I finally settled on the blueberry, put it on my plate, and then scouted around the room, when I spotted Violet sitting at a table on the opposite end. I went to go eat with her when I felt something funny as I walked. Looking down there was a long piece of tape stuck to my sneaker. Shaking my foot did nothing to dislodge it. In fact it only wrapped it around my toe. There were a dozen tables in this room, good ones too, not like the
press-board gimmick tables we crash through on a weekly basis.

In spite of this it didn't occur to me to put any of my breakfast down. No, I just placed my coffee mug on my plate, and balanced on one leg while I tried to free my foot from its garbage prison. This was a mistake. Rhett Cole had leaned across the table and tried to lock up with his brother Kent in the middle of breakfast like it was a match, and Kent pushed him off, sending him pitching backward, right towards me.

I was keen enough to spot this in time to avoid it. Unfortunately the only evasive manoeuvre available to me at the time was to leap away off my one grounded foot. This had the intended effect of allowing me to avoid the big dope, but also the unintended side-effect of sending my coffee flying through the air. It came crashing down on one of the table seats, an occupied table seat. That table seat was currently occupied by Tsunami Akimoto.

The champ stood up towering over me, a brown stain on the belly of his white sleeveless workout shirt and an even bigger brown stain in the lap of his blue gym shorts. He said something very irate in his indecipherable native tongue then took a step toward the downed Rhett Cole. Akimoto had something of a reputation as a hooker, that’s a legit fighter in wrestling and he weighed almost as much as both Coles combined. These facts in tandem sent the brothers scrambling out of the hall in quick fashion, like a pair of whipped puppies. Aki turned now and looked at me, a very stern expression coming down on me like a rainstorm.

"I am SO sorry," I pleaded legitimately more repentant than afraid he'd actually commit violence against me. It was weird, because as a guy I have no doubt he'd have smashed my face in, but now I was pretty confident, on an instinctual level, that I could get away with more. I reflexively took a napkin from my plate and began to dab it on his shirt randomly. He was shockingly firm in the torso for a man as thick as he was, and as I dabbed, my hand unconsciously moved more toward the center of the spill, lower. As my hand moved over his shorts I stopped, startled I'd felt something akin to a baby's arm. I stood, frozen for a half second my hand still on it, before he pronounced something in Japanese. "Oh, right, um" I babbled. "Hey, um... come with me." I took him by the hand, "I'll get you cleaned up." He smelled like coffee and that tickled me a certain special way.

"Oh... oh... mmm..." It was no small thing the sudden left turn my life had taken. A year prior, I had been a brash confident man, admittedly something of a womanizer, a high-level bro just looking to get off the mid-card. Now I was gripping a shelving unit in a broom closet getting railed by the World Heavyweight Champion, moaning like a bitch in heat.

Cassidy wouldn’t have approved but she was home on vacation so she didn't have to know. I'm sure Aki knew who I was, just like the last three guys on the roster knew who I was, but the dick wants what it wants. And what they all want is to slide into a nice wet tight available hole. Well I was nice, wet and certainly available, while thanks to Zeeg elasticity I was still practically virginal.

Not that that would have mattered much with the monster slamming into me. Who says Asian guys are small? He was easily my personal best. Now that I emitted Zeeg sex pheromones when I was aroused, men were even easier to convince. So there I was, leaned over, his big hands wrapped almost clear around my waist, my plastic girls swinging wildly with each titanic thrust, working my way to my second orgasm of the session. That was something I appreciated. The female orgasm I had learned was somewhat less complete than its singular male counterpart. It was great, make no mistake about that, but it wasn't the all or nothing total crescendo that cuming as a man had been. Consequentially, if I didn't orgasm at least three times during sex I felt a little ripped off, so I'd come to appreciate the ridden hard and put away wet method of love making.

He was really, really good at that so far. "Uhhh... uhhhh... come on... play with my titties" I moaned, knowing full well he understood. He preferred talking in Japanese, but he could speak English. His hand brushed against my ribs and he palmed one of my girly globes. I'd thought they were kind of big before, but in his colossal hands they seemed almost petite. His coarse hand rubbed over one of my sensitive nipples, which sent an electric jolt to my spine and when he gave me a squeeze, my box immediately returned the favour to his dick, trying desperately to milk him of its own volition. That was orgasm number two and he wasn't even slowing down. I felt his free hand move down to my ass and he took the whole cheek in his palm, no mean feat and he absolutely mauled it.

He squeezed my ass like he owned it and for the moment I didn't mind. One of my hands went to my free breast and played with my nipples. It helped my push to an almost immediate third orgasm. It went on like that for a while. He'd racked up a score of five before he began to quicken and grunt himself. "Wait... wait" I told him and pushed him off. He stepped back and I dropped to my knees in front of him, getting on the level of his glistening intimidating cock. We didn't want to get caught making a mess in here so I committed to it, and took it the best I could into my mouth.

He tasted, understandably like pussy. It was a flavor I'd not tasted for quite some time, even before I'd turned to the dick side. He wasn't the first cock I'd sucked, but naturally he was the biggest and he gave me plenty of room to work with my hands. I jacked off his shaft like a mad woman and kept just the head inside me, giving myself the room I needed for the inevitable climax. Soon he was grunting loudly and he gripped my hair as best as he could. I knew what was coming so I sped up my pace and tongued his urethra. That was the trigger for him to absolutely blast my tonsils. I had come close to being choked out a few times in my life but this was the first time it was by an actual cock. I struggled to keep it all in. I sat on my knees, holding in a cough until I managed to swallow.

Aki looked down and gave me a chuckle and I responded with giggling embarrassment. I leaned forward and kissed his tip, then cleaned him off properly. He stuffed himself back into his shorts while I took some disinfectant spray from off of one of the shelves and misted it about, not wanting to leave the place smelling like gash after all. Throwing his soiled shirt over his shoulder he gave me a good, appreciative slap on my bare ass, moved the chair away from under the door handle and left me to get dressed.

I trotted to the gym, occasionally checking my breath, when a crewman stopped me. "There you are," he said. "You were supposed to be in the gym. I'm gonna get in trouble taking so long to find you."

"What is it?" I asked annoyed.

"Get in your ring gear and go to the media room," he said. "You've gotta take some pictures and get a body scan for merchandising."

I spent the next two hours T-posing for action figures and video game models. I didn't mind, it was easy work for the residuals I'd be getting, but the days in the mo-cap studio were still ahead. After I was done I headed toward the bus to get in my gym gear again, but I was stopped once more. This time I was told to meet Mike in the conference room. I changed into my casuals and a set of half-inch pumps and went to where I had been instructed.

Inside I found it wasn't just Mike. There were a few people sitting around the table, including Dawn Williams, AKA Miami Dawn, a guy who I recognized as the writer who'd given me my nom de guerre, Sterling Steve Bosh, Sal Donner - both color commentators for the show, Walter, a couple of refs I knew, and Angel Madison. "Sit down," ushered Mike. I took a seat, two chairs over from Angel. "We're here to discuss your title feud," Mike said generally. "So this is the plastic bimbo you're handing my title to?" questioned Angel incredulously.

"You're one to talk Titan Tits," I muttered.

"Oh I wasn't talking about the boob job Honey," she came back. "You're ALL fake."

"Save it for the promos ladies," interjected Mike.

I was a little chuffed that Mike had actually called me a lady though he may have meant it in the boot camp sense. He'd been pretty reluctant to recognize my new sex until now. "And any reference to Casey's former identity, or that such an identity exists, is strictly off limits. Now, we're gonna have you two feud for the next eight weeks, with Dawn here filling a supplementary role and then put the strap on Casey at Ring Wars in Vegas. We're here today to figure out the particulars."

I put my hands to my collar. "I get a title match......at Ring Wars?" I aspirated. That was just the biggest pay-per-view, the biggest wrestling event of the year. I'd only ever been on the card once, low card, no stakes and I'd lost. Now I was going to win a title, the first title of my career, either of my careers, at the biggest show there was!

"The execs say you get the belt, I gotta give you the belt," Mike conceded. "So I'm thinking we'll start with a number one contender’s feud in the beginning" he went on. "First we'll set up matches between Sam and Dawn to see who gets the title shot. Since Dawn is Angel's stooge, she interferes on her behalf. Sal I want you to really play up the angle that she's interfering, because she knows Dawn will roll over for her."

"I'll take sides for the heels," Bosh volunteered.

"We'll do two or three weeks of shenanigans. Smoz finishes between Sam and Dawn. Then Sam will get the number one spot officially and lead into a feud with Angel" Mike explained. "But I want the heat between Sam and Angel from the start. So what are we putting on tap this week?"

"Um, Angel, you wanna do a run in?" asked the writer. "No, no, no" he answered his own question. "A run in seems too desperate this early. We need something more devious. How about we use the old music cue distraction?"

"We can do a roll-up," added Dawn.

"I'll kick out at two," I nodded.

"So I'll hit Angel's music during the match. What's the signal going to be?" questioned Walter.

"It should be while Sam has the momentum," said Dawn.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll do a sequence of a couple big moves and end with a flying forearm out of the corner. You can take one of those right?" I asked.

"Oh sure," Dawn answered. Unlike Angel, Dawn was nothing like her character. She was a sweet girl that didn't value herself enough, very eager to please. She played Angel's sort of unofficial henchwoman.

"Then I'll move to the ropes, watch the ramp, and that's when Dawn gives me the school-boy," I said.

"Should I actually come out?" Angel inquired.

"It's a good question," said Mike. "Yeah, I think so. But walk casual like to ringside, join Steve and Sal at the table. That way Steve can use the “she's just scouting the competition” excuse."

Steve gave a thumb’s up without looking up from his notes.

"So the cue should be pretty early in the match right?" asked Angel. "It'll give me some mic time at the commentary table."

"That's fine," said Mike.

"This is all well and good," said the writer. "But we have to finish this in a no-contest to keep the number one contender spot up in the air. How are we going to do that?"

"Double count-out's always good for that," said Mike.

"I got it," injected Angel. "So it goes to the outside, Star-fag here hits the finisher on the floor, knocks Dawn for a loop, and the ref goes to check on her. That's when I jump up from the announce table, and WHAM, head shot with the title belt. They're both down, ref makes the count."

"It works," admitted Mike, completely letting the slur slide. "Keeps the heat in the right place. You wanna do that Dawn?"

"I don't know," she said timidly. "It's a DDT right?"

"It's a Butterfly DDT," I told her.

"I knew a really good guy who got knocked out for real taking a DDT on the outside," she lamented.

"Dawn," said Angel. "That was 35 years ago and he'd never taken a DDT before and it was on the concrete, not play-mats like nowadays."

"We can practice it," I reassured her. "All day if you’d like to."

"Okay," said Dawn, with the slightest confidence.

"That's it for the specifics for now," said Mike. "Let's talk more about the overall trajectory of the feud."

The next day saw Dawn and I in the gym, getting a feel for each other and practicing our spots. We did the DDT spot a few times in the ring before trying it on the carpet. She had it down the first time and she was a good worker. She had a bright future in the company if she'd just be a little more assertive.

We sat on the apron of the practice ring catching our breath. "You know" she said. "You should really grow your hair out. I could do the hair-pull spot."

I ran my fingers through my sweaty bristles, and looked at the bad citrus-blond dye job that went with her gimmick. "It's not that easy," I explained, "you want to get back in there?"

Just as we were about to climb back through the ropes a crewman approached me and handed me a folded card.

"What's this?" I asked.

"I was just told to give it to you" he answered as he returned to his duties.

"Secret admirer" teased Dawn.

"This isn't fucking middle-school" I told her. "Or... maybe it is" I said to myself as I read the card. It was from Aki, he wanted to meet me again. A few of the guys I'd slept with had tried to call me up to hook up again, even date me, Nate in particular. But Nate wasn't the jackhammer that Aki had been. "Hey, Dawn, um, I'm going to have to call this short. I've got someplace I need to be."

I took a taxi to the motel on the card, stopping along the way to pick up a box of the largest condoms I'd ever purchased, just to make sure. I knocked on the room I'd been told, waited a moment, heard a chain come loose, and then the door opened and there he was. The silent juggernaut physically drew me into the room without a word being said. The moment I was inside and the door closed, he had his hands on me. He was shirtless and I could already see the sizable bulge in his pants. We both already knew what we were here for. The card had been nothing if not direct. He led me by my ass to the motel bed which I threw myself upon, hiking up my light paisley dress to reveal my damp thong panties. His nose was in them a moment later. I almost came on the spot with my thighs wrapped around his head. When he pulled away, my underwear went with him, and as he undid his pants while I tore into the box of contraceptives.

We went all night. The man really had the stamina of a champion, though I did manage to dehydrate him a few times. He seemed please though, I know I was. The only disappointing moment is when I stopped bouncing my head in the middle of a blowjob to dig into my purse for my phone. I had to call Violet to make sure the police weren't alerted because I was out all night again. Still, it was a riot of a marathon fuck. I was going to endeavor to make this a regular occurrence, I didn't care if we both ended up rubber legged in our matches.

I woke up the next morning pinned between one huge arm, and the big smooth torso it was attached to. He had his arm around me in a way I couldn't have escaped from even if I wanted to. It was a very good thing that at that exact moment, I didn't. It seemed like he was still asleep, most of him anyway. His morning wood was obviously a multicultural phenomenon. It probably helped that he held a naked girl against himself all night. Good dreams. As for me it was a firm mattress, a big now sweaty from sex, firm mattress and it was a night's sleep I wouldn't pass up again.

Or maybe I was the mattress. He’d been so dominant the night before guiding the whole thing. I’d practically been a passenger almost a sex doll for most of it, albeit one that would moan and writhe and buck her orgasming hips for most of it. I would have been more than ready for round two, or round twelve, as the case was but I hadn't brought my toothbrush and my breath was...... well it probably smelled a lot like jizz. I didn't have to swallow this time, but I had. I really needed to hit the shower and get to work.

"Hey" I nudged him. "Hey, I’ve got to get going."

"Stay," he answered groggily.

"I've got to get to work," I added.

"Stay," he insisted, and pulled me over himself.

"Alright" I conceded softly, "one more quickie. But then I really DO have to go”.

I got back to the arena late, made worse by Violet asking a lot of questions about where I was and why I was using her mouthwash. I didn't know why I didn't want to tell her where I'd been. I'd not been shy about things before, but something was different about Aki, about banging a main eventer. Maybe I was worried she’d accused me of sleeping my way to the top.

The day went on, I got in a light workout, and then we had to prepare for the show. Dawn and I went over our spots again, and we were called to our match. Everything went pretty much to plan, except we decided to do the DDT spot on the ring apron instead of the floor, it was a little safer but it sold the effect just as well.

Dawn took the bump and slumped to the floor. When the ref checked on her, I could see her subtly squeezing his fingers to signal she wasn't actually hurt and then when I turned around I was blindsided. All I saw was a pink and silver belt coming at me and I got absolutely crushed. Angel laid the side plate into me legit, and stiff. I went to the floor and watched Angel walk over me and around the ring while the ref counted "One... Two... Three... Four..." It was a painfully long ten count.

Chapter Fifteen

"What a bitch," cursed Vie as she passed me an icepack.

"That's not exactly a revelation," I grumbled as I spit blood into a nearby bucket. She hadn't knocked any teeth loose but I'd cut the inside of my cheek. The EMT made sure to check me out briefly and told me I was okay.

"Hey, there you are," said Mike hustling toward me. "There's a.......what happened?"

"Angel potatoed me," I said. It was an industry term for a legitimate head shot.

"Well one of the undercard matches went short and we gotta fill some air. We're gonna do a backstage promo about your match before the main event. I need you in front of the screen in five. Oh, and keep the icepack, it's a good touch."

I rolled my eyes and gave him an unenthusiastic thumb’s up. Such was the business.

I made sure I could talk straight and cut the promo. I went on about how I'd been cheated and how Dawn and Angel were colluding, and how I'd get my payback. It was actually really hard to do without slipping into heel mode. I made sure to take notes to practice my baby face mic skills.

So the next week went much the same. We'd do a pitch meeting or two about the match, work out the spots, figure out the shenanigans and how to make the finish a smoz. Dawn and I would practice together, Violet and I would cut made up promos in the bus to get my mic skills up, and I would occasionally sneak out and meet with Aki.

The week after that Cassidy came back. She talked about our matches on TV and demanded I tell her everything about the feud plans. She kept talking about how she bragged about us to her family when they watched the show, but reassured me she hadn't told any of them who I really was.
I had to be a little more cautious with sneaking out now, meeting during the day and not staying out all night. Cassidy was more prone to ask questions than Violet was.

As for Aki himself, he became more comfortable with me. We varied up locations a bit. It wasn't always just cheap motel rendezvous’. He once fucked me in the back seat of a rented convertible like a sex crazed teenager. That's not to say we were what you'd call dating. It wasn't like dinner then a movie type of dating. It definitely involved a lot of laying pipe and at his pace too. It was certainly a good pace, but he always seemed to dictate how we did it.

He also became rather..... possessive of me. This became obvious to me once I began noticing him watching me in the gym and back stage, especially whenever I'd talk to other guys.

The third week of my mini-feud with Dawn came and it was decided, that this would be the blow off match that would segue into my real feud with Angel. The stipulation of the match would see Angel barred from ringside, which was a shame, because I still owed her a receipt for that belt shot.

Dawn and I were working a good match, this was as close to the top of the card as I'd ever gotten and we were determined to put on a high card show. Ruby, Angel's other stooge, had already done a run in which picked up the pace for a bit and it was a tense segment, because if any of her offense had been allowed to connect, that would have been a disqualification and ruined the match and thrown the entire feud off schedule. We practiced the sequence for days. It was a variation on the universal spot, but I had to duck any offense and throw her out of the ring at the end, just to be jumped by Dawn immediately afterward.

After that I had to fight my way back in sufficiently dramatic fashion. Typically it's the heel that runs the match, calling most of the spots and guiding the overall direction, but Dawn was still under confident and I had more experience as a heel anyway, so I took over those duties from her. Pretty soon we were at the false finish, where after much hardship I'd fought to an advantage and had her set up for the Starr Crash, making sure I gave the audience enough time to realize it.

That's when the lights out gimmick happened. All the arena lights went down, and we were in the dark. This was the bit when Angel would jump me under cover of darkness and beat me down as part of her dastardly plan. In the old days Dawn and I would have just stomped around in the dark, made a lot of noise, and then I'd have lain down and waited for the lights to come up, then I'd have sold a beating that never happened, leaving it to the crowd's imagination as to what went down.

Now everybody carried a smart phone with flash photography, or worse still night-vision video, so we had to actually work the spot by feel, in the dark. They'd left just a little bit of light so we could barely see. Angel popped out from under the ring where she'd been hiding. Before this match and after the last one, during the commercial break, the roadies had come out in their identical hats and uniforms to “run maintenance on the ring.” A canny observer might have noticed one of the “roadies” had a big set of fake tits, and slyly crawled under the ring before the others left. That way Angel could get in position for the spot without being under the ring all night. While Dawn and I were working, she was stripping out of her uniform and into her ring gear.

I looked around trying to sell the confusion when Angel jumped popped up the bottom rope and absolutely blasted me with a stiff clothesline across the chest. That was two I owed her. I went down, bumped like I was supposed to and she and Dawn started stomping at me as loud as they could. Angel was not being as careful about it as Dawn was. Angel moved to the corner and went for her signature Fallen Angel elbow drop, a lame cartwheel elbow drop that was just an excuse to flip her skirt up. She completely whiffed it in the dark by the way but I still sold it like death and she slid under the bottom rope and ran up the ramp and out of sight.

That was the cue, and the lights came up with me on the mat selling my head, and Dawn standing over me. Steve and Sal, I was sure were talking up the “what the hell just happened” angle for the TV and internet audience. Dawn hopped over me and up to the nearest corner and then hit me with her Sea Breeze Senton, a frankly impressive second turnbuckle senton, flipping completely over in a low front flip, and landing with her back onto my stomach. Without moving she hooked my leg and leveraged in a pin. The ref dropped down and counted. "One... Two... Thr..."

I snapped my shoulder off the canvas for probably the biggest crowd pop of my career so far. Of course that was the way it was supposed to go. Dawn, to her credit, should have gotten an Oscar for how she sold the shock and disappointment at that bit. I crawled to my feet, really conveying the pain and fatigue, not all of which was a staged act. One of the great things about playing the underdog is you can slow down later in the match without disappointing anyone. Now that all the scripted spots were done, we were free to work at our own pace until we went for the go home sequence, which was Dawn getting me on her shoulders in a fireman's carry, which I slipped out of and reversed into the Starr Crash.

She didn't roll through a DDT like Cass tended to, so I flopped her onto her back, and covered her for the one... two... three. Cheers rang out so loud it made my miraculous kick-out from earlier sound like study hall. I was the number one contender for the first time in either of my careers. The mini-feud was over. It was a shame I wouldn't get to work with Dawn again for a while, but on the plus side, now I'd get my hands on Angel, and I owed her two.

I staggered back stage catching my breath, when I saw a familiar face from the past.

"That was a great show," he said.

"Ed!" I cried. Dead Ed, the last guy I'd ever wrestled as a man, wearing his ring gear. "How are you doing? You're dressed to work. Did you do a match tonight? I didn't see."

"I'm doing fine Case," he answered. "I'm real sorry about what happened to you though. I wanted to tell you that, and um, no. I'm actually up next."

"Wow. You really moved up the card Ed. How'd you swing that?" I questioned.

"I didn't," he said. "I'm getting squashed. It is what it is, "Sometimes, even in the big leagues, you have to play the jobber. "Hey, we've all been there," I told him. "Don't sweat it. At least you're jobbing for a star. And, don't worry about me. I'm doing alright. I'm going to be okay," I reached out and, I don't know why, but I hugged the big goth goon. He represented some sort of bridge between my two careers I suppose. But I suddenly regretted it when I saw over his shoulder, Aki standing behind a stack of cargo crates, staring right at us.

When I got out of the shower the backstage area was a beehive. Everybody was moving back and forth with a really panicked pace and murmuring about something. I snaked my way through trying to get answers from busy people as I went. Finally I found Cassidy watching the show on one of the back stage monitors. "What the hell is going on?" I questioned her.

"Bad accident in the ring," she said. "Dead Ed took a bad pile-driver and broke his neck."

"Jesus, I just talked to him. Is he okay?" I asked.

"He's alive. That's all I know."

"Who the hell was he wrestling?" I demanded.

"Akimoto" Cassidy stated plainly.

A Starr is Born (finale)
Reworked by Wendy C from
a story written by Mistress X.

I didn't wrestle very much over the next few weeks, instead playing valet, arm candy to be brought to the ring and cheer on my man in this art imitating life love triangle we were airing on the show. I didn't mind so much. With no time for a title feud of my own it extended my title reign well past when I was supposed to drop the belt back to Angel. She was pissed of course, but what else is new? My outfit got a little skimpier as a result, I didn't mind that either.

The best part was that I got to be seen with Luke in public now, after all, it was part of the angle. And I got to nurse his bruises every week. Eventually the storyline wrapped up, Luke won his belt back, I dropped mine and when his contract lapsed Aki didn't re-sign. He went on to be a third stringer in some Japanese fed about half the size of the NDW.

"I'm going to beat you at this one of these days!" I called as I desperately mashed the buttons on the controller.

"Never happen," Cass assured me.

Violet, Cassidy, and I were sitting on the couch playing a three-way-dance match on the new NDW video game. Each of us playing as ourselves, and Cassidy was thrashing us. I wasn't so sure about my character model, nor was I sure about the jiggle physics. Yeah the girls got a little play, but they weren't made of tapioca. "I think we should double team her," Vie suggested.

"Deal," I agreed.

"Oh no you don't" Cassidy cried out. It was then we heard a small engine pull up outside, followed by a knock at the bus door.

"Pause" I announced and got up to check the door. Outside was a guy in a crew’s polo and a golf cart filled with numbered bags.

"Fan mail ladies," he announced, and handed off one of the bags to me.

"Thanks Ned," I said, to which he tipped his imaginary hat and got back in his cart.

I walked back to the couch to hear the TV announce "One... Two... Three. Winner!"

"Hey! I said 'pause.'" I insisted.

"You snooze you lose," rebutted Cass as she crossed her hands behind her head.

"I tried to stop her," Violet pouted.

"Anyway, fan mail," I said sitting down and unstringing the mail bag. It was mostly little white envelopes, but there was the occasional small package and other thing. We had a lot of homemade nick knacks sitting around. We sifted through it, grabbing out whatever and passing along what didn't have our names on it. We'd done it a thousand times.

"This one's for you," said Violet passing me a tall manila envelope. "Sweet, somebody sent me a new cowgirl hat," she cheered.

"You wash that thing before you put it on your head," Cassidy insisted.

I looked at the mailing address on the envelope. It was for me alright. 'Sam Starr' was written right there. I turned it over and my heart jumped up into my throat. "Oh my God," I croaked.

"Oh dear Lord," Cassidy added as she looked down on it.

In big black permanent marker was scrawled the words 'To Casey Blaze.'

I opened it up and inside was a stack of photos of both versions of me. There were foggy close ups of my tattoo, original and altered. The most damning thing though was a set of Xeroxed court documents, concerning James Phoenix’s trial. They were public record and they proved who I was, at least that Casey Blaze had been transformed. It hadn't occurred to me that sooner or later some law nerd/wrestling fan would put two and two together. "Oh Jesus," I moaned.

"Well what does he want?" Luke asked.

"He wants money," I answered directly. "It's right here in his note, he wants cash every time I wrestle, or he sends these to the tabloids. I'm surprised the little shit didn't ask for tickets”. We were standing behind his bus, near the arena fence where nobody could see us. "I've got one month to start paying."

"Well what are you going to do?" he asked.

"I was kind of hoping you'd have an idea Babe."

He pulled me in and hugged my back to his chest. "You gonna pay it? I can help if you need..."

"No," I said. "It's not that, it's not the money....I just didn't realize how vulnerable I was, how out in the open this is. I can pay off one twerp sure, but what happens the next time somebody figures it out and has the same idea?"

"You don't know that'll happen," he reassured me.

"It'll happen," I insisted. "Only next time he might not give me the option, he might just want the attention and go straight to some magazine or write a blog about it."

"I'll still love you," he squeezed me. "I'll love you no matter what. I just don't want to see you sad."

"You really do, don't you?" I said. "You will, even if people know who I am?"

"I know who you are Love," he said. "I don't care who or what you used to be, or who else knows, or if they care. I know who you “truly are”."

"Hmm..." I pondered. "I want to run something by you."

"Mike," I called as I barged into his office uninvited.

"What the hell do you want?" he demanded, looking up from his desk, a sandwich in his hands.

"I need a promo tonight, in the ring, about ten minutes," I explained.

"You don't dictate the schedule," he said. "That's my job."

"I did your romance triangle angle," I reminded him.

"Yeah, and that was a pain in my ass," he claimed.

"A pain in your ass that saw a two point bump in the TV ratings," I corrected. "I guarantee you this promo will have the most hits on the website of anything on there. If not, I'll work the next month for free, no gate on the pay-per-view either."

"What are you on about?" he asked, cautious curiosity showing through.

"You like the ponies Mike," I said. "Bet on this one."

"You're gonna have to give me more," he insisted.

"Okay Mike, I didn't want to play this card," I sung. "My contract guarantees me a certain amount of air-time. It would be a shame if those numbers didn't quite add up."

"You wouldn't dare," he warned.

"Test me," I said.

I knocked on the door of the studio and an AV tech opened it up. "Oh hey Sam," he said. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to Walter," I answered. "And a rush job on a tape."

My music hit over the loudspeaker, and I popped through the curtain to a roaring cheer. I walked down the ramp with deliberate purpose, not cheerful, or skipping or high-fiving as was my usual MO. I already had a microphone in my hand. I climbed up into the middle of the ring and gave a cue to kill the music. I looked out over the crowd. They were mostly hushed, save for the occasional blurb of "we love you" or a whistle. In ring promos were nothing new, nothing special, they had no idea.

"How are you doing tonight?" I requested into the mic. Only an indecipherable thunder came back. "Our general manager has graciously given me time to speak tonight, because I have something very important to announce. But first I want to tell you what kind of a wonderful audience you are and thank you for that warm reception. Not just you here tonight, but everybody watching at home as well. You've watched me wrestle and I've felt your love and I want to thank you for that too.
I've tried my best to put on a good show for you folks, and I want you to know, no matter what happens from now on, I love you."

"We love you too!" some faceless voice echoed out from the masses.

"You all know, that since I've been a part of this company, I've tried to push the women's division to new heights. And I think I've done that. I've fought for you, I've sweated for you, I've bled for you, and you all turned out for me in return! What's my name!?"

"Sam Starr!" they called, barely recognizable.

"No, my name is………….Casey Blake" I said seriously. They suddenly fell quiet save for a low rumble of confusion. "That's a shoot name that some of you might recognize as..." I pointed to the videotron above the entrance ramp, Walter in his studio took the cue, and my old music and video package played. "Casey.....Blaze," I let the soundtrack play through and gave the audience time to gather themselves.

"One year ago, you were told that Casey Blaze was forced to retire due to a previously undiagnosed, congenital heart defect," A greatest hits rip of some of my old performances played silently over the videotron. "That was a cover story. Casey.......I was dosed, without my knowledge with a powerful,
irreversible bio-mod, that altered my sex," I threw my arms out to the side and spun slowly in place. A din of unsure disarray rumbled through the crowd.

"The person who did it was charged, and convicted, and because of that, an unscrupulous individual," I turned and looked squarely into the television hard-cam, "you know who you are! was able to dig up documentation to prove it," I turned back to the live audience. "He tried to blackmail me," I announced matter-of-factly. "He was so sure, you'd hate me for what I was and what had happened to me, that I'd be so scared, I'd do whatever he wanted. Well, I'm getting out in front of it," I turned back to the hard-cam. "Deal with it scooter. I believe in all of you enough to know you won't turn your backs on me because I was the victim of a crime," I spun back to the crowd and
looked high, up into the nose-bleeds.

"I had a hell of an adventure. I learned new things, made new friends.....I fell in love.....for the first
time in my life" my voice was croaking now, tears were slipping down my face. "And I wouldn't change a minute of it. My only regret, is that I was so unsure before, so unsure of you, that I decided to deceive you instead of coming out with this earlier. Hate me for lying, hate me for who I
used to be..." I held out my arms and spun again.

"But what you see now IS who I am. Just call me Casey. Thank you," I dropped the microphone, low at my knee, and the crowd cheered. It wasn't my loudest pop by a long shot, there were a lot of confused, silent people, and a few boos, but not as many as you might think.

Of course my matches saw a drop in the TV ratings for a while, not much, but enough that Mike wanted to fire me for it. It was a good thing he couldn't. After a while though the whole thing created enough good publicity with the liberal media, that it more than made up for a few lost ticket sales and a temporary ratings lull in the middle of the show. I was their darling and what Nigel said to me all those months ago was true. Now that it was out, I was untouchable. Nobody wanted their cars on fire. Poor Lucas I think got it worse than I did.

Being my lover was a big hit to his reputation, but as his name would imply he powered through and pretty soon people were tired of giving him shit for it. He ignored them. It was the smartest thing he could have done. There's nothing that turns off attention seekers faster than getting no attention. The internet jokers held on to both of us for a while longer, but eventually they moved on to other things. We were free to live our lives and rebuild our careers. Plus, I got to use the cross-face again.

"Okay, you can look," announced Violet before I pulled my hands away from my eyes and saw my reflection in the mirror.

"My God, what have you done to it?" I asked.

"I feathered it," she said. "It looks so much nicer now that you've finally grown it out. My hair was made into these big, red swoops that branched out around my neck, and an additional leaf of if covered my left eye.

"I've got no depth perception like this," I said. "It's really impractical."

"That part of you will always be a man," said Cassidy.

"Please don't call me that," I told her. Then I spun around in front of her, the hem of my long white gown sweeping across the floor. "Does this look like a man to you?"

"Not with them titties," she answered.

I looked down and tugged at my bodice. "It does kind of create a boob shelf doesn't it?" I pondered.

"Too late to worry about that now Girl," said Cassidy. "People are already waiting on you."

"It's my prerogative to make them wait," I said. "This has to be perfect."

"Hey you guys, the people are getting impatient out here," said Dawn as she poked her head in through the door.

"I told you," said Cassidy.

"You guys go ahead," I said. "I'll be there in just a minute. I have to come out last anyway."

"Just don't make us wait," Cassidy insisted as she lifted the hem of her pastel blue dress off the floor and walked outside.

"Hey, veil," I snapped my fingers at Violet as she followed.

"Oh right," she said, and she hurried to a little round table in the corner of the room. There she produced a headband from it. She handed it to me and headed for the door adding "Don't forget to bring the bouquet. It's right there by the mirror."

I affixed the headband to my crown and threw the attached shroud back over my neck. I took a deep breath, steeled myself, took one final look, picked up the bundle of flowers and headed for the door.

I exited into the foyer where I was met by a dark haired woman - Luke's cousin Mona, and her little girl. "Are you ready?" Mona asked.

"As I'll ever be," I said and peeked around the corner, where I saw several rows of filled seats. "I'm not as nervous in front of 50,000 people as I am in front of 50," I sighed. "Okay, let's get this show on the road."

"Okay Sweetie," Mona said taking a knee in front of the little girl. "You know what to do right?"

The girl nodded.

"Okay, don't go until the music plays. I'll be right there," Mona stepped around the corner, and I saw her give a thumb’s up signal across the room and then duck into the back row of seats. At that sign, organ music began to play. The little girl looked up at me, and I tipped my head in the direction of the adjacent hall. She picked up her little basket and headed in. I took one last deep breath, pulled the veil down over my head and followed.

I held the flowers closely in front of myself and walked slowly and deliberately to the music, stepping over the carpet of flower petals the child left in front of me. On either side of me were rows of seats, one side more full than the other, I didn't have much in the way of family. In front of me were eight standing people. Four well-dressed men, three of which I barely knew, the other a very handsome human mountain hardly contained within a rented tuxedo. Across from them were Cass, Vie, and
Dawn, all dressed in matching pastel blues, and in the middle was a man in black vestments. I made my way down the aisle and stood right in front of Lucas. Even through my veil I could see his cheek subtly quivering. "Don't crack up on me now big guy," I whispered.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," began the man in black. "We are gathered here today to see these two wedded in holy matrimony. If there are any among you who have reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Luke scanned the room giving his most threatening glare, which coaxed out a subdued chuckle from the witnesses.

"Then let us proceed," said the man in black. "Do you, Lucas Darrow, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, honor her, keep her and comfort her, both in sickness and in health, while forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do" Luke croaked.

"And do you, Casey Blake, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to keep him, and comfort him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do" I said.

"Then repeat after me. I, Lucas, take you Casey, to be my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part."

Luke choked it out after each segment. The big baby!

"I Casey, take you Lucas, to be my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'till death do us part."

I repeated it.

"Please exchange the rings."

Luke took a small golden band from a nearby pillowed podium and recited. "I give you this ring as a pledge and token of our constant faith and love," and he slipped it onto my finger.

I took the larger ring and repeated. "I give you this ring as a pledge and token of our constant faith and love," and I put it on his finger to stay.

"Then by the authority vested in me by the Church, the state, and our Lord God, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Luke lifted the cover from my face, looked down at me for a moment, and then stooped, and kissed me. We got quite a pop from the audience for that spot. That was followed by a lot of congratulating and drinking and cutting of a cake, which I had to force the big lug to eat.

Fortunately Jerry was there to assure him it was okay. Nigel seemed the most torn up out of everyone. That is until I told him this didn't mean I would stop wrestling. I would still go by Casey Blaze in the ring, and Luke and I would just tape our fingers, because despite not depicting ourselves as married on the show, we weren't taking off those rings ever again. I did make sure to demand he negotiate a stipulation be added to my contract for no more romantic angles though. We took our pictures and danced the rest of the day away and for as amazingly graceful as he is in the ring, Luke sure had two left feet on the dance floor.

I did better in heels, and he was leading. At the end of the reception one of the guys present did the job and threw himself on my garter, and on the other end I created a hell of a brawl when I tossed the bouquet. Violet won that rumble.

I came out of the bathroom wearing a set of Calvin Klein underwear riding up my butt and barely holding in my boobs, my head was wrapped up in a towel. I saw Luke lying on the bed in nothing but his boxers watching the TV. "What happened to those briefs I got you?" I questioned him.

"They were a little tight on me," he said as he looked over.

"I know," I said. "That's why I bought them for you." I climbed up onto the bed and straddled his stomach, I lifted my hands up and grabbed the towel. "You ready for this? You know this wasn't my idea?"

"I know, Gabby insisted on it," he said. "Let's see it."

"Ta-da!" I pulled the towel away and golden locks cascaded down around my shoulders, bright pink streaks scattered here and there. "Did I do a good job? It took me forever to grow this out I'd hate to ruin it."

He looked up at me like a starving man looks at a T-bone steak, and I suddenly felt something firm press against my butt. "You look amazing" he said, and he pulled me down into a kiss. "Of course, maybe I'm the wrong person to judge. You could shave bald and glue a taxidermied rat to your head and I'd still think you were beautiful."

"Oh, that's sweet," I mocked. Then I looked up at the mirror in the headboard, and fluffed my hair a little. It did look okay, really novel in how different it was.

"Mom called again today," he said.

"Oh, I'll never guess what she wanted," I said, still looking myself over.

"She wanted to know when we were going to give her a grandchild," we both said at once, me more jeeringly than he.

"You tell her I worked too hard for these abs to give them up just yet," I pointed to my stomach and flexed my own little washboard. "Besides, I've still got a few more years in the ring first. And speaking of..... I got a call of my own yesterday."

"Oh yeah?" he said. "About what?"

"Oh, about someone becoming a two time Ladies Wrestling Champion next month," I answered coyly.

"That's great!" he said cheerfully. "Congratulations, you deserve it more than anyone."

"Maybe," I said. "But I accepted with the condition that Cassidy get a title match, and be considered to win sometime in the future."

"That was really nice of you. She deserves it too."

"Oh, and about that other thing we were just talking about..." I leaned over him, running my hands over his broad chest, and I pecked him on the lips. "One day babe, I promise."

I made one last look over of my gear as Angel's music played. My star pattern boots were laced, my pink wrist tape was snug and my two piece vinyl top and trunks weren't riding up too much. I checked my hair one last time in a nearby hanging mirror.

"Nervous?" asked Cassidy.

"This ain't my first rodeo," I told her.

"Good. Don't mess this up because I want that title match you promised," she declared.

"Don't sweat it, I'm a pro. I got this far didn't I?"

"On a second attempt," she said.

"I guess so," I conceded. "But I'm going to give it my best." My music hit, I shook loose one last time, I kissed my left index finger and pressed it to my lucky butterfly tattoo, and I ripped open the curtain. The crowd went wild.

Epilogue

I knelt against the ring apron looking up as the girls took turns running the ropes. "Okay Mandy," I said. "Make sure you hit the ropes square, you're coming in too sideways when you make contact. I don't want you hurting yourself. Look at what Wednesday is doing."

"Yes Coach," Mandy huffed.

Wednesday hit the ropes flush. "See," I said, "see how both her shoulder blades are hitting at the same time? I want you to do it like that. Okay, that's it for the day girls, I got to lock up," I announced as I pushed my way back to my feet. "I want you all to practice your promos for an hour in the mirror tonight, and I'll see you next week. In the meantime remember..."

"Always work the left," they sang in unison.

"That's right," I waddled away from the ring, readjusting the scrunchie around my red again ponytail as I went. I stepped into my office and looked at the five replica belts hanging on the wall. Luke had gotten me one for each of my title reigns. I picked up my purse and my keys and turned towards the door, where Wednesday stood with a piece of paper in her hand. "Is that what I think it is?" I asked.

She skipped over, threw her arms around me, and hugged me. "I got accepted by CCE!" she cheered.

"Hey, congratulations!" I said, holding her at arm’s length. "That's a good fed. You work as hard over there as you do in this gym and you'll be working for NDW in no time."

"I didn't think I'd make it," she almost cried.

"Hey, you're my golden girl," I told her. "I don't know what I'm going to do without YOU around to show the other girls the ropes for me. For the next few months anyway," I put my hand on my belly and gently tapped the 'Baby on Board' T-shirt I was wearing.

"You're the best Mrs. Darrow," she said. "Girls come from all around to learn from you, you've got plenty to pick from."

"Hey, I'll tell you what," I turned to my desk and quickly scrawled a phone number on a piece of paper. "You give this guy a call," I handed it to her. "His name is Nigel Cullen, he has all the contacts with the big feds, you tell him I sent you, and he'll take you to the top. And if he gives you any trouble, you just call me, and I'll sort him out."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she hopped in place. "Oh! I totally forgot to ask!"

"Yeah?"

"I uh... I kinda never settled on a finishing move," she said. "I was wondering... would you mind if I... used the cross-face?"

My mouth curled into an involuntary grin. "It's yours."

"Oh my Gawd, thank you so much! I've got to go tell everybody!" she hugged me again.

"Not so tight, I submit, I submit," I cried. She kissed me on the cheek and then ran out of my office without another word.

I gathered my things, hit the breakers, locked the doors, got into my SUV, plugged in my phone, and started the engine. I was barely on my way when the phone rang.

"Answer Phone," I pronounced.

"Hey there," came a beautiful manly voice on the other end.

"What's up Love?" I said.

"Guess who's getting to go home for a couple of weeks?" Luke asked.

"Umm... Echelon," I teased.

"Echelon is a punk with a lot of style and no substance," he said.

"Typical green Indie kid," I said. "So when are you coming in?"

"Two more days," he answered.

I squealed like an excited teenager. The second trimester libido bump had me starving.

"I can't wait to see how big you've gotten," he added.

"I won't disappoint you," I said, again tapping my belly.

"I was thinking we can call him Blake, after you," he said.

"I hate to burst your bubble Love, but it's a girl," I informed him.

"You sure?" he questioned.

"Yes I'm sure. I told you, it's a super-power gynomorphs have."

"I thought you were kidding," he said.

"What did I predict with the Three-Count?" I quizzed.

"Two boys and a girl," he answered.

"And what did I have?"

"Two boys and a girl," he repeated.

"See?" I bragged. "Foolproof. But I think Blake is a sweet name for a girl."

"Yeah? You like it?"

"I do," I said.

"Hey, I gotta go Babe, I'll see you in a couple. Tell the Three-Count I love 'em."

"Can't wait Love, will do. Good-bye."

"Bye-bye," he said, and the call disconnected.

I pulled up to the house, put my phone in my purse, and struggled out of the car. I went in through the front door and put my purse aside. "Trina, I'm home!" I called.

"Shush!" she came around the corner wagging her finger. "Quiet. They just went down."

"Sorry," I whispered. "Where they any trouble?" I asked.

"Little Samantha was an angel" she said, tying up her straight black hair. "But the boys are terrors."

"Wait until they're older," I said. "Did last week's payment go through alright?"

"Yes Ms. Casey," she said.

"Thank you very much Trina, you're off the clock now."

"Thank you Ms. Casey," she said, and she walked past me, grabbed her coat and purse, and went out the front door.

I walked through the house and found a door cracked to a dark room. I stepped in quietly to the sound of low chimes and visions of circus animals dancing slowly across the darkened walls in the form of spinning lights. I crept over to the little wooden barred box and peeked inside. "Hey CJ, hey LJ, hey Sammi, mommy's home," I whispered. There was my favorite three-count of all time, Casey Junior, Lucas Junior, and Little Samantha. The boys were wearing matching blue jumpers, and Sammi wearing a frilly pink number with a unicorn adorned diaper underneath. They say and they claim to not know why, but gynomorphs have a slightly higher rate of multiple births.

That looked to be the case with me and the Three-Count. Although, it may have been an effect of the fertility pills I was taking at the time. CJ began to moan and suck at air, and I realized he'd lost his pacifier. "Shush, shush," I said and fed it back to him. "Don't wake up your brother and sister," They looked so much like their daddy. It was a funny thought given how soft and pudgy they were, but everybody said so. Not content with three, Luke put another one in me almost as soon as we could.

With the three brunettes, this time I was going try to get my ginger. "Good night my future tag-team champs, my future ladies champ. Mommy and Daddy love you," I said and gently pulled a blanket over them. I reached over and turned up the baby-monitor, and carried the other end into the bathroom while I showered.

It took, as usual, far too long to dry and brush my hair. But Lucas liked it so I was happy to put up with it. I tossed on a frilly pink nightgown, went to the kitchen, and made dinner for myself. When I was done I went back to my bedroom, threw off the covers, and lay down for the night. I pulled up the blankets, and fell asleep counting the hours until Luke came home.

And I began to dream of the road that had brought me here..................................

A Starr is Born - Pt 8
Reworked by Wendy C from
a story written by Mistress X.

I stormed through the halls until I found the corner where Aki and Genbo were talking to a set of the company reporters.

"Beat it," I told them. They paused and looked at me questioningly. "LEAVE!" At that, the reporters scurried out. "You too Gen," I said. He craned his neck toward Aki as if looking for approval, then tottered away. The moment they were all out of sight I reached up and slapped Aki across the face as hard as I could. "What the FUCK were you doing!?"

He curled a lip at me amused, as if it were a bull rhino I'd just struck. "You're no better," he said knowingly.

"What the hell does that mean!?" I urged.

"You've hurt men before," he said matter-of-factly.

"I broke a guy's arm, not his neck, and look what good it did me you fat sack of shit!" I raged.

"It did you gooood," he mocked thrusting his hips at me. "He shouldn't have touched you," he added suddenly very cold.

"I touched him!" I corrected. "And I'll go on touching whoever I want. Jesus Aki I'm not your fucking property!"

"We'll see," he said with a smirk. Then he stepped forward and slapped me right on the ass, which I answered with a full on, closed fist hook to his jaw. He just chuckled, then threw up his hands and walked off.

Again I found myself lying awake in my bunk. I'd not felt this bad in some time. I couldn't make heads or tails of this. It wasn't my fault, I tried to make it my fault and couldn't justify it, but I still felt guilty, guilty and dumb. What a fucking moron I'd been. The signs were all there, Aki was a jerk-off. We never talked, just fucked and always his way on his terms, him using me. But I'd still kept throwing myself at him like an infatuated little girl. All because he could fuck so fantastically. Christ, what had I become?

"You okay?" asked Cassidy, pulling back my bunk curtain, dressed in her PJs, eyes half closed.

"What?" I uttered.

"Girl, It's hard to sleep with you sobbin' like that. Are you alright?" she explained.

I wiped my hand over my cheek and found it wet. "Yeah, yeah, it's just......harder not to cry than it used to be. It's uh... heh, I'm still not the master of my own hormones, I guess."

"Well try to get some sleep alright? I'm going back to bed" and let the curtain fall.

"Hey Cass" I called out.

She peeked back in. "Yeah?"

"Men are such pigs, aren't they?"

"Not all of them honey," she said. "Now go to sleep."

One thing was for sure, I was going to need to make some further adjustments. I thought I had coped, that because being a woman was okay, that I didn't mind anymore and that I had it all figured out. Obviously that had been a mistake. I still had a lot left to learn and one was going to be how to pick men.

As it turned out Ed was going to be okay. He wasn't going to be in action for quite some time and the injury would take quite a few years off of the end of his career, but eventually he'd be able to step between the ropes again. Akimoto wasn't admonished either. He blamed it all on Ed's shirt slipping his grip and it'd all been chalked up as an accident, but I knew better. Main event stars get a lot more benefit of the doubt so it seemed.

My time was occupied with more meetings. Big feuds took up a lot more time and a lot more effort it seemed than did on the spot, no stakes matches and I was in the biggest feud in the women's division. I did get my hands on Angel though, but by this time I didn't feel as much like paying her back. But that didn't stop her from working stiff as hell. It was fine by me that she didn't want to practice with me. I didn't particularly want to practice with her either.

Fortunately she was a routine girl, so all I had to do was watch a little tape to learn her spots. The crappy thing was I had to keep sitting in meetings with her. Of course, she was the top women's heel in the business, and she knew it, so it wasn't hard for her to convince Mike to book her going over in almost all of our matches.

I expected as much and she knew it. No, her real delight was suggesting weird stipulations, like an evening gown match. It amused me how taken aback she was when I said I was game for it, but in the end Mike didn't book it. He figured people weren't into that kind of thing anymore, and so booked all our matches as standard singles bouts, albeit with a lot of smoz finishes.

Leading up to Ring Wars, out of our five matches, she won three, one being a no contest and one I won, because Mike insisted I maintain a credible threat. I almost expected her to screw-me and kick out of the finish.

I stood looking at the clock, and shimmying, working my body knots loose. It was almost time. "Don't be so nervous Girl," said Cassidy, dressed in her civvies. "This ain't nothing you ain't done before."

"Winning a title on a pay-per-view is something I haven't done before," I rebutted.

"Pfft," uttered Angel, standing against the wall with her arms crossed under her balloons.

"It's just a work Girl," Cassidy insisted.

"Sam," called a crew guy, who tossed me a bundle of pink fabric.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's your new T-shirt," he answered. "Mike wants you to wear it to the ring."

I unfolded it to see a pattern of the same stars that adorned my trunks, and underneath it a diagonal cursive print that said “You're a Shining Star.”

"This was Gabby's idea, I know it," I mumbled. "They'd better not expect that to be a catchphrase."

"Ten seconds," called out another crewman, standing under the clock.

I slipped the shirt over my head, and tried to adjust it from squeezing my boobs. Then I gave one last shake before my music hit. Then pop-song notes hit the loudspeaker and I hit the curtain.

I pranced down the much longer ramp, clapping and giving high-fives along the way, trying to look more excited than I was nervous. After I jumped into the ring, I climbed onto the second turnbuckle, and pulled off the t-shirt, revealing my normal ring gear underneath. I looked out into the crowd until I saw a girl near the front row who it looked like it might fit, and I threw it to her.

Then my music and lights died down and for a few moments it was quiet. Then the next song hit and the crowd immediately erupted with jeers. Angel came down the ramp blowing derisive kisses and throwing her hands up like she was eating up all the booing, which she probably was. She made her way to the ring and stood in the opposite corner from me, giving me a dirty look that probably wasn't acting.

The ring announcer stood between us in the center of the ring, microphone in hand. "The following contest," he began, "is scheduled for one-fall and is for the NDW Ladies Wrestling Championship of the World. Introducing first our challenger. Standing to my right and coming out of Santa Monica, SAM STARR!" The crowd cheered. Something else I'd only recently noticed was they never billed the women's weight.

"And her opponent, standing to my left, is the reigning, defending, NDW Ladies Wrestling Champion, fighting out of Aspen, Colorado... ANGEL MADISON!"

She held up the belt and slapped the front plate like she actually owned it. Soon after though she had to hand it to the ref who himself held it aloft, showing the crowd. Then he passed it between the ropes to the time keeper at ringside. Then we centered the ring, the ref pretended to go over the rules, but we really used this time to call the opening spot, something any lip reader could easily tell you. We went back to our corners, I gave one last small stretch and then the bell rang.

I marched to the middle of the ring while Angel took two quick steps and then hit me with a flying double leg dropkick to the shoulder. It was an unorthodox opener, but that was the point. She was trying to sell her wiliness and unpredictability, even if in reality she was anything but. She liked the moniker of “the Foxiest Fox in the Business” but that reputation came almost entirely from the angles and swerves the writers came up with.

I rolled onto my hands and knees, and she hit me in the back with a fairly stiff double-axe-handle. In the moment she dropped to the mat she whispered "snap-mare," She was the heel, so she was leading the match. She hooked me by the chin and pulled my head back, which I sold with an exaggerated grimace. Then I planted one foot on the mat, reached over my shoulder, took her by the back of the head, and pulled. Angel took the signal and bieled over my shoulder, performing the snap-mare.

I bent over to spring to my feet, taking the opportunity to whisper "roll," and the moment I was standing I threw myself to the canvas in an elbow drop, which Angel rolled out from under. I sat up, cradling the elbow, selling the miss. She stood up, and dropped again into a low dropkick, barely making contacts so I could take it without it being called. I don't think she would have cared if it had hurt, but I was saved by her actually having a good ring habit.

She scooped me up with a "Duck the clothesline, German," then tucked my head under her left arm and pretended to lift me up for a snap suplex, but I hooked my ankle behind her leg for the “block”. She pretended to give up on that and when I lifted my head she went for the clothesline. I ducked it as she purposely over rotated, giving me her back. I put her in a waist lock, and she jumped backwards aiding in my lift. I took her over myself and dumped her shoulders first on the mat behind me in a textbook bridging German suplex. Since I maintained the waist lock through the manoeuvre, it counted as a pin, but she kicked out before even the count of one. She pulled the same dropkick again, repeating the sequence.

This time however, when I blocked the suplex she whispered "Take the sunset flip," She transitioned the face lock into a reverse waist lock, with me bent over, and her gripping me about the waist from above, with her bent over my back. Angel dragged me backwards until she could put her feet on the ropes, and then she kicked off, bieling over my back. I threw myself back and bombed my shoulder to the mat, so now she was sitting, and I was upside down between her legs. This too counted as a pin, but just like her I kicked out before the count of one. That's when she began to dominate the match.

It was only good ring psychology, the villain had to look strong so that the heroine's eventual victory would be all the more dramatic. It still hurt though. She hit me with stiff clotheslines, potatoes, leg sweeps, face busters, even a power bomb or two for the better part of twelve minutes, with me only getting sporadic bits of offense in here and there. That was okay, that's not where I was getting my heat. Heels got heat from fighting dirty and insulting the crowd, underdogs got heat from surviving. I kicked out of pin attempt after pin attempt, fought through submissions to get to the ropes, and every time I persevered, the crowd reaction got louder.

Angel sold the frustration beautifully. Again that's probably because it was genuine. She didn't like doing the job, and she particularly didn't like doing it to me. I was also method acting in a fashion, but my role was as the weary punching bag. At long last we finally came to the go home spot. Angel signalled it with her “patented” top rope clothesline for the set-up, just like we'd discussed in the pitch meetings.

That was my down so she could go into her dumb cartwheel elbow drop. This time, half way through her cartwheel I rolled right underneath her, so she aborted, and landed on her feet. I jumped up and hit her with a diamond-cutter, as they say, out of nowhere. I leapt up into a horizontal position, grabbed her by the head, and 'dragged' her face into the mat as I fell. It was really a case of her doing a face bump while I did a rather high elevation back bump nearby. She bounced right back up into a “staggered” state, giving me the perfect set-up for the Starr Crash, which I hit. One... Two...
Three.

The crowd absolutely erupted. It was the biggest pop of my life, probably not so much for me winning as Angel losing. Still, she made sure to get her shoulder up at about 3.01. I dropped to my knees in the middle of the ring, almost crying for real. The ref climbed out of the ring then back in carrying the belt which he presented to me, and raised my hand high. It was one of the greatest moments of my career. Of course the fun couldn't last. Angel had insisted if she were going to drop the title, she had to keep her heat, so we still had one more angle to do. Right in the middle of the celebration Dawn and Ruby ran down the ramp and into the ring.

They of course jumped me, to a ruckus of jeers from the audience. Then the three of them “beat me up” for a minute, before they took me out under the ropes and Angel bombed me off the ring apron and through a table. That spot always sucks, there's no way to make it not really hurt. Angel picked up the belt, and stood over me looking at it, almost disdainfully. Then she threw it down on me and walked away.

"Okay, follow the light with your eyes, but keep your head still," said the EMT as I sat back stage. They always made you get a check-up right after a big spot or a gruelling match.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I insisted. I just wanted to shower and get out of there. There was always a big after-party after Ring Wars, and while I did sort of feel like celebrating, I felt more like sleeping.

"Miss?" a voice came from beside me. "Miss?"

"Hmm, yeah?" I answered, realizing he was talking to me.

"I need to take that from you," said the security guy who was standing next to me with a black carry bag. I looked down at my knee where he was pointing to the championship belt that sat draped across my thigh.

"Right, of course," I said and hesitantly handed it up to him. The belt wasn't actually mine of course, it belonged to the company. It wasn't a trophy like in boxing or mixed martial arts, where each new champion got their own personal belt made that they'd get to keep. It was a prop, something to fight over and there was only one that was passed around. I'd carry it to the ring, and in promos, and in public appearances, but other than that it was kept locked up. Still it was often seen as a symbol of recognition. A title, if it was held for a time, usually meant exposure, more matches more money. People wanted to see the champs and buy their merchandise. At this point I'd just kind of wished I'd earnt it on my own, instead of having it given to me as some sort of weird compensation.

"That just about does it," said the EMT. "Everything looks okay, but you call us if you start feeling strange."

"My whole life is strange," I quipped.

"Congratulations Girl!" squealed a familiar voice as it hugged the back of my chair, squeezing the breath out of me.

"I tap Cassidy, I tap!"

"Well I guess that makes me the new champ, don't it?" she said as she circled around. "Where's my belt?"

"Security took it," I told her.

"Damn, that's no fun," she said. "So let's go have some. Let's go party."

"I just kinda want to shower and hit the sack," I said.

"Oh come on," she pleaded. "You gonna be a stick in the mud, tonight of all nights? I can't let you do that. I'll tell you what, we'll compromise. There's still a few matches left on the card, you go take a
Cat nap and then we'll go to the party, awake and refreshed. Eh?"

"You know what these things are like Cass," I told her. "It's going to be like a frat party with grown men."

"That don't sound too bad to me," she said.

"I just feel like, like I'd feel out of place, being on this side of it."

"You need to make up your mind Girl," she said. "First you're uncomfortable in your own skin then you're really comfortable. Now you having doubts again?"

"It's not like that," I said. "I just don't feel like that'd be my thing anymore."

"Well you go hit the showers," she slapped me on the shoulder. "Then you come and see. We'll find out for sure."

Chapter Seventeen

I was in my bunk, fully intent on not going to the after party. The problem was Nigel had called me about six times in the last 20 minutes, probably under the pretence of congratulating me on the title win, but really to discuss future opportunities that it could bring. I put him straight to voice mail every time, but he didn't know how to take a hint. My phone buzzed for the seventh time and that was it. Without even checking it I rolled out of bed, pulled my nightie up over my head, and went straight for the closet.

Frat party or not, it was going to be a high end thing, where guys would get drunk and pee themselves while wearing expensive silk shirts. That's why I needed to dress for a weirdly semi- formal event. It wasn't entirely lost on me that I was perhaps motivated by the chance to actually wear one of the nicer dresses I'd bought.

First I tried on a scaled yellow, knee-length dress, but in this light I realized it looked too much like a cocktail dress. Then I toyed with the idea of wearing pantyhose, but decided that would come off as too formal. After that I realized I'd need makeup, not the subtle, enthusiastic girl-next-door style I'd learned to apply with my ring-gear either. Something bolder a little darker, I had some red mahogany lipstick I'd been waiting for the opportunity to want to try on.

I realized I'd need to get dressed first, and match to that, so I went back to the dresses. I looked at a loose baby blue number, that was too much of a day-time color and the sun was long since down. Ultimately I settled on a thigh length black hobble with a frilly false waist hem and silver embroidering around the collar. It went perfectly with a set of silver one-inch heels I had. I added a silver hoop bracelet and a pair of dangling silver and zircon earrings, clip-ons. Ear piercings were too much of a hassle to keep open with fast healing gynomorph skin. I glanced at the alarm clock and realized I'd been dressing for an hour. "Jesus," I thought. "I'm a walking stereotype," I quickly applied some eye-shadow and the red mahogany lipstick and hit the door.

When I got inside to the party, most people were acting as expected, like somebody had spiked the punch-bowl, which was probably because the punch bowl was filled with whiskey from the start. In the old days one would have seen a lot more cocaine at a party like this, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. A lot of guys were walking around with their shirts off, not too strange considering most of them worked with their shirts off, but then Ryan Rogers walked across the room wearing nothing but a jockstrap. He had a cute butt if I were honest about it. Typical Frat Party still. A few people were keeping it together though. "I saw your match" came a deep voice that I realized was addressing me.

"Uncle Jerry asked me to congratulate you. He um, he said he couldn't make it tonight."

I looked up to see Luke, still perhaps unfortunately, fully dressed. He wore a navy pin-stripe button-up, straining against his rippling frame and a pair of bulging black slacks. He had a dixie-cup almost disappearing inside his enormous hand and I took note of a bandage on his forehead. "What happened?" I questioned, and without bothering asking for permission as I reached up and gently touched it.

"Oh that," he said dismissively. "It's nothing, it's a gig. Won't even show in a week," A gig, to juice to get color, was an old wrestling trick. When somebody needed to bleed they'd hide their face and use a small concealed sliver of razor blade to make a short slice in their own forehead. If you did it right it wasn't too dangerous, but with the heart pumping and the sweat running it could look like a murder scene.

"Does it hurt?" I poked it playfully, knowing full well what it felt like.

"A little yeah," he said, half facetiously. "You, need a drink?"

I looked at him more closely, at how his wavy brown hair just barely tickled the bandage, at his broad, round, chin, at his big brown eyes. I used to hate that face. Why? "I'd love one," I answered. He nodded and turned toward the catering table. "Don't you ruin that forehead," I called to him.

He came back and handed me a cup which I was surprised to note actually had punch in it. It did still smelled vaguely of alcohol though. "You look good" he said and paused to rub the back of his head nervously. "I mean, um, that's a nice dress......is all," He was totally hitting on me! Sure, he was going about it in a really grade-school sort of manner, which was charming in a fashion. But he was definitely hitting on me. Still, as much as I would have kind of wanted to, I'd learned from Aki not to just jump in bed with the first guy who smiles at me.

"Oh shit," I murmured. I'd forgotten about Aki. I searched desperately around the room until I saw him, his eyes glued on me like one of those staring paintings. It was like the crowd of people moving between us didn't exist. He didn't look happy, he looked pissed off and drunk.

"Hey Girl!" came Cassidy out of nowhere. "I knew you'd make it," She leaned on me her words slightly slurred. "I knew you couldn't resist."

"No, um... actually," I began, still looking towards Akimoto. "No. It's just exactly what I said it would be, isn't it?" I claimed, "just a bunch of half-naked drunk guys running around trying to hit on us."

"What's wrong with that?" Cass questioned, without even a hint of banter.

"Let's, um, let's get out of here, let's find someplace quieter," I said. "The three of us," I took them each by the arm and dragged them toward the door. "I'm hungry, aren't you guys hungry? Let's go find some real food."

We hailed a taxi and the driver took us to a 24 hour diner nearby. It was a cosy little place and we were occupied while we waited for our food by autograph hounds. Luke signed the most naturally, but I got a few too. I had to be really careful to sign them as Sam Starr. After that we sat and chatted, Cass and I ate breakfast food, while Luke sat across from us and watched, he didn't maintain that physique by eating just anything after all.

It was a nice night all things considered, and I was starting to calm back down, that was, until Cassidy opened her drunk mouth. "You know Sam likes you," she blurted.

"CASSIDY!" I shouted, knowing not what else to say.

"Really?" Lucas chuckled anxiously.

"She doesn't know what she's saying," I insisted.

"I've seen you get all RED FACED when he comes around," she said with strange inebriated emphasis.

"Shut up Cassidy," I snapped.

"I don't know what to say," Luke added.

"Say 'she's drunk.'" I told him.

"Uncle Jerry talks about you a lot," he said. "I've meant to come and talk to you, but I didn't think... that………Really?" and he sort of smiled and blushed at the same time.

I now found myself between a rock and a rock hard place. On one hand I didn't want to confirm it because I really didn't want to move so fast anymore. Then on the other hand I didn't want to deny it because......fuck, it was true. I wasn't so in denial as to not realize he was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. "Oh god dammit," I finally said. "Okay, fine. You're... Okay. Let's take this slow and figure this out. I don't know if I like you or not," I lied. "Let's say we..." my heart began to pound, "see......each other a while?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he said.

"You..." I said, "oh, geez, unless you....... you already have a girlfriend. Of course you have a girlfriend. Look at you. How could you not?" I rambled. Perhaps he wasn't hitting on me back at the party and maybe I had been imagining it all.

"No, it's not that," he said. "I kind of live in the gym, I don’t get that much time to get out. It's just that... you're not... I don't know how I feel about you being......not a typical...girl?"

It hit me like a truck. For a moment I had completely forgotten what I was, that I wasn't always like this and that that might put people off. How had that happened? It had been the most forefront thing in my mind for over a year now.

"So figure it out," Cassidy spoke, hovering over her eggs. "That's what she sayin'. She wanna date you, not marry you."

"I uh..." I stuttered. "Ye... yeah. Um, that's right," I said with a bit of actual conviction. "Yes. I want... to... date you Luke," I blushed. "On the down-low of course," I added. It was a perfect excuse actually to avoid Aki's ire.

"I don't know," he said.

"You looked for me," I stated.

"What?" he questioned.

"When everybody thought I was missing in Naples, I heard Jerry on the phone. You went looking for me."

"Oh that," he said. "Uncle Jerry asked me to. I would have done that for anybody."

"And that's what's so sweet about it," I insisted. "You come off as the nicest damn guy in the world, I used to hate that about you but now, I want to see if that's true."

"Why?" he questioned.

"I don't...….I don't actually know" I said. "I used to be a real piece of shit. I realized that after I got a bit of a different perspective. It was really me I didn't like. I think.......I think I like nice guys."

As it turned out keeping it all on the down-low was neither necessary…….nor strictly possible.

Dating Luke was hard. It was difficult for us to keep it secret since we were both semi-famous and surrounded by people at almost all times. He was also very strict about his gym schedule. At the same time there was something special about having a relationship with a man that was more than physical. Needless to say I'd never done that before, hell I'd never done that with a woman before.

It was nice, and Luke's own reservations about it didn't last long either. Guys are a simple animal. They're pretty easy to please if you just push them a bit. We couldn't do anything fancy of course. No expensive restaurants or movie shows, where people would recognize us and word would spread. That was okay, it just added to the intimacy.

One day we had sneaked out for a drive. We found an empty field outside the city limits and just lay together in the grass. I lay in the crook of his arm with my eyes closed, almost asleep. He held me differently than Aki had. Just as firmly, but there was a different conviction to it, Aki had been possessive, somehow Luke felt... protective. "Case," he said.

"Mm-hmm," I answered.

"Have you ever kissed a guy?" he asked.

"Nope," I answered. I had, but only in the throes of sex, which I knew wasn't what he meant. I climbed up onto his torso and lay along his chest. "Why do you ask?" I moved in close to him. "Fishing" I wrapped my arms around his head and pulled him in gently, pressing my lips against his for the first strictly romantic kiss of my life.

"Mmm," he uttered. "This one's a keeper."

"You took the words right out of my mouth Babe," I said. "And the tongue" I giggled. "Jesus," I gasped. "I just realized, I don't even know your name."

"What?" he said.

"Well it's not 'Luke Power.'" I said mockingly. "Jerry is your... mom's brother? So it's not Norman either."

"It's Darrow," he chuckled. "Lucas Darrow."

"I kind of like it," I said as I rolled back to his side. "Casey Darrow" I whispered.

"What was that?" he asked.

"It's um..." a beeping emanated from the grass nearby, and Lucas picked up his phone. Phew, saved by the bell. I thought silently.

"Crap," he said. "The show is about to start. We gotta get back to the arena."

"No rush," I said. "I'm not on the card tonight, and you're wrestling at the top. We've got two hours, easy."

"That would be true," he said. "But I've got a live promo in the first half."

"Dammit," I cursed. "Well, let's go then."

We made our way back to the arena, and Luke rushed to the back stage screen where the interviews were filmed. Mike was there out of frame, and so was Aki. I stood back and watched from the shadows.

"Dammit Luke where have you been?" Mike yelled. "We're about to go live and you're not even dressed. Screw it we'll have to do it in your civvies. Ready?"

"Yeah," said Luke, shaking his shoulders and positioning himself on the taped X on the floor.

The camera operator called out. "We're live in 5... 4.... 3..." dropping a finger with each number, he didn't count two or one, but mouthed them silently instead.

"We're here live with former NDW Heavyweight Champion Luke Power," said the interviewer who looked positively mousy next to Luke's hulking form. "Champ, or should I say Ex-Champ, tonight will be the first time you match against current Heavyweight Champion Tsunami Akimoto, who took the belt from you several months ago. He's a month away from tying for the fifth longest single heavyweight title reign in NDW history and rumors are circulating that if you put up a good showing tonight, since you never got your title rematch, you'll be slid right into the number one contender's spot. Is there anything you want to say about that?"

"Yeah there is Pete," said Lucas, altering his voice slightly, speaking less gently and slipping into character. "We all know there's no love lost between me and Akimoto, even less with that shifty weasel of a manager of his. Now, I'm not gonna stand here and moan about how I was cheated out of the title, it's not in my character. Let it go down in the books as fair and square. But let's make one thing perfectly clear. If a win tonight it puts me back in the title picture, then we’ll......."

Aki ran in from out of frame and hit Luke with a forearm. I almost gasped but I could tell from Mike and the crew's reactions it was a work, part of the angle. Aki threw Luke into a stack of hard shipping boxes. Then he pulled the entire stack down on top of Luke. He started stomping and kicked a box right into Luke's head. He dragged Luke up to his feet and when Luke tried to throw a worked punch Aki reversed it into a Fujiwara arm-bar, a legitimate submission if you put it on snug.

Luke yelled in a way that didn't sound fake to me and my heart skipped a beat. Aki brought him to the ground and elbowed Luke in the head a few times, then started tearing his shirt off and kicking him in the ribs. He mounted Luke and started hitting him in the face.

"Get off him!" I screamed as I found myself on Aki's back, hooking at his neck and face. Aki shrugged me off and I rolled to the floor. Looking up I could see Mike desperately tapping the camera operator on the shoulder and making the cut gesture with his thumb. The red light on the camera went off and suddenly people were all over the two of them, about ten security guys came out of nowhere to pull them apart.

"What in God's name has gotten into you two?" Mike screamed. "And what exactly the fuck do YOU have to do with all of this?" he addressed me. "You know what, not now! Get an EMT over here!" he called. "You three, in the conference room NOW!" he said turning back to us.

Mike, Aki and I sat in silence in the conference room, with only the regular loud ticking of the old clock on the wall being heard. Mike's face was so red he looked like he was about to catch fire, but I was looking at Aki shooting daggers at him, giving out the kind of hate I'd never known as a man, trying to kill him with my eyes.

After an interminable wait the door opened and in came Luke and an EMT, Luke had an icepack to his face and was rubbing his arm. "He'll be okay," said the medic. "But I don't think he should perform tonight," Aki sneered at this announcement.

"Well that's just a good god damn," said Mike. "There goes the god damned main event! Now I gotta cook up something on the fly and for what? No seriously, for what? What god dammit, what? What's this about?"

"She's mine" Aki said spitefully.

"And what the fuck does that mean?" Mike demanded.

"He tried to take her from me" Aki added.

"Now wait just a god damned minute!" I shouted springing to my feet. "You don't own me!"

"Hell in a hand basket," said Mike rubbing his hands over his face. "This is all about snatch isn't it?"

"Fuck you Mike!" I yelled.

"Don't you fucking test me," he pointed. "So what…..you're fucking them now?"

"No," I said. "I'm..." I looked over to Luke. He nodded in confirmation. "Cat's out of the bag now. I'm dating Lucas."

Aki bounded to his feet and screamed something very foreign that had the distinct feeling of profanity.

"And what does he have to do with this?" Mike thumbed at Aki.

"She's mine!" he yelled.

"Shut up Aki, I'm asking her," Mike ordered.

"I..." I crossed my toes and looked at the floor. "I WAS sleeping with him."

"You were what!?" Luke cried.

"It was before we were together Luke," I pleaded.

"For god sake, if I made company policy there would be no fraternization," said Mike. "So what are we going to do with this? Hell, there's only one thing we can do with this. Everybody saw the lady riding to the rescue, that went out live after all. We HAVE to make an angle out of it. We were going to have these two feud anyway, but guess what shiny britches," he looked at me. "Now YOU'RE the prize."

"That's outrageous!" Luke yelled.

"Oh come on," said Mike. "This is pro-wrestling. This is the world where child custody is decided with a ladder match," He turned to Aki. "And you are sure as hell going to lose."

Again Akimoto spouted something irate and unintelligible.

"You will lose or you will be prosecuted for that little stunt, prosecuted and deported to that turd in the pacific you call a country! And I don't want anymore of this shoot crap either. Are we clear?"

Aki held his breath.

"Are we clear!?"

"Hai," he said reluctantly.

"Now get the fuck out of here," Mike ordered. "We'll figure this out tomorrow, right now I gotta salvage this show," Aki stormed out, making sure to bump hard into Luke's hurt shoulder as he passed. We turned to the door, but Mike stopped us. "Wait a second you two," We turned back
to him. "I know you had a hard time last year Casey, it didn't stop you from stepping on my toes though. Just... the two of you... mazel tov."

I knocked on the bus door. "Come in," he called. I peeked inside and saw Luke sitting alone on the couch.

"So this is the home away from home eh?" I asked as I slowly climbed up the steps, my arms behind my back, my hips swaying. "It's a lot like ours except it smells worse and has less throw pillows. I bet the closets aren't as packed either."

"Hey Case," he mumbled, his ice bag held up to his face.

I plopped down beside him and gently pulled his hand down to reveal the swelling and bruising. "That son of a bitch," I said through my teeth.

"It looks worse than if feels," he insisted.

"Oh it does huh?" I responded. "You want Momma to kiss it and make it better?" I leaned in and kissed him on the side of the face.

"Ow," he said softly.

"Oh, poor baby."

"No," he said. "You're leaning on my arm. He really wrenched it."

"You want a massage?" I inquired. "If you're a good boy I might even give you a..." I whispered in his ear. "happy ending."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said decisively. "We both have the night off now, and if this bus is like ours, it locks."

"I thought you wanted to take it slow?" he questioned.

"Call this an acceleration," I said. "Come on Luke, you're clearly the sweetest guy I'm ever gonna meet... I wanna TASTE it," I added some randiness to my voice.

He stood me up and squared me with himself, before lifting me off the ground and kissing me full on the lips, not a peck, but a full, passionate kiss. I was putty in his arms. He put me down and I slumped instantly to my knees, his zipper was right in front of me, too good an opportunity to pass up. I unzipped his fly and yanked his pants and underwear down in a quick, eager fashion.

"Oh my Gosh," I said. "Lucas?"

"What?" he asked tensely.

"How do you fit this in those trunks?" It was a trunk itself, a big, purple, circumcised elephant's trunk, accompanied by two perfect Easter eggs. This laid to bed the question as to whether or not Luke used steroids. That was a firm no. "Hey there big guy. Nice to meet you, what's that? You want a kiss too?" I put my full lips up to the head and let them part reluctantly around it, my tongue exploring. Luke's knees quivered. "Luke, couch, now," I pulled off and said. He lay down and I was on top of him, picking up where I left off, working at getting my own pants down with one hand.

"The door," he moaned. I lifted away from him, hopped across the little room with my pants around my ankles, and yanked the bolt locked, then went right back, shaking my pants off along the way. I ran my hands over his majestic abs and pulled his shirt over his head. Then I reached back, and undid my bra through the blouse I had on. Then taking his hands had him do the same to me, stripping off my blouse and bra in one motion. His beautiful brown eyes grew wide at the sight of my naked melons, and his hands were instantly on me, now of their own accord. Before I knew it I was on my back and his weight was pressing into me. His thumbs circled my nipples as he kissed my neck and worked down until he had to pull his hand away to make room for his tongue.

"Ugh!" I cried out. My hands were in my panties furiously stroking myself. I came the instant his tongue touched me. "My panties, take off my panties" I begged. As he sat up and grasped the hem I twisted around and grabbed my jeans from the floor. I reached in the back pocket and produced one of the condoms I’d brought with me. "Put this on" I gasped and he yanked my underwear down. He ignored me for the time being, instead kissing his way down my belly and then hooked my thighs and pinned my shoulders to the carpet with my legs in the air.

He kissed my lower lips relentlessly and with his tongue. "Gawd!" I moaned and came again. Luke explored me for a while, bringing me to a third orgasm before he lifted me onto the couch and finally opened the condom and rolled it on his gigantic cock. He climbed on top of me and made love to me. He spread me open and thrust into me, firmly, but tenderly at the same time, not erratic or frantic like Aki had done, but slowly and deliberately. Every stroke had its purpose, I was not his first. I'd never felt anything like it. No man had taken care of me like this before. He was a better lover than any of my previous men, he was better than I had been with by far, I knew.

With the pheromones I was certainly putting out at that moment, it was miraculous he could control himself as well as he did. I gazed between my breasts and between my thighs where a column of glistening flesh speared into me again and again, splitting me in what seemed like ridiculous proportions. I thanked heaven for gynomorph elasticity, I thanked heaven for gynospores. I thanked heaven for putting this stallion on the earth and sending him to me. "GAHHH!!" I came again, again and again, my body desperately tried to milk him. It knew its purpose and craved fulfilment. My hands fell from my breasts and I went limp long before Lucas himself finally orgasmed inside me.

We lay there gasping afterward. I rode his heaving chest like an ocean tide. "This was..." he panted, "much better... than what I had planned tonight."

I giggled.

"I... didn't hurt you did I?" he asked. He had been the first one to ask me that.

"You can... hurt me like that... any time you want" I answered then kissed his lips lightly.

"You know I'm gonna have to work at least six more times with Akimoto, right?" he said.

"Yeah," I answered.

"He's gonna be stiff as hell," he added.

"Don't say stiff," I quipped. "You're going to get me all riled up again. Besides, this is worth it isn't it?"

He curled his massive arm tightly around me. "It's worth anything."

The conclusion to……Refusal at the Fence Gets You Four Faults.

That evening after helping feed the boarders and clean up afterwards I sat around with Lois, Sue, Smokey, Dot and a very angry Steve who I noticed no longer seemed to be trying to hide his “crush” for Lois infront of everyone. So of course no one raised an eyelid when they drove off together in Lois’s car afterwards, although I wonder what Smokey or Dot would have thought (if they’d known) about her driving Steve back a few hours later, then staying the rest of the night in his lodgings (a dilapidated old caravan jacked up on a stack of bricks)

Day 5 – New Year’s Eve

You’d think that I’d be starting to get used to the idea of waking up at 3.30am but alas Sue had to pull me far enough off the bed that I had to put my hand on the floor to stop my body from landing heavily on it before she proceeded to walk outside heading for the toilet block. Still half asleep I stumbled after her trying my best not to step on any horse’s eggs in the dark.

Sue detoured over to a weather beaten caravan where Lois was sleeping with Steve and the sound of her hand loudly slapping the side of caravan would have woken the dead as she continued on towards the toilet block. After I’d done my necessary things and was walking back to our bunk room to shower, I saw Lois walking towards the toilet block dressed in an oversized Tee shirt that appeared to barely cover her modesty!

Having finally mastered how to turn on the hot water cistern back in our room, I hurriedly showered in warm water, making sure I wet my head thoroughly to wake up entirely while making sure I wore two towels around me before walking back around the partition to dry off (because Sue had chipped my about only using only one towel the previous day).

This morning both Sue and Lois walked back in while I was drying off as Lois said she needed a shower too. I quickly grabbed my clothes and went back around the other side of the partition and got dressed before hurrying outside, wondering if any of hardier girl boarders would be waiting out the front of the feed room to help me. Five minutes after starting the morning horse feeding/watering procession, Cathy and Annette appeared at the feed room entrance and commandeered the feed tin duties. With little enough room for two let alone three of us in there, I squeezed back outside to go check over the various water troughs, as enthusiastic young girls scooted past me carrying full or empty metal tins of horse feed.

After the last horse was fed and its food tin refilled for the evening feed, Cathy and Annette caught up with me and suggested we head to the jail to get some food before heading out on the dawn ride. Once in the jail the three of us started making as much toast with jam or vegemite as possible, most of it being for the boarders to munch on. A few minutes later saw a mini parade start to enter the jail as first Sue and Lois entered, followed shortly after by Smokey, then Steve turned up shortly after Smokey.

Lois (with a surprisingly straight face) hurriedly explained her wet hair and wearing some of Sue’s clothes (which were far too tight up top) to Smokey by saying she’d slept in our bunk house with us, because she’d felt too tried to drive all the way home to Dee Why after dropping Steve off at Narrabeen last night!

Smokey didn’t seem to care and quickly took a few pieces of toast off of one of the stacked plates and sat down in his usual chair to have early tea and toast. With the jail so crowded now I volunteered to take two plates stacked high with toast out to the dining area (where the boarders were all waiting around for the dawn ride to start getting ready) and watched them eat the entire two plates contents as quick as possible, even though they’d get their actual breakfast in a few hours.

Asking if one of them would to return the two plates to the office jail when they were finished, I headed off for the tack room to begin saddling the horses. I was soon joined by a retinue of enthusiastic young girl all anxious to help. By now with three days behind them, none of them was nervous about being close to a horse in an enclosed stable or putting a bridle and saddle on one. All I needed to do was hoist a saddle off the peg it was on along with the bridle and saddle cloth and make sure a girl(s) had a firm hold before they carried them away to the stable or yard of the horse’s name I’d nominate.

It normally would have needed only 1 person to bridle and saddle a horse, but with up to 3 girls per horse the poor equines never stood a chance, as loud excited voices called out “let me do it dummy”, telling me how the girls were progressing with the horse they were designated to saddle. When I saw my five bosses start walking along the stable pathway I was grateful because in one fell swoop they took five sets of riding paraphernalia and headed off to start saddling the rest as I called out to let them know I’d go and check on the horses the boarders had done. A conga line of boarding girls followed me to every stable or yard they'd saddled a horse in eager to find out if they’d done the saddling correctly or not. Surprisingly I could find little wrong with any of their victims (err horses) except to tighten the occasional saddle strap on a more recalcitrant horse who knew how to fool an inexperienced person into thinking the saddle was tight enough.

While doing this I noticed several of the privately owned horse’s owners were now here and entering the tack room to obtain their tack to saddle their horses (probably much to their still not fully awake parent’s disgust who were now driving home to go back to sleep till a more civilised hour to wake up at). On seeing Lou there this morning as well, I made sure to stop at her stable and say hello as well as giving her several flattering remarks about her horse (and her attire too). I stayed away from Amanda, Sally and Tricia although fleetingly had to say hello to Joanne when I needed to pass her stable heading over to Flash’ stall to watch or assist Smokey (if he needed any).

Eventually with all the horses saddled, Lois rounded up the boarders and started assigning various horses to each girl for the ride, which caused the named girl to race off to collect her mount. Of course Lois, Annette, Cathy and Sue took the most experienced and best mounts to ride, with Sue agreeing to let Lois ride Champion again while she rode a huge Palomino called Captain. This left Steve the tallest person there who normally rode Captain, to ride Boxer. I was assigned Brutus who was much like his Roman namesake and would have usually only ridden by far more experienced riders than myself.

As the group headed out through the timber gated entry, Smokey was at the front leading the ride and it quickly developed into three distinct groups behind Smokey. First were the privately owned horses, followed by the boarding girls (along with Steve and I as the designated “whippers in”), while bringing up the rear were the four experienced senior girls Lois, Cathy, Sue and Annette, who were a sort of safety net and were happily talking with one another playing the game “do you remember the time”.

We travelled another undefined trail again, but somehow or other managed to pass by the “jumps” again, which today saw all the private girl’s successfully manage to ride the course. Perhaps to put them in their place, Sue with Cathy's help then raised the height of the bars and proceeded to successfully jump the higher placed poles, with Smokey again critiquing each rider.

It also became more obvious to me that Lois must have given a considerable amount of thought to assigning a boarder to a horse, because today it was an entirely different 6 girls who learned how to make their horse take a very low jump and again successfully did it without falling off. The two girls who hadn’t got to experience jumping a horse were also the smallest (and I might add the frailest).

Instead she gave the two girls a condensed course in dressage riding which soon saw the two boarders performing “jolly well” according to Smokey's encouraging remarks shouted out to them. Lou also asked to participate as well (much to the disgust of the other private owners) and for the rest of the ride decided to join Sue and her friends at the back of the ride who began giving her their expert advice, which with me having a bit of a thing for Lou had me wishing I was with them, (sigh).

Smokey also decided on the homeward leg to stage an impromptu mini training course for the private girls, which Amanda again appeared to be the only one to fail to do properly, although this time Smokey was less severe in his critiquing and even helped her until she was doing everything to his satisfaction. Then we all finished with another 3 charge of the light brigades, before every boarder helped to put their horses back in the stables and yards, while the private girls headed their horses over to the Sand Ring and practiced some of the dressage advice Lois had been telling the two youngest boarders earlier on.

Unlike the other days, the public started driving up the dirt driveway almost as soon as the main gate was opened and it seemed to me that I didn’t get a chance to stop and rest rest till lunchtime. Some of the ranch girls had also been roped in by Dot or Smokey and were leading pony rides or even helping out walking behind the trail rides if asked to, because there were so many small groups of riders out on the trails that morning.

I even got to enjoy a walk with Dianne (huge sigh) and Helen as we told jokes to one another while walking behind the horses we were assigned to assist. Dianne excitedly asked me what I’d be wearing to the party tonight, which seemed to interest her brother Will (who had come along with the three of us but was walking slightly behind). Without thinking about it (at the time) I told Dianne I’d be wearing the clothes I had on or else I’d get changed into clean clothes for the party and felt ashamed about the fact I wouldn’t have something pretty to wear to the party.

During lunch with Sue and her three friends, I was informed that I’d be leaving the ranch around 3pm with Annettes to go to her house, where I’d help her and her brothers set up the backyard with loaned outdoor furniture. Sue said (with a bit of a cheeky smirk) that she'd need to call into Lois’ place to borrow some clothes to wear for the party and would also get some drinks and meat for the BBQ for the two of us.

Fine I thought to myself, Sue gets to wear something nice tonight while I have to wear whatever was left in my suitcase and almost did a double take thinking that. Soon afterwards I was back outside and leading Blossom the Shetland pony on pony rides until Lois (with Cathy next to her) came over and told me Annette had to leave now. So I handed the pony's reigns to her then hurried over to Annette’s car and soon found myself in the front passenger’s seat heading out through the main gate to her place.

During the drive Annette cheerfully told me that she still found it impossible to believe I wasn’t a girl and that no one at the ranch had even the inkling about me, adding that after tonight no one would ever even imagine the idea even if I was stark naked, which in truthfulness had me wondering exactly what the hell she meant.

Her parent’s house turned out to be only a short distance from the ranch (about half way down a steep road heading towards Narrabeen), where after turning into several side streets (where I saw only large houses on acreage), the car slowed to turn into one such driveway. It had a large and impeccably manicured front lawn out front and a smooth dirt driveway leading to an imposing two storied house. Annette seemed quite embarrassed at my astonished remarks about how nice the house looked.

Getting out and remaining motionless being still in awe at how nice everything there looked, Annette said she’d take me inside and introduce me to her “olds” (parents) who when I saw them were obviously dressed to go somewhere this evening. They seemed very gracious to me after their daughter explained who I was and why I was there so early. Her father quickly took my hand and led me outside, where he pointed to a considerable number of outdoor sun-lounges and chairs which we presently stacked up near a side gate.

I would have normally headed over towards the furniture to begin putting it out, but my attention was distracted by a very large swimming pool with its own diving board perhaps 20 yards away from the back door we’d just come through, as well as the incredible expanse of manicure backyard surrounding it. The lawn itself must have stretched for perhaps another 100 yards past the other end of the pool fence, before there appeared to be a dense wall of pine trees, while the sides of the back yard were perhaps 60 yards from one side fence to the other.

Remarking that I’d certainly like to meet and congratulate the person who kept their lawns so nice, had her father (no longer Mr Elliott but instead please call me Eric, Wendy) offer up his hand for me to shake along with a huge smile as he proudly accepted my unintentional (although sincere) compliment. When Annette came outside with her mother, her dad remarked loudly he only hoped I could teach his daughter how to be more appreciative of the things around her, telling his wife about how much I said I admired the state of the backyard.

Annette rolled her eyes and said she’d go and get the boys to help and be back in a minute, which left me alone with her parents where I answered the question as to whether I knew how many people were turning up for the party this evening. I thought it over before saying there may be about 20 or so ranch girls and boys as well as some parents, which had her mum asking how many boys were amongst that number, that had me assuring her that I only knew off two boys around my age who were coming, with the rest being the regular girls who went to the ranch.

Annette walked back outside with several guys following her simply introducing them as her brothers, who proceeded to help with the furniture. Annette also let it be known that her baby brother Jonathon (pointing to him) would be hanging around for the party as well. Jonathon was as tall and solid as the rest of his brothers and perhaps looked to be in his early twenties (he turned out to be only 17, I learned later on and that Annette was the only girl in the family).

The furniture proceeded to be carefully strewn around the yard, taking advantage as much as possible of the backyard’s landscaping and it took about 30 minutes to get everything set up to Annette’s satisfaction. The final layout would allow small groups of tables and chairs to be set well apart from each other to allow groups of people to sit away from one another if need be. Several clumps of small bushes allowed for some settings to be hidden from view, which Annette good humouredly assured her parents would only ever be used for any debauchery or scandal !

Once back inside the house Annette took me on a guided tour and I think she might have been embarrassed at my reactions to various rooms she allowed me to see inside of. Annette’s own bedroom upstairs had a window view that looked out over the backyard and in fact over quite an expanse of land into the distance. She even had her own personal bathroom off to the side whose size was almost the same as that in the flat where I lived. The main upstairs bathroom was certainly bigger than my brother’s and my bedroom combined.

When her parent’s left shortly afterwards, Annette told me that we’d need to wait for Charlotte to get here before they could begin to make me into the hottest thing on two legs for tonight’s party. Not entirely sure what she meant by that but accepting that it couldn’t be anything bad, had me happily telling her I could hardly wait even though I had “no idea” about exactly what "it was" I was waiting for.

I then got to experience my very first private cinema viewing and sat through a viewing of various Warner Brother’s cartoons I’d normally only see at the pictures. I was even given a can of soft drink and a bag of crisps to nibble on, along with a warning from Annette about spilling anything on the carpet under my feet.

Eventually my nirvana was interrupted by Lois, Sue, Annette and a girl I’d never met before dragging me out of the cinema and back upstairs into Annette’s bedroom. The girl turned out to be Charlotte, and she wasn’t a girl around Sue or Lois's age, but a woman aged around 30 who had been an old girlfriend of Cathy’s oldest brother until he’d left her for someone prettier. Although seriously older than anyone else in the room, Charlotte herself was also a “major” horse nut and happily told me about how during her late teens, she was to Annette and her friends, what Annette and her friends were to the younger ranch girls that would be here tonight.

Eventually she declared it was time to find out what her canvas looked like and gently told me to stand up and parade around the room for a while. Then I was asked to stand completely still in front of her while she examined my face very closely and carefully from various angles, making cryptic remarks to the others. After saying she’d now need to see under me exterior, with a beaming smile told me it was time for me to get naked and without hesitating started confidently undoing my blouse buttons for me. Only certain of one thing and that was not being hurt, had me quickly taking over and undoing the rest of the buttons before shucking it off to show skinny body the bra on it as well as the small gel inserts inside the bra.

Her arms quickly enveloped me and within moments I felt the tightness of the bra evaporate as she stepped back while at the same time grabbing the front of my bra and telling me to place my hands together infront of me as she began to slowly pull the bra and inserts along my arms till I was bare chested. Watching her then direct her eyes downwards, had me quickly taking off my shoes and socks then hesitantly undoing my jean’s buttons and lowering my zipper before carefully tugging my jeans down my legs to step out of them one leg at a time till I was standing in only a faded grey pair of panties that offered any modesty.

With Charlotte’s laughing assurance that in a few year’s I’d be begging to be naked infront of women, she simply said “drop em” and as if to make me do it quickly, started walking towards me with outstretched hands. Thinking it might be better for me to do this for myself I quickly tugged my panties down my legs and stepped out of them, as she then told me to go lie down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

Neither Sue, Lois, Annette or Cathy said a word as Charlotte then went and stood over me and gently took my penis and testicles carefully in her hands and began massaging them including gently tugging and moving them around. Although I had only just turned 14 and beginning puberty, my body couldn’t help but react to a female doing what Charlotte was doing to me and I quickly grew erect under her soft hands ministrations.

“Well you aren’t Vlad the Impaler down there yet are you honey” Charlotte muttered before apologising to me as she proceeded to push my testicles back up inside me that saw my body quickly tense up and my breathing rapidly increase. I then watched her kneel down infront of me and with her head and shoulders blocking my view and felt her fingers slowly pull my penis downwards firmly while I felt my sack being pulled over Mr Stiffy.

“Yep, he’ll be easy enough to do once its shaved” she loudly proclaimed for the girls to hear, before letting go of my scrotum and carefully pressing her hands firmly into my lower stomach area, which caused my testicles to ease back down out of my body to where they normally belonged before she stood back up straight. “Sorry about that” she said before asking the others what I’d be wearing tonight.

I lay on the bed naked and totally embarrassed, deciding for myself whether to cover up, when without even turning around Charlotte said “only the panties” as if she had ESP. Motioning for Sue and Lois to follow her she left the room leaving me and my scarlet hued face alone with Annette as she handed me my panties and suggested I put them back on and sit back on the bed and relax. She hurriedly explained to me about their friend Charlotte, which included her job as a makeup artist for a film production company.

Apparently Charlotte also used to have a younger brother Martin who had come out to his family as transsexual when he was fifteen. With the family’s blessing he’d gone and had gender reassignment surgery done in Thailand at 22 years of age and was now living happily as Martina in Darlinghurst married to some guy called Ryan. Annette said she hoped “Tina” and her husband would be coming to the party tonight if they accepted Charlotte’s invite.

When the girls came back upstairs, Sue was carrying what appeared to be a lightweight portable table, while Charlotte and Lois were each carrying a large suitcase which sounded quite heavy when they put them down on the carpeted floor near a vanity table that had its own make up lighting surrounding the mirror on it. Charlotte then instructed me to sit at the seat infront of the vanity, where she then proceeded to open both large cases which I saw folded open lengthways to reveal various coloured wigs, colour swatches, jars and bottles of what might have been makeup as well as a number of boxes.

When Charlotte again inquired about what I’d be wearing tonight, Annette walked over to her wardrobe and drew out several clothes hangers asking did anybody remember how everyone had reacted the first time Lois had worn them this outfit at her 15th birthday party. The girls all cracked up in tears of laughter as each of them shouted out how they remembered her parent’s reactions to the clothes.

After everyone had quietened down again (I had no absolutely no idea what they were talking about) Lois asked in astonishment how Annette had the outfit as Lois’s mother had refused to let her leave the house wearing it and had taken them away after everyone had left the birthday party and hid them, she assumed to give them away to a clothing charity.

Annette explained that what Lois’s mum had done was to give them to Annette’s mum a few days afterwards to get rid of the outfit somewhere further away and it was forgotten over time till Annette rediscovered the outfit the other day when she was cleaning out old boxes in the basement. “If we’re going to make those spoilt little brats pay for what they did to Wendy, her wearing this along with a little or should I say “ a lot” of Charlotte’s magic is how she’s going to do it and enjoy doing it too” Annette happily told everyone which had all the girls enthusiastically agreeing.

Charlotte looking directly at Lois’s face and body first before turning slightly to zero in on me, humorously announced she’d need to use the biggest ones she had to make the outfit work properly on me to chuckles from the others and to my own look of confused ignorance as to what they were actually talking about.

She proceeded to take out various hair sample swatches, as well as placing wigs on my head along with holding small boards with varying colours on them up to the side of my face. The three other girls hurried over and started a round robin discussion over the merits of a colour on me and so forth. When finally they had reached a consensus on everything, Charlotte instructed me to drop my pants and lie back down on the table looking up at the ceiling, where I found the table’s rubber coated base made my back itchy.

She then said she’d need a dish of ice cubes and a large towel placed under the table as well as several small hand towels to dry her hands on which Annette raced off to find. She shut the door after her as she left and I heard the sounds of muffled voices including hers before the sounds of feet dashing back up the stairs to the eventual knock on the door and her returning carrying a plastic tray that had a small bowl filled with ice and several towels on it.

Once everything was in place Charlotte explained what she was going to do to me and that none of it was permanent. She asked Sue how long I would like to need to sit down to pee and to my horror Sue suggested a month, as she quickly told me that Smokey would ask me tomorrow if I would like to stay as an offsider till near the end of the school holidays and that she’d already gotten my mother’s approval as long as I wanted to do it too.

If the honest truth be known, I was enjoying not only working on the horse ranch but especially being a young teenage girl doing so. I’d met a number of girls my own age and actually enjoyed talking to and being with them. So it was impossible for me to show anything on my face other than delight at her news about being allowed to stay and work there as Wendy. Her satisfied smile and telling me she thought I’d like that, had me quickly nodding my head in agreement and saying to Charlotte “If you wouldn’t mind please Charlotte, I’d like it if you could make it that I can forgo needing to stand to pee till just before school starts up again.”

Charlotte then told me that she wanted to take and keep a photographic journal for future reference for her own job about what she was about to do to me, telling all of us a story about one particular makeup job that she had to do for a movie scene. I’d never seen the film, although I knew of the actress concerned and like Lois, Sue and Annette sat in stunned amazement as Charlotte explained what had been required to be done to the actress. So first off I had to have before photo and then photos during each step and then afterwards, with Charlotte assuring me that my privacy would be assured by her and that the photos were only for reference while I’d also received a copy of every photo taken of me, before I nodded in agreement.

“Now I’ll make your wish come true for you Wendy, but you have to do something very important first” Charlotte assured me, then asked Sue to help me shave my legs, groin and butt thoroughly. I was then led to Annette’s private bathroom and with Sue’s assistance managed to shave my-self entirely smooth not only where she requested but all over my body except for the hair on my head. As Sue aimed the shower nozzle over my shaven skin, the cold water seemed so much tingler on my skin than before. She squeezed moisturizing lotion onto my fingers to allow me to rub it all over my body where I’d shaved myself smooth before leading me back into the bedroom and the inevitable photo.

With an understanding smile Charlotte proceeded to tell me what she was going to do to me next. She explained everything very simply to me and before each step, she repeated what she was about to do and asked if I was still alright with her doing so. I simply had to lay back on the bed totally naked without the slightest shame while she, Lois, Sue and Annette stood either side of the table and watched my transformation begin.

It seemed odd that first off Charlotte then needed to arouse my penis to erection again before quickly placing cold ice onto my testicles (which she had already informed me was to numb me down there) before she sprayed additional anaesthetic spray around my groin as well. Apparently the ice would not only numb my stimulated testicles but the sudden cold also shrunk them allowing her to more easily push them back up into my body cavity. The application of the ice to my groin also allowed for my penis to shrink substantially, although this time she held onto the tip of it to allow her to move my now much thinner and skinnier soft penis downwards and between the folds of my scrotum sack so it was eventually pointed almost completely downwards. Then after making sure the tip remained outside of the flesh sack, she glued both sides of the scrotum sack together hiding the length of my penis inside it. She had to hold the camera quite close for the photos of the work she just did.

With the aid of a hand held mirror she showed me the end result of what now appeared to be a smoothly shaved vaginal opening that you’d see on girls too young to have begun growing pubic hair, or on adults who preferred to be bare there that also allowed for there to no longer be a bulge in the front of my underwear. I had to wait a short time for the glue to dry and harden then as Charlotte removed her hands from my groin she triumphantly sang “Ta Da, instant Vag for you Wendy!”

It felt so tight down there now, I was almost too scared to try and move before I was carefully helped off the table with the three older girls saying they wouldn’t have believed it if they hadn’t seen for themselves what had been done to me. It was Annette who enthusiastically told me I looked just like her down there now and taking me by the hand took me into her bathroom and without the slightest embarrassment showed me how we both did look almost the same now down there.

With Charlotte, Sue and Lois crammed in the room looking, Annette even allowed me to experience my first touch of a female vagina as firmly gripping my right hand she carefully positioned my index finger so that it could barely just touch her vaginal opening and then made me do the same to my own at what appeared to be the same spot.

While she did this she explained to the others how an old boyfriend had liked to shave her smooth whenever possible and now she hated the scratchy feeling of regrowth down there, sporting a cheeky grin as she said it. Her problem was sympathised with by the other three women saying they’d suffered through the annoying itching and rashes till their pubic hair had grown long enough again having done the exact same thing as well. They all agreed it had been at the request of a boyfriend that had caused them to shave themselves smooth in the first place.

Odd as it might seem to anybody else, the thought I now had a “Vag” of my own made me feel more closely attuned to the other woman there than previously before. I know it seems silly but looking at Annette’s area and looking at my own, made me think “hey I’m almost a girl now too”.

After everybody was back inside Annette’s bedroom, Charlotte made me do various exercises to see if I began to feel uncomfortable anywhere or worse yet, feel nauseous in my stomach. Still without a stitch of clothing to cover my nakedness I was made to sit down quickly, stand up quickly, bend over, squat, lie on my back and lift myself up by my hands and feet till I was arched backwards, walk fast and change direction quickly along with all sorts of other directions. With the completion of each instruction Charlotte inquired as to whether I felt any pain or discomfort or felt queasy in my stomach till she was finally satisfied I would “probably” be OK like this for a month.

Still cautious, she reminded me yet again not to ignore any pain or discomfort down there, then handed me two vials of solvent telling me that I could use them to break the grip of the adhesive glue she used gluing my scrotum together to make my Vag. She also advised me about not losing them but that if I did, I should phone her and she’d arrange for more to be sent to me.

She then had me lie back on the table stomach first this time as I felt the same gunk being paintbrush stroked onto my backside region, then I felt her push down on both sides of my butt cheeks several times keeping the pressure on for about a minute each time. She then seemed to paint all around my butt cheeks as well, then with several camera flashes behind me told me I could now stand up and go to the mirror and see my new butt. As with most boys (I hoped) I couldn’t even see the back of my body so it needed Sue excitedly informing me I now had a prominent butt at the back of me that none of them had.

By then the clock had moved round to five o’clock and Charlotte said I still had a long way to go until becoming the perfect male erection device for tonight’s party. First off though there were more photos required of down there and of my entire body for the records again.

I was then given a bra of Annette’s that seem to almost no front to it along with an opened cellophane packet containing a pair of sapphire blue satin panties and taking them out of it bent down to step into them before trying to pull them up my legs. As I worked them up over my hips, the feel of the cool slippery satin on my quickly unthawing shaven vag felt exquisitely delightful and I stupidly said so to everyone there. Charlotte then took out from one of the folded cases a cardboard box, telling me these were my new boobs before proceeding to carefully place each one inside the slight cup, that saw the bottom of the bra cup being completely smothered before she moved them around in the cups until she was satisfied.

The size of them (let alone the weight) seemed to be the only thing my mind could focus on. I was then shown the top I’d be wearing and with Lois and Annette’s assistance, managed to get it on and over my new bust. The top itself although scandalously low cut had been designed to provide additional support which now made my “bust” jut out much more than I would ever have imagined was considered descent. Once Charlotte and Annette had agreed on where my inserts needed to be glued onto me (using a marking pen to do the outline) my new top and bra was off of me in a trice and I was lying back down on the table.

To my utter amazement Charlotte proceeded to dab a clear coloured paste of something or other onto my chest before taking one of the breast inserts and placing it carefully onto my chest, being careful to make sure the edges of the insert were exactly where she wanted them to be and were smooth along the edges before pressing down onto the gel (and also my chest) firmly for again almost a minute until she moved her hand away. Without the slightest hesitation she then daubed the other side of my chest with the same gunk and carefully positioning the other insert over it, proceeding to push down and remain immobile, before finally letting go and giving a smile of satisfaction.

The four girls then helped me to sit up on the table slowly while I began turning my body around just enough to feel my feet brush the carpet. The weight dragging down wards on my chest was now noticeably heavy and then as I stood up on my feet, I felt my chest actually rise and drop slightly while the sudden increase in weight caught me completely by surprise while also affecting my sense of balance. A hesitant shaky step away from the table found me experiencing the strange uniqueness of feeling my chest/breasts both sway as well as wobble uncontrollably both up and down as well as sideways, with no way of controlling them until I placed my hands over them to stop them moving.

The girls were laughing loudly seeing me trying to stop my boobs from swaying and I was warned I’d better get used to the swaying motion quickly because until the party was finished and the inserts unglued there was no way of stopping it and I was warned against trying to use my hands to try and prevent them moving around infront of everyone tonight. They made me walk around for about five minutes getting use to the disconcerting swaying motion up there, then having had a good laugh at my expense proceeded to put the bra back on me and carefully place my “boobs” inside the bra, which while helping reduce the swaying movement also caused the bra straps to press down onto my shoulders as they led me over to the sit down in front of Annette’s vanity.

Then for almost another hour Charlotte proceeded to spin her web of makeup artistry over me, and as I along with the other three girls watched, she transformed me from a dull immature girl into a voluptuous siren with gloriously long hair (curtesy of hair extensions) and facial makeup that made my new glamorous face look possibly eighteen or even twenty years old. It was very odd to just sit there and look at my slowly altering reflection take place, watching a sexy sultry woman slowly emerge and look back at me where before there had been a very plain looking (as far as I was concerned) girl in the mirror.

Every so often my eyes were left bedazzled as camera flashes recorded important procedural steps to my appearance, but the end result had me looking at my new face in shock, amazement, wonder and awe. I knew that in reality, I’d never have a chance of even talking to a girl that looked this stunning and yet here I was, that girl!

Then it was simply a matter of helping me to get dressed while trying not to smudge any of my clothes with the makeup I had on. Cathy came into the bedroom half way through the transformation and seeing it even only half done, swore excited then enthusiastically remarked about how the bitches would choke when they saw me tonight, adding that she bet that Amanda’s boyfriend (who was apparently coming) would definitely try to chat me up.

Annette decided that my legs needed to be a highlight to accentuate the thigh high split in the side of my skirt and before beginning the final task of painting my fingernails, my smooth soft legs were glided (that’s how it felt) into a pair of stay up stockings before being sat back down and having my feet placed into quite high heels.

I was then carefully helped to stand back up and instructed to walk around the bedroom for a while to find my balance, while Charlotte proceeded to make up all four girls as well as herself after they showered. So I was therefore lucky enough to see how each girl looked in her underwear, which wouldn't have been among my wildest fantasies until then. Oddly enough even though I was a man (Just leave that phrase be for he moment please) they didn’t seem to care about me seeing them almost naked which Lois offhandedly explained to me (without my asking her why so she must have had ESP too) was because they all thought of me simply as Wendy and not a guy.

Part way through their getting ready a knock on the door saw Sue and Lois dashing for the bathroom as Annette’s brother opened the door just enough to say he was going to start getting the BBQ lit up and that a few young girls had already arrived and were using the pool, even though it had only just turned 5.30 and the party wasn’t until 7pm. Once everyone was dressed and made up, Annette’s brother was asked to take a group photograph which when I saw the developed photo showed 6 girls dressed extremely provocatively and smiling at the lens.

After a hurried talk about who was doing what, the five older girls left for the kitchen while I was instructed to sit out of sight in the lounge room and watch the TV and I'd make my “entrance” to the party when Sue came and got me. I had now been walking around for almost an hour and felt I’d reasonably mastered my heels although I was constantly panicking about my boobs spilling out of the scandalously low cut top I wore. My skirt’s split while a problem for me to control, had me less worried about showing anything untoward, as Cathy told me the worst that could happen was people seeing my knickers if I sat with splayed legs which I'd already tried to master.

With half my mind on the TV and the other half listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen, I was able to learn that by 6.30 everyone who had said they were coming had turned up as well as a few of the girl’s parents staying as well. Everyone had also been told to bring their own meat which had been put onto a spare table beside the BBQ along with a hug pot of boiled potatoes still in their jackets. Several borrowed horse feed tins now held ice along with assorted soft drinks and alcohol depending on the tins.

When Sue and Annette came to collect me, they told me to answer any questions about my breasts honestly, and say I was wearing surgical inserts that Charlotte had glued onto me in preparation for a teenage actress she would be doing the make up for in a forthcoming movie yet to be made. My clothes were wardrobe items she’d also borrowed so she could see if I got into any difficulties tonight which might then also happen on the film set…… In other words I was an experimental guinea pig, while Sue told me that Charlotte had agreed to offer to do the makeup for any of the other ranch girls provided it was OK with their parents, although obviously she wouldn’t be increasing the sizes of any of their busts!

I was then made to walk around the room to allow my body to adjust again to walking in heels before being led towards the kitchen and outside. Steve who had just stepped into the kitchen to get something saw me between Annette and Sue and with a face that looked more shocked than surprised started chuckling. After asking us to let him get back outside to watch what happened he picked up a plastic bottle and accompanied by Cathy dashed back outside. With a few last deep breaths, and a gentle push from behind, I walked outside just infront of Annette and Sue.

Oddly enough yet unsurprising, no one recognised me as I walked over to a tin and cautiously bent down to pick out a can of soft drink and pick a straw out of the cup placed next to it. As I carefully stood back up, relieved that my boobs hadn’t fallen out, I watched the faces on a number of the ranch girls and saw curiosity but no recognition. I saw my main nemesis’ Amanda and Sally who were wearing bikinis and were accompanied by two boys who appeared several years older than either of them, look at me angrily (than at their boyfriend's faces showing unconcealed lust). Some of the parents, particularly one dad looked at me perhaps in envy or perhaps jealousy but it wasn’t until Cathy casually asked me if I wanted a baked potato with my meat that the curtain finally dropped and it definitely dropped “very” noisily.

Charlotte had gathered several parents she was talking with and ushered them away from where I was standing when Cathy asked about what I wanted to eat, so Charlotte was obviously starting on any damage control that might be required about my daring attire as a 14 year old girl. Meanwhile every ranch girl there was swarming round me to ask the inevitable questions, about my makeup, my clothes and very definitely about my sudden new cleavage which they’d thought about before.

Better yet Amanda’s and Sally’s boyfriends made them have to join them in coming over to speak to me, neither boy not yet knowing who I was but thinking I had to be definitely hot, also not yet knowing my age. Amanda’s loud voice cattily informed both boys about my age first, then about how it was obvious I had to be wearing inserts and that I hadn’t even had a period yet.

That didn’t stop me from having both of them take my right hand gently and say who they were, which had me smiling shyly and saying my name in return. Sally was trying her best to be spiteful (as Sue happily told me later was because she was so jealous of my appearing to be so sexy infront of her boyfriend) and after cattily remarking again about me not having even bled yet, stood back to see the effects of her words on everyone surrounding me.

The fact I had by then already openly admitted to everyone the reasons for why I was dressed the way this evening, then having Charlotte loudly announce from over where she stood with most of the older people with her, that she’d do the face of any girl who would like to see how they looked made up professionally later on saw Amanda storm off and dragging her boyfriend away as well and make me want to jump for jot in happiness at having finally bested her. A loud number of excited “I want to” answers in response and nobody else making catty remarks to me about how I looked saw that no one else seemed to mind either. Several of the girls including Nicole and her sister Juliet cunningly were able to carefully squeeze one of my breasts when no one was looking and they all gasped in shock as I calmly suggested they not squeeze them so publicly. I was the “in” thing at the party and in all honesty had to admit I loved the attention although personally speaking, felt that Dianne still looked far more beautiful than me (sigh, sigh).

After I’d had a chance to talk to everyone and modestly lap up all their gushing compliments, I sat down to eat something at a table that normally only seated 6 but now had another eight more chairs around those six all filled with eager ranch girls talking to me. After a while Sue came over and asked me to follow her and led me over to a group of adults, where I again became the centre of attention Charlotte explained to the adult mothers (mainly) what she had done to make my appearance look so dramatic. Perhaps because of my nervous shyness and because the adults now quietly were aware of the true reason for my attire being as it was, saw me being genuinely complimented with a few of the mothers even subtly squeezing my breasts with delighted surprise and confirming with Charlotte the costs involved.

After a while I was able to escape and quickly found myself back among the ranch girls, who were now all wearing wet swimsuits. I also found my hand being gently held by Will and his sister Dianne simply looked at me with a look of embarrassment at her brother’s behaviour. Dianne might have only been almost 14 herself but her black one piece swimmers definitely showed off her blossoming bosoms and as for her derriere…….well I was completely infatuated anyway.

All the ranch girls were disappointed I couldn’t go swimming, citing my lack of bathers along with the makeup as my excuse. When Charlotte came over to our group and casually told me I was going to get a reduction up top now and to follow her, I blushed red but got up to follow her inside. When I came out 20 minutes later it was wearing much smaller inserts which although obviously still quite visual due to the bra and top I had on, now had me as a “B” cup and more in proportion with the rest of me. When Charlotte came out infront of two mothers about half an hour after me, it was clearly obvious where my originals must have gone, as a smiling Mrs Cameron and an equally happy Mrs Smyth walked by our ranch girl table towards a seated group of adults who boisterously greeted their return.

Charlotte stopped at our huddle and asked if any of the girls wanted a facial like mine which immediately saw excited girl voices squealing “yes”. So choosing Nicole and Amy along with me to follow her she led us back into the house and upstairs to Annette’s bedroom where she selectively handed a case to each of us then picked up her table and led us back downstairs and outside. By then of course the kitchen’s back doorway was crowded with excited teenage girls waiting our return and it was with some difficulty Charlotte managed to work a kitchen chair as well as her table and herself outside to a nearby outside power outlet on the house’s back wall.

Annette came over to help and was quickly apprised of the need for some strong lighting dashed back inside and came out soon after toting several lamp posts with multiple lights attached. Once everything was made ready, Charlotte foolishly asked who wanted to be first in the chair and looked on as several young nubile bodies try to seat themselves onto the single chair at the same time. Eventually she declared Helen should go first and asking her parents if they were OK with their daughter being made to look older, received affirming nods from them and proceeded to work her magic.

With slow and deliberate movements as well as explaining to everyone what she was using and doing, Helen quickly morphed into a stunning beauty much older than her young face normally looked. Charlotte had deliberately ensured there was no nearby mirror handy, instead using a woman’s compact mirror to show Helen how she looked. With an excited gasp Helen flew up out of the chair and dashed off inside to the downstairs powder room along with her mother hurrying after her. Her butt had no sooner lifted off the chair before Denice’s was already on it with a look of excitement in her eyes.

By now, everyone was gathered around jostling to watch Charlotte’s skill being displayed. Of course each recipient had to have her photo taken for Charlotte’s resume as well as any owners of camera being asked to take photos with the promise of the development costs being covered by parents or the girl if they didn’t have a personal camera.

A slowly expanding group of immature sirens swelled in number as the production line got into full swing. Some of the made up ranch girls were also wearing different coloured hair as either she or her mother where available asked how different she’d look with another hair colour. Oddly enough you’d think, if the girl’s parents were at the party, instead of the parents looking shocked at the transformation of their little girls into instant sex sirens, actually seemed quite proud of their progeny’s new appearance, with two mothers and fathers in particular preening themselves over their daughter’s new adult look.

Charlotte then asked for an adult volunteer next and with the new appearances on Mrs Smyth and Cameron faces as testimony, had no difficulty in finding volunteers among the few other mothers there and shortly afterwards Mrs Hall joined the gushing throng of sultry made up adult women and immature teenage sirens.

When Charlotte loudly called out Amanda’s name, her boyfriend started shouting out suggestions as to changes he’d like to see happen to his girlfriend. Listening to Amanda’s request as to what she'd like to have done to look older, Charlotte evilly went and altered her appearance to that of a haggard old crone. Since Amanda had no way of seeing what Charlotte was doing to her face, the giggles and smirks as she slowly morphed must have had her thinking she must have looked a total stunner when it was finished.

When told by Charlotte that she’d finished and was handed the small compact mirror, to loud raucous laughter Amanda screamed in horror and dashed off into the darkness of the backyard along with her coterie of followers. One of the private horse male owners Paul, asked Charlotte to turn him into an ogre and ten minutes later had his request filled. Unlike Amanda however, Paul was more than happy to go around trying to scare people till he was picked up by his parents sometime after midnight.

At least Charlotte wasn’t completely vindictive as when she finally called a halt to doing any more facials, she went and found Amanda and quietly took her back inside up to Annette’s bedroom where she proceeded to turn her into the almost ultimate blonde bombshell pin up poster. Admittedly Amanda already was an emerging beauty anyway, so Charlottes skills only highlighted the potential future Amanda in four or five year’s.

I also got to meet Martina who Charlotte enthusiastically introduced me to and was lead off by Tina to a quiet area of dimly lit backyard and given lots of advice and feminine tips to use if I ever felt the need to go further down the path. It’s a pity that Tina spoke to me in private because her advice and tips were endorsed by Charlotte the following day.

When loud shouting from the house next door signalled the final countdown towards the New Year, everyone gathered into a loose huddle as a number of loudly slurring adult voices counted down to a shouted “Happy New Year” and hugs and kisses. My particular bracelet “Will” had been like a limpet attached to my hand since almost from the moment I had first stepped outside tonight, and somehow or other managed to cunningly give me a peck on the cheek then wish me a happy New Year before trying to vanish, as his sister Dianne (double sigh now she’d been made up by Charlotte) laughed both at my shocked expression as well as at her own brother’s persistence towards me.

After various hugs and air kisses amongst everybody there, people started drifting away deeper into the backyard’s dimness. Amanda’s trio of friends and their boyfriends wondered off with paired up and hands held together, going behind the largest outcrop of bushes where they had earlier on cunningly carried a set of table and chairs shortly after arriving, reserving it for their own private enclave. There was alcohol at the party but none of the teenage girls or guys seemed to be openly drinking any of it although certainly Amanda’s group smelt faintly of booze with all three girls were decidedly giggly to some extent.

Just before 1am Sue came over to our group that included Dianne, Nicole, her sister Juliet, Helen, her friend Amanda M along with Will and Paul and myself and told us the party would be finishing up shortly and we should go around reminding everybody to clean up the area around them and make sure any garbage was placed in the bin near the side gate (which was already overflowing). This saw our group reluctantly get up slowly, inquiring of each other when their parents were calling for them and if they’d be at the ranch tomorrow, while perhaps being more intrepid (or stupid) than the others I, accompanied by Dianne and her brother walked towards the largest outcrop of bushes in the backyard to let my enemies know about the party finishing up.

As we got closer I could hear a hushed female voice desperately slurring something which had the three of us stop suddenly, nervous about what might be going on behind the bushes and whether we (or rather “me”) should interrupt. Without thinking I spoke loudly enough for the people behind the bushes to hear me tell them the party was finishing up and they needed to make sure everything was tidy and they’d also need to return the furniture from where they’d got it from.

I heard a girl's muffled shout and sotto voiced remarks that definitely sounded odd while the girl sounded like she was trying to object to something and was being prevented from doing so. Without thinking about any possible consequences to my actions I proceeded to dash around behind the bushes in case someone needed help.

The sight that confronted me was a naked and drunkenly struggling Amanda being held by one of the boys in her group standing behind her with one of his hands trying to cover her mouth, while her nude boyfriend was standing infront of her with an obvious erection and trying to suckle on her breasts. A few yards further away lying on a towel on the ground was a just as naked but comatose Sally whose legs were obscenely splayed apart, while the third one of the trio Joanne, was also lying on the ground several yards further on from Sally except she was almost fully clothed except for the fact that her dress was hiked up over her stomach and showing off her underwear that had something white sticking out.

My sudden appearance while at the same time urgently asking if everything was alright saw Amanda look back at me hopelessly frightened as her captor behind her suddenly let go of her as if she was on fire. Amanda tried to move away that caused her to only stumble to the ground in an untidy heap, while her boyfriend started menacingly advancing towards me, only stopping suddenly at the appearance of Dianne and Will who eventually and reluctantly had followed after me.

Without the slightest hesitation but not saying who should do so, I urgently demanded someone go get Sue and Steve as the sounds of Amanda vomiting onto the grass underneath her seemed considerably louder to my hearing. It also prompted her boyfriend to hurriedly race over to get his clothes and start putting them back on while calling out to the third guy (unseen) to get dressed quick so they could piss off out of here.

Hearing Will’s high pitched voice from somewhere on the other side of the bushes urging someone to hurry (hopefully only Sue and Steve), made me finally begin to start considering the consequences of my actions if anything had gone wrong or no one had quickly come to my assistance. I also realised now that it was Will who had left to get help while Dianne remained behind with me. If my sudden appearance hadn’t been so effective in stopping what was obviously taking place, then perhaps Amanda’s boyfriend and his mates, might not have only carried on with what they intended to do, but possibly even seeing myself or Dianne or perhaps even the both of us ending up the same way Sally was.

Steve’s firm voice viscously asking “what in hell is going on here” saw the scene in front of me (for the second time in only a minute or so) being frozen in time as Sue and Lois made loud exclamations of shock before hurriedly trying to prevent anyone else seeing what was going on. Steve quickly grabbed Amanda’s boyfriend getting dressed and hurriedly threw him to the ground while ordering his two cronies to do the same.

As Steve did this, I quickly moved over to a now kneeling Lois who was beside an obviously drunken comatose naked Sally. I clearly saw my second vagina for the evening as instinctively my eyes searched for the area Lois was speaking to herself about. There appeared to be a lot of fluids there along with a large number of bruises along the insides of both thighs and legs as well as covering most of her breasts. I hurriedly looked away and spotted her clothes on the ground nearby, before getting up to collect them. Without thinking about it I returned with them to kneel beside Lois before starting to put her panties back over her feet and pull them up her legs so as to finally give a still unconscious Sally some sort of modesty. I started to try and put her bra back on to have Lois exasperatingly tell me she’d do it a lot quicker than me and proceeded to prove it.

Letting Lois continue to get Sally dressed again I watched Steve remain poised threateningly above the three teenage boys, questioning them thoroughly and where necessary roughly. Sue had by now managed to get all the curious ranch girls back well away from the area and towards the house with the various fathers assisting her. The six mothers at the party were now arranging car lifts home, or assisting Lois dress Sally or helping a now slowly awakening and badly disorientated Joanne up off of the grass and away from everyone else, in an effort to find out what had occurred.

All the while a still completely naked Amanda had been left to lie on the grass and vomit until she was now up on her hands and knees, part moaning, crying, while her body occasionally doubled her up forcing her head close to the grass as she painfully dry retched a now empty stomach. Surprisingly, after checking to make sure she wasn’t in need of medical assistance, none of the adult women seemed to care about her. Lois and the others simply came over and seeing he state of her passed a rude comment to her before walking off to try and help console the other two girls. Lois’s “fucking dumb bitch” when Sally now propped up against a chair vomited over Lois’s feet must have meant that perhaps females don’t like seeing other females drunk I guess.

You might have thought I’d enjoy seeing my nemesis hopelessly drunk and embarrassingly naked. If I’d been dressed as a boy, I might well have done so. But for whatever reasons, the fact that here was someone who admittedly I absolutely despised, but was now helpless, friendless, ashamed as well as being frightened about how her parent’s would react when they found out about tonight had me actually feeling sorry for her!

I could never claim to be a “good” Christian in anyway or even a practicing Christian for that matter, but one thing these five days as Wendy had shown me was that being a girl (even a teenage girl) also meant needing to have a completely different mindset from those of a boy. I didn’t feel the need to have to prove myself to other girls as Wendy, and kind of liked the concept of it. Obviously girls (particularly teenage girls) can be spitefully nasty when they want to be, as Amanda had clearly shown me, but if all girls liked each other all the time then how come they needed to cry sometimes? Or why was it that girls could be spiteful to one another one moment and then best friends the next. It was still beyond my scope of understanding, but the one thing I was very certain of was that to be a girl was a hell of a lot more enjoyable then being a young boy day to day.

So, not completely understanding why but doing it anyway, I went and collected Amanda’s clothes and went over to her, making sure that the grass was clean before I knelt down next to her and gently handed her, her underwear. She looked over at me with a look of utter vulnerability on her face that made me feel good about myself for what I’d just done. As she turned away to put them on, I carefully placed her bra in her hands once she pulled her panties up, and again watched in amazement the dexterity of a girl’s hands and with their ability to clip a bra on behind their backs which I’d witnessed for the first time earlier on watching Sue and her friends.

Her efforts to even get dressed this far had exhausted her and as I carefully moved behind her and held her up. She groaned as her mind and body tried to adjust to the sensation of coordination when alcohol was definitely still inhibiting her body’s every move. I carefully placed the palm of my hand onto her back and began rubbing in a circular motion which quickly found her body’s weight pressing back against it. I did this for about a minute or so slowly working up to her shoulder blades and neck areas, earning a new sound that might possibly have been that of contentment.

When she softly told me how wonderful my hand felt, I suggested she might like to try getting the rest of her clothes on and with a groan of agreement slowly started to try and get up to put on the rest of her clothes. As I helped her stand up, she turned round to face me and started getting dressed while clearly showing several nasty bruises on her breasts. “Hickeys” she explained to my unanswered question, while blushing with shame as she informed me that the hickeys were elsewhere as well, which with hindsight I can honestly say now was a little bit TMI. We walked around together for a few minutes while her body started to rid itself of the tightness caused from her vomiting. As we walked I rubbed her back continuously and the way she leaned back against my hand’s movement must have meant that she liked what I was doing.

After a few more minutes of walking around and with almost all of the party goers having either been picked up or given lifts home, Amanda was ordered by Lois to go over and sit down beside her two friends who were thankfully now awake although possibly starting to suffer early hangover symptoms.

Dianne and Will’s parents were still there having helped manage with the damage control. it was agreed to by everyone there that Sue’s efforts at trying to keep everyone away had been for the most part had been successful, as every ranch girl or boy there had accepted the story that several teenagers had deliberately drunken alcohol and gotten drunk. The story being spread was that the girl's parents were all on their way here to pick them up and although several of the ranch girls and boys there thought they might have known who might have gotten drunk, had no idea about the sex that had taken place.

At Annette’s insistence Dianne, Will and I had been taken into the theatre room and told to watch cartoons that Annette queued up for us, because neither Dianne or Will’s parents wanted their children knowing about what actually took place, which Sue (being my “sister” explained to me when we got back to the ranch.

The results of “the interrogation” as Sue called it was that luckily for Sally and possibly Amanda, they were both using contraceptive tablets while Joanne hadn’t been interfered with because she was menstruating. It had been agreed to that for the sake of the girl’s reputations the sex wouldn’t be reported nor would their parent’s be told. All three girls had clearly been ravaged to some extent as all three girls had numerous love bites over their bodies, which they’d have to try and keep hidden from their parents.

The 3 boys involved were told that there were enough witnesses to ensure a conviction if ever the police had to be called which they were warned could still happen if any of the girl's parents were to complain about their daughter’s bodies to the police. Although no one was particularly satisfied with the outcome (except for the three boys concerned), the overriding concern was for the welfare of the three girls, although Steve personally wanted to be allowed five minutes with each boy alone and was quite angry that no one else wanted him to.

As for me, before Charlotte left to go home she gave me another downsizing to that of a small “A“ cup which she felt was more than enough for me to contend with. We also reviewed what I should do in case of any emergencies “anywhere” as well as me promising (again) not to do or say anything about what happened at the party. Later on that morning after very little sleep, Lois lead only Steve, Sue, Cathy, Annette and myself for our dawn ride. Thankfully very few ranch girls turned up on New Year’s Day probably due to their parents being too tired to drive them there and the public were almost non-existent turning up as well.

When a very chastened Amanda turned up the day after New Year’s Day, she was no longer looking like a voluptuous 15 year old siren but more like a normal (?) 15 year old teenage girl. Taking me aside she hugged me and thanked me for being so kind to her when she most needed a friend. The same went for Sally and Joanne so that during the following few weeks we all became quite friendly to one another. The other ranch girls seemed to take this new situation as easily as the situation between us before the party and with Amanda’s changed personality, the atmosphere around the ranch whenever she was there was so much better.

I soon had a few more second hand clothes to wear as Lois, Annette and Cathy cleared out their old clothes as well as buying me several new pairs of underwear. The first weekend after New Year’s Day saw Sue returning along with several packets of developed photos which she told me my mother had already seen! When Charlotte came on Sunday with her own photos (along with some copies for me) it was justification for an unplanned little get together for Charlotte, Steve, Lois, Cathy, Sue, Lois and myself to reminisce over everything that had taken place over the past two weeks.

No longer having Sue there to watch over me was weird at first and by the middle of January having her there with me on the weekends felt entirely different than from our first week together. I’d grown into myself she used to say, often trying to find fault with my girlie mannerisms and being pleased to rarely finding any.

When she arrived one Saturday morning at her usual 4am bringing my mother with her (at my mum’s request) I could have almost died of fright, wondering for the first few hours whether mum would unintentionally “out” me. Instead mum acted like a young teenage girl herself, joining in the morning “boarders” ride and even helping to muck out the stables and yards. In her purse she now carried a photo of her “daughter” around to look at and somehow we became that much closer than ever before. Dot and Smokey took to my mother like a duck takes to water while mum was only disappointed in not being able to meet Will “my boyfriend” who Sue had told her about, (particularly emphasising about the romantic nature of our relationship which she hammed up for my mother’s benefit – or amusement). Luckily for me Will and his sister didn’t turn up at the ranch that day. (phew)

I worked hard that school holiday break, possibly much harder than I needed to because Steve seemed to always be elsewhere more often than not probably with Lois, hiding out somewhere having wild abandoned sex with each other. By the time Sue finally drove me home for the start of school term three day’s from then, I was reasonably comfortable riding a horse and could even comfortably jump a low fence (up to 3 feet high) without falling off.

I knew quite a lot more about horses than most non horse people, as well as knowing how to spot a teenage girl menstruating, which actually isn’t that difficult to do if you know the signs to watch out for. The day before I left the ranch, Sue helped me lose my “Vag” and this may make you laugh………..but the first time I needed to urinate afterwards, I automatically sat down to do so! Sue and my mum had tears of laughter hearing me tell them about it when I got home.

A long time after that school break when I was at home one Sunday while my brother was out at my dad’s, (which was especially rare) mum came into my bedroom holding a hairbrush and said she wanted to brush her daughter's hair before nervously asking me if perhaps she and Wendy could go to the movies a little later.

She justified it by timidly saying she needed a mother daughter day and the expression on her face left me with little alternative but to nod and say I'd love to. I tested the waters by asking mum if she'd mind ironing my good skirt for me, which we both knew was lying crumpled up in a large cardboard carton under her bed, along with all my other Wendy things.