David wondered if his choice was...to become what Mona had become....

The Deception of Choice
Part 5

by Fleurie

Chapter 12

Silence lay heavy, almost tangible, between them. A silence in memory of someone whom David had never met, but whose death weighed heavily on him. Someone whose fate perhaps presaged his own.

David wondered if his choice was as stark as that. To seek an end as Olive had done or to become .... or to become what Mona had become, what Anne was also becoming.

There must be some other way. Some other route.

“You told Anne something about a number, 111 million I think she said .... and China?”

Mona nodded.

“Less important though, but both occurred more than once in connection with the bare branches, although not in English. I presumed ‘China’ was meant rather than ‘china’.”

Mona gave a little, sad, giggle. “111 million willow pattern plates moves us to the realm of the surreal.”

“Could it be money?” David asked. “Pounds, or dollars, or yen, or euros or whatever? I don’t know what the Chinese currency is.”

Mona shook her head. “It could be I suppose. I thought so at first. But .... But Anne thought not.”

“Why not? It seems the most likely .... What else could it be?”

Mona shrugged, a delicate, expressive feminine shrug. “Anne said it was not enough even in pounds. Olive had told her that The Venumar Foundation was on to something massive, something that put them in another dimension.  £111 million, even as pure profit, is peanuts as far as they are concerned. Grace de Messembry would hardly get out of bed for it.”

David stared at her, his mind struggling to come to terms with the enormity of the sum and the fact that it could be considered as insignificant by others.

“But if not money, what can it be?”

Mona regarded him with something akin to pity. “ I don’t know, perhaps will never know. What good is knowing for me?”

David looked back. “I do need to know. If there is no chance of knowing I am lost. Knowing is my one hope of salvation.”

Mona nodded. “Yes. For you. That I can understand. For me once too. But now ....“ Her voice tailed off.

She shook her head as if to clear away the muddle of mental conflict. “But Sophie do not bank too much on salvation. It is a fine word and a noble sentiment. Perhaps too fine and too noble to be other than a luxury here. It can come at too high a price. Survival is a more practical goal.”

She rose. “I must go. I have stayed here too long. There is much still to do before tomorrow.” A slight hesitation. “And I shall be missed.” Her smile, wistfulness enhancing its charm, curved her lips softly. “I need to seek the luxury of salvation elsewhere.”

As she turned for the door, David saw in the light of the table’s reading lamp, the glitter of a tear at the corner of her eye.

He sat there, again conscious of the mingling of the two perfumes in the air. Oppressed by his own helplessness, aware that Mona’s destiny, Anne’s destiny, was also his unless .... unless he could find a way to prevent it. Or unless he followed Olive’s escape route. Perhaps that had been Olive’s salvation?

David too rose, feeling his skirt slide over, caress, the hose on his legs, his bra straps tug at his shoulders as his breast forms shifted their weight to accommodate the movement of his body. He knew also that there were now times when he was less aware of the differences. Already minutes would pass when he wasn’t conscious of his enforced femininity, when he was distracted by other things. Knew too that such times would inevitably increase, prolong, become the norm, as day succeeded day, and week piled on week. Knew that it would become normal for him to use perfume, lipstick, nail polish and that these things would no longer then strike him as alien and wrong. Realised that the passage of time would make his outward appearance of femininity an everyday customary state, no longer to be noticed, but would be accepted by his body, his senses, as the accepted norm.

Not doing anything would lead inevitably to acceptance, to defeat. Outwardly and then, then in time perhaps inwardly too. Passivity was the path to surrender.

He went to the door, his stride constrained by the tight skirt, his feet aching, his body posture artificial, catching himself swinging his hips in the aftermath of his deportment lessons.

Feeling despair he sought the privacy of his own room, seeking refuge in that feminine shelter, surrounded by all the trappings of his journey towards Sophie. But at least with a window from where he could gaze out on a world that now seemed so very distant.

He stood there for a long time, looking out over the walled garden to the fields and woods beyond. Nothing to see of note. The spire of a village church away to the left, perhaps a couple of miles distant. A May garden complete with swallows. “And after April, when May follows, and the whitethroat builds and all the swallows.” Or something like that. Quite irrelevant. The fresh evening air blew his perfume back to him. The sadness, the despair, whelmed up inside.

Time passed. The swallows turned and wheeled in the roseate rays of the evening sun as it slid behind the silhouetted church spire.

David’s thoughts turned and wheeled, aping the gyrations of the swallows but bereft of their happy conclusions.

There was a tap, twice repeated, upon the door.

It was Laura. Her light knocking was but a gesture. A courtesy. She had no need for an invitation to enter.

David turned back to look out into the evening. He heard her light step cross the room and felt her presence at his side. Smelt her perfume mingle with his own. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak. Had no words. Had no thoughts he could communicate.

There was silence between them. The swallows skimmed and tumbled, silhouettes themselves now.

He felt the tentative touch of her hand on his arm. The unsought human contact was strangely comforting. The swallows were full of grace, revelling in a freedom denied to him. But they didn’t care. Didn’t even realise.

“I haven’t seen you all day”, Laura broke the silence. “I hope .... ”

Her sentence tailed off. Again there was silence.

“ Don’t weaken now darling. Not now. You must be strong for tomorrow. For all of us. But for you too. It is so important.”

The pressure on his arm increased and David found himself half turned towards her. “Tomorrow is so important. Just another morning and then we can relax.”

David turned away back to the setting sun. “But it doesn’t finish tomorrow does it? There are going to be many tomorrows. Some important, perhaps others less so. But the same sort of tomorrows. Tomorrows as today, as yesterday. Tomorrows as .... as .... this tomorrow will be.”

David felt his throat dry; searched desperately for words which made coherent sense; knew he was failing.

“What sort of tomorrows are those? Not ones I want to see. Call them not tomorrows. Real tomorrows should have a vestige of hope in them.”

Knuckles white on the window sill. White so that the red painted nails seemed to be bright blood at their tips. Elegant oval wounds that mocked him.

Laura gripped him by the upper arms and swung him round to face her.

“Damn you Sophie”, she said.

She shook him. “Not now! Don’t give up on me now!” Her hazel eyes blazed real anger at David, “How can you say that? No-one knows what tomorrows bring. That is their essence!”

Again she shook him fiercely. “We can prepare for eventualities as we are doing. As I am asking you to do.”

She stamped an emphatic foot. “But we do not know. We are not Gods. Pile tomorrows on tomorrows and you have the unknown.”

David looked at her blankly; emotion seeping out of him, draining away leaving only sick emptiness.

Laura guided him, unresisting, to the sofa onto which he collapsed more than sat. Again conscious of the restrictions of the dress, his knees swivelled together in a parody of elegance. The neck gaping slightly to show a glimpse of his bra. He watched his breasts rise and fall with his troubled breathing.

She sat alongside him, her hands still holding his; trying to communicate calm.
“Listen Sophie”. Her voice was gentler now. “It is my fault. I should have known better. I left you alone too much today. I should have been there to help.”

Her eyes sought his, trying to reassure him of the sincerity of her concern.

“Sophie,” she hesitated, frantically searching for words, for an approach that would diminish the crisis: that would ruin the efforts that had gone before.

“Sophie. ” Again a slight pause, and then .... “Where there is really no hope is where there are no tomorrows. Or perhaps where all control has been taken away, and even then perhaps there is the hope that such may change. Remember the cell?”

Her face was earnest with the corners of her lips softened to the sympathy of a smile.

“Sophie all that has been asked of you here is that you adapt a feminine life style. And so far you have done so and we .....”

“Asked to adapt a feminine .....”David interrupted, bitterness mingled with despair bordering on resignation. “And what if I had refused? What then? What happens to me and to the others?”

David trembled. “You made it plain ....that the alternative was, is .... “ David searched for what the alternative was. Searched for what had been made plain?

“.... and what happened to Olive? .... What .... ”

Laura shook her head “Sshhhhh Sophie. I know that it is under duress. That you feel there is no real choice. Indeed you have no real choice. But we have been here before haven’t we? Nothing has changed today. We all have to make the best use of the circumstances in which we find ourselves.”

“And as for Olive, you do not know. You only guess because it suits your theories and extrapolate your fears on to her fate.”

Laura raised her hand to cut off the objection as David opened his mouth. “I was fond of Olive too remember! And you, you never even met her.”

“Now listen. Sophie I know what brings on this evident despair. It is because you fear the future. You fear what the future may have in store. And perhaps you fear you may not be strong enough to deal with it, whatever it is.”

“It is not that your tomorrows lack hope Sophie, because tomorrows always contain hope. It is because you fear your tomorrows.”
Laura took David’s head in her hands. “Trust me Sophie. Trust me to guide you through the immediate tomorrows spent here and to minimise what you have to fear from them. Do as I say and I promise faithfully to you that I will help all I can to find hope in all your tomorrows again”

David looked into her eyes, his face cupped in her hands. He felt the softness of her palms, his own now styled hair nestled between them, one of his earrings pressed against his neck by a finger. Whether her concern was genuine or not, he felt comforted, calmer. If not reassured he felt at least less alone.

He nodded. “Yes”, he said.

Her hands remained soft on his cheeks for a moment longer. “Remember I will do all in my power to help you. As will Anne, Emma and the others. And nothing is ever as bad as your imagining makes it.”

She leant forward and softly kissed his forehead as her hands fell to his lap and grasped his hands again.

“I was going to suggest a quiet meal here but perhaps we should go and join Anne and Emma. Just something simple. I don’t want you to brood. Your thoughts are not good company I fear at present. What you need is distraction, if only listening to foolish chatter. And perhaps a glass or so of wine!” She rose to her feet, pulling David after her. She looked at him, perhaps fondly, perhaps with satisfaction.

“Just one thing. Just to please me. No need to change but do freshen up a little dear. Make-up, lipstick, that sort of thing. Not the time to suggest it I know, but .... just for me?”

The dinner was simple but appetising. Langoustines to start with and then a simple steak and green salad with goats cheese to finish. Anne and Emma were bright and cheerful and kind. Laura presided, making sure that David was never left to his own thoughts but always included in the general conversation. The morning and the inspection was never mentioned as they sat sipping the red wine after the meal was over. In another place, in other circumstances, it would have been a very pleasant meal out.

To start with David felt dazed. Numb. Little by little, as the evening progressed, he managed to join in the pleasantries. The wine helped. Laura saw to that. Not enough for any of them to feel sluggish or in any way below par for the morning’s ordeal. But enough to relax, to induce a spirit of conviviality. To forget the morning and what it might bring.

David watched his red tipped fingers on the wine glass. He noticed without feeling surprised that somehow during the course of the day, or perhaps days, he had acquired a ring on his right hand, the stone of which caught the candle light. He was aware of his breasts and of the bareness of his throat and the V of his blouse where it arrowed to his cleavage. He tried to move as little as possible to avoid the reminder of silk sliding over silk, of new found weight shifting, of constriction of cloth on thigh and the slither of stocking on stocking. But he couldn’t avoid the perfume that assailed his nostrils when he turned his head, the slight tug and touch of earrings, the fall of his hair on the nape of his neck.

He found that the name Sophie now evoked an immediate automatic response. He wondered if he would so readily respond if someone now addressed him as ‘David’. He shook his head to clear the thought and felt his hair move on his head, brushing his ears and neck.

Laura kept them talking, drawing out each of them in turn, encouraging, cajoling them; keeping their minds occupied with the present, forgetting the morrow and what it might bring until this day was finished.

Finally she glanced at her watch and gave a little start.

“Good grief girls! I had no idea it was so late. Must get our beauty sleep in before tomorrow.”

She smiled at them all as they all simulated surprise at the lateness of the hour and made fluttering starts to leave, with many protestations as to how much they had enjoyed themselves and how such was the mutual pleasure that they had of each other’s company that time had simply sped past unnoticed.

David found himself joining in, belatedly, subdued perhaps in comparison to the others, but quite distinctly shadowing their behaviour.

Cheek was laid against cheek, perfume mingled with perfume, as they air kissed and bid fond goodnights with earnest wishes that sweet dreams attend each other’s slumber.

“And above all don’t worry about tomorrow,” Laura said. “I am sure Grace de Messembry cannot help but be delighted with you all!”

“I will just see dear Sophie safely settled in.” This to the others as they all dispersed to their rooms, Laura took David gently by the elbow and walked with him to his door.

The brass corners holding the “Sophie” nameplate winked at him in the corridor’s lighting as David entered the now familiar room with Laura in close attendance.

“Not that I have anything more to say Sophie,” Laura smiled. “Just to reassure you about tomorrow, and to, well I guess, encourage you as well. You have made fantastic progress and no-one can ask or expect you to do more than your best.”

“So remember just a morning to get through then we can relax. One final effort. Whatever your inner thoughts or even mental turmoil, tomorrow you have to try to be the perfect young lady for Grace de Messembry. Walk on egg shells round her and never contradict her! If she asks you how you are enjoying your time here, smile, thank her for her interest, and tell her you are grateful for the opportunity. She is as far from a fool as anyone you will ever meet. She will know perfectly well what your true thoughts are. But she needs to hear your acceptance of the reality she has created for you.”

“She needs my surrender” David said. Not as a question but as a bitter statement.

“No.” Laura shrugged. “She is far too realistic to even think that you would offer that. She would doubtless despise you if you did.. She needs you to accept the reality of the present though, and her power over you. That is all.”

“And to accept it in good grace.” Laura added. “That is equally important. Accept it in good grace as befits a young lady.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Make no mistake you can! You have to.” Laura sounded grim. “The option is that she exercises her power in ways that would make your surrender a matter of total irrelevance. All your tomorrows would then belong to her completely and irrevocably.”

“But it will not come to that. Go and sleep now. Tomorrow will be fine, you’ll see. We will all help. Just get some sleep so that you can give it your best shot in the morning.”

She turned towards the door. “Oh and remember ‘The Rules’; you are expected to behave in a ladylike manner at all times.” At the door she spoke over her shoulder. “That includes sitting to pee and not going to bed naked.”

She opened the door. “Sleep well Sophie dear.” The door closed behind her.

Chapter 13.

So she knew. But then he had always known she would. He had been told that all actions were monitored. That they knew, heard, all that he did. Not a sparrow falls!

His pathetic little attempts at rebellion were dismissed in a throw away line. “Oh and remember ....” They must have laughed at him.

Tiredness swept over David.

He slowly pulled out the blouse from the confines of the skirt’s waist. Unzipped the back of the skirt and wiggled it down over hips, knees and lifting one leg and then another, smoothed it automatically before hanging it from its loops onto a hanger. Then the blouse arranged on top, smoothed, positioned, hung.

He stood there his bra thrusting forward provocatively, his half slip sliding sensuously over silkily hosed legs, calves aching from the elegant heeled shoes. He felt the constriction of his panties, their delicate lace adornment mocking the confinement of the reinforced panels that held his penis tucked back, redundant, just an ugly disfigurement to the pure line. The lace tops of his stockings within a couple of inches of that so feminine looking groin, The thought sprang unbidden to his mind that he really had very good legs. At the age of 24 he suddenly thought that he had really good legs!

Her sat down and in something akin to desperation removed shoes, stockings. He ran fingers down his thighs pushing, dragging the panties down to his ankles and kicked them off as his cock, limp, wrinkled from confinement, long and thin, flopped out. It stiffened slightly, engorged by thoughts of .... who knows what? David did not like to dwell on the what too deeply.

Just his bra now. Prominent, symbolic of his new self. Proud on his chest. Inviting admiration. Delicately formed, seductively proclaiming to all his new identity. Mocking David and his pretence of masculinity. David fumbled behind his back, loosed the elusive hooks and eyes and lowered the bra forward off his chest, the cups heavy with the breast forms. He slipped his arms through the straps and laid the bra beside him on the bed. Thin red lines on his shoulders, less defined lower down apart from the deeper marks where the under wires had pressed into his now hairless chest.

He needed to pee. Damn them he would not squat! So they knew, and it was pathetic, but he had to cling to something. Cling to some vestige of normality, or what had been normality. He watched the golden stream sparkle into the bowl. His penis was still semi rigid but the images which filled his mind, which fed his stirrings of male sexuality, were of lace, and silky satin underwear, of bras containing perfumed breasts. And the images were no longer those to provoke lust but a mirror held up to himself.

And yet the sexual urge was strong. His penis begged for his attention. It grew, and in growing thrust forward, upwards, demanding attention. David’s right hand reached down, touched the satin skin, tentatively moved it gently up and gently down. His hips instinctively moving in response.

David checked. His hand stopped. His hips still moved but more as a plea, begging for continuation. Release would reaffirm masculinity, the surging of his semen would prove, would witness, his essential identity.

And yet afterwards?

Afterwards he knew he would feel diminished, drained, less masculine. He would loose the edge to his masculinity: maleness would droop, aping his prick. And tomorrow he needed more than ever to be testosterone charged. Tomorrow would need him to be fully himself. Aware of himself and of his core identity. Aware that he was a man called David.

He removed his make up carefully. holding his hair back from his face. He washed, the scented soap smooth against his skin. His hands trembled slightly.

In his room the bed was again adorned by a nightdress spread enticingly across the pillow. But it was more than a nightdress. Laura’s warning had in fact reinforced its value as a symbol. A symbol of what shred of independence remained to him.

Damn them again! He would sleep naked, in the state that nature had ordained for him. The nightdress fell discarded onto the floor as he slipped between the cool welcoming sheets.

He had not expected that sleep would come so quickly. His mind was in a turmoil and his racing thoughts could be expected to fend off sleep. They failed. The day had been long and, although he had eaten, the food had been light, insufficient to replace the calories burnt. Physical fatigue fought briefly against his racing brain and won within a few minutes.

He slept deeply. The dreams he had were unremembered, tidied back into his unconscious so as not to trouble his waking.

“Sophie?”

Laura was standing over him. “Wake up Sophie.”

David opened his eyes, struggled back to a waking state to see her standing at his bedside looking down at him. She was holding the discarded nightdress in one hand and as David raised himself on one elbow he thought she was about to comment on it. She seemed to think better of it though, just shook her head slightly and gave a rather sad half smile.

“Time to get up sleepyhead. A big morning in front of us and we will need lots of time to get ready. I want to drop in and see how the other girls are doing so I will leave you to begin.”

Laura was brisk and businesslike now. “Same routine as yesterday morning. Have a nice soak in the bath, pamper yourself with lots of bath oil. Shave very carefully, then skin cleanser ...oh remember all you have been told. And then panties, bra, hold-ups and full slip this time I think. I have already laid them out on the top shelf there ....”

As Laura gestured towards the wardrobe, she became aware that she was still holding the now redundant nightgown in her hand. Again a look of sadness, of resignation, flitted across her face, and she turned away from David, busying herself with hanging up the garment.

“I will be back in about half an hour and will help you with the rest. So you have plenty of time to get everything perfect.” She had turned back to him by now, her composure recovered, her face just showing sympathy and gentle understanding.

“ Mrs Townsend has promised to drop by to see all of you just to give the final guilding to my lilies. Not that any one of you will need it I am sure Sophie. But knowing that one has passed Mrs. Townsend’s scrutiny is so good for a girl’s morale!”

She blew David a kiss as she hurried to the door. It closed behind her as David levered himself out of bed and made his way slowly to the bathroom.

Shaving carefully while he ran the bath, he saw his face, framed by his feminine styled hair, looked almost elfin with his now delicately high arched eyebrows. He had of course known that he had unusually delicate bone structure for a man, and indeed in his early teens had at one time been teased about it by his peers until a couple of bloody exchanges during, in which the sheer fury of his assault had triumphed, had silenced his tormenters. Apart from an old aunt whose cooing claim that his “looks were wasted upon a man” were still a vague irritation, softened only by the generosity and good heart of the old dear in question. Now however his styled hair and brows contrived to betray the identity he had once so fiercely defended.

He turned away, hesitated, and poured a generous amount of bath oil into the water. Stepping in, he sat, then settled back into the tub, the perfumed steam enfolding him. What the hell! There was no point this morning in small gestures. Just get the morning over. Just do as Laura asked. Then, then it would be time to resist, to fight back.

He lay back, closed his eyes and luxuriated. His body, smooth and hairless now, seemed to soak up the perfumed oil, becoming softer, more open to sensation, more responsive to touch. For a while David accepted, enjoyed, the sybaritic relaxation. For a while the despair evoked by his situation faded and the temptation to live for the moment, taking pleasure in the sensuous present was almost overwhelming. It would be so much easier to accept, to go with the flow. He realised he was mentally exhausted and that in a part of his mind there was a longing for the struggle to end, a deep desire for peace.

He reluctantly sat up straight. Then angrily stood up in the bath, reached for the towel and rubbed himself dry.

No! It must not be like that!

He stepped out of the bath. Standing there he lifted the loo seat and peed, manipulating the flow of his urine round the bowl. Small gestures were all he had now. For the moment at least. He must make each and everyone of them!

He left the loo seat up.

He went out into the main room. In the wardrobe, on the top shelf as Laura had promised, were laid out panties, bra, a slip all in a champagne colour. David noticed that the panties and bra seemed somewhat more fancy than the ones he had worn till now. The panties were also considerably smaller; still reinforced around the crotch but satiny and reaching only just over his hips with more lace in evidence. He slid and wriggled into them tucking his genitals back, trying to arrive at a compromise of the smoothest outline with the greatest comfort. The bra also has of a finer material, more sensuous to the touch, more lacy to the sight; probably, he thought, more expensive to the pocket. He slipped it on. Fastening the front hooks and eyes and then swivelling it round to the front as he hooked his arms through the straps. Easier each time. Practice making perfect. The cups crumpled out on his chest, unfilled, unfulfilled, their empty shape mocking their purpose.

The slip, still attached to its small plastic hanger, was of a silky material, with the broad lace edge reaching down just to the top of his knees. The lace was echoed at the bust and extended someway up the straps. As he held it up, resignedly unhooking it from its hanger, he noticed that there was something else on the top shelf; a garment in white, shimmery shiny in the shade of the wardrobe.

Still holding the slip he reached in a brought out a girdle. A pull-on girdle with a heavy lace brocade panel at the front, a little pink bow at the top centre and, and four thin tabs hanging from the bottom.

A voice spoke behind him. “Hurry up Sophie darling.”

It was Laura. She had entered silently, unnoticed by David in his shock at the discovery of the girdle.

“Oh I see you have found the girdle! Isn’t it pretty? I thought we ought to make a special effort for today to feel really feminine.”

David was speechless.

“Veronica., you remember, from the deportment class, suggested it. She thought it would serve as a little aide-memoire for you. A feeling of constriction and the suspender tabs will give those sexy little tugs. Actually she wanted you to wear a little corset but I thought you would like this better.”

Laura smiled conspiratorially at David. “I was right wasn’t I Sophie dear? I thought it would not be fair to spring a corset on you just yet. I do believe it is so important for you to feel relaxed and confident this morning of all mornings. And the girdle should just do that. A little reminder of your posture and a little control for a good line.”

Laura laughed. “You silly goose Sophie! Putting it on over one’s knickers just complicates a girl’s life terribly!”

David stuttered, embarrassed. “I didn’t see it until .... until I had put them on.” He felt he should protest but did not know quite what to say. As usual it seemed too late. And it was better than a corset!

Laura giggled. “Quickly take them off and start again. I will help you with the stockings, fastening them is quite a knack. You will find some 10 denier ones on the second shelf.”

She turned away and busied herself extracting a dress from a cover that she had brought in with her.

David did as she bid. Writhing first into the girdle, the tabs joggling against his upper thighs, and then pulling his panties up with the tabs protruding underneath them. Then sliding the stockings up his legs, smoothing them over the now velvet soft skin of his thighs.

Sophie spoke over her shoulder.”Don’t forget your breast forms darling, and then slip into the slip and let me look at you.”

David wished bitterly that he could forget the breast forms, but obediently he slipped them into place and adjusted them carefully, the weight now almost familiar on his chest.

Sophie turned to see the slip sliding over David’s body as he twisted to ease its passage and adjusted it round his new found bust. She looked at her watch. “Mrs Townsend is due in ten minutes for the final touches,” she said. “So let’s make a start.” She gestured to David to sit at the dressing table. “Oh Sophie,” she giggled. “What wrinkled legs you have? Come here and let me fix the suspenders.”

David felt her hands slide up his thighs, smoothing the stockings as the silk of the slip was pushed up his legs. He felt her fingers, quick and clever, as they brushed against his upper legs clipping first one, then finally the remaining three tabs, firmly to his stocking tops. It was almost unbearably sexy and he felt himself holding his breath, his eyes half closed as desire swept over him.

And then he was sat down at the dressing table, thankful for once that he was tucked, that his arousal was hidden.

Laura chattered away, bright and cheerful as she prepared his face; foundation, eye shadow, blush, mascara, lipstick, liner, lip gloss. The scents, textures, tastes once, a few short days ago, quite alien, but now already recognisable, already identifiable, their provenance, role, and usage known.

At some stage Mrs. Townsend joined them. It was she that added final touches, clucking over him, telling him how stunning he looked, even how any man would find him quite irresistible, how he could pick and choose amongst them. This last as she was doing final minute brush strokes around the corners of his eyes as Laura was tut-tutting over his newly painted finger nails, urging him to be careful until they were fully dry.

If her comments where intended to imbue David with inner confidence and satisfaction they fell far short of their objective. David thought he detected a sudden slight smile on Laura’s lips. Certainly she flashed him a look of sympathy as if to reassure him that at least the thought was kindly meant.

Finally Laura and Mrs. Townsend both pronounced themselves satisfied.

Laura held up the dress that she had draped over the back of the sofa. “Slip this on darling,” she said.

David did as he was told. Mrs. Townsend oohed and aahed, emitting little cries of delight and admiration as the dress was fed over David’s head, carefully so as not to disturb the perfection of the work of art that was his head and face.

Laura fastened it at the back and side, asking anxiously of Mrs Townsend whether she thought it would be suitable. “It is far too dressy for morning wear normally,” she agonised. “But Sophie needs, we all need, to look at our very best, and Grace de Messembry always expects us to put on our glad rags in her honour”.

Mrs. Townsend assured her and David that it was just right for the occasion, not too dressy at all in the circumstances, and moreover was completely, breath-takingly, adorable. As indeed was Sophie, she added and opined further that Laura was a complete genius to have found it and that Sophie was a very lucky girl.

“Yesssss,” said Laura slowly. “Turn round Sophie; let me see how it looks.”

David turned, feeling the shift of his breast, the clasp of the girdle and the tug of the stockings, his hair brushing the nape of his neck.

Laura gave a nod and sigh of approval. “Yes Sophie darling. It is quite ravishing. It will do very well indeed.”

“And Sophie remember,” Laura went into professional mode. “You need to know, in case Grace de Messembry asks. The dress is in a silk mixture, in fishnet with puff sleeves and square elasticated neckline. Picot trim, frilled asymmetric hem and seaming below the bust.”

She passed him a piece of paper. “Learn it off by heart. You are expected to take an interest in these things.” She smiled at him. “And so you should too. You will attract attention. You really do look stunning. Mrs. Townsend does not exaggerate.”

Laura had a little brooch for the dress. New earings to replace the studs he had worn so far. Then the watch and a bracelet for the other wrist.

Laura and Mrs Townsend decided that 3" heels would suffice. Better to move with some modest grace than to stumble through over ambition.

Mrs. Townsend went to check with the other girls. Laura stayed with David in his room for a further twenty minutes, talking to him gently about trivialities, not giving him time to think, perhaps not wanting him to be left alone with his own thoughts, before walking with him to the breakfast room where they were soon joined by first Emma and then Anne.

Both the girls were a delight. Perhaps Anne’s eyes lacked the genuine bright sparkle that lit up Emma’s face, but that was just a detail. David thought of Mrs. Townsend’s remark about being able to pick and choose any man that they wanted and knew it certainly applied to Anne and Emma. He saw Laura imperceptibly incline her head to him and, thus cued, found the words to compliment them both, genuinely compliment them both, on their radiance.

They chattered over a lengthy breakfast. Not eating much, more talk than food, but in a surprisingly relaxed atmosphere. Across at the other table Janet Saggren’s girls seemed equally at ease and smiles and waves were exchanged between the two groups. As David finished his food Laura leant over and slipped a small throat spray into his hand. “Sally sent this for you. The throat spray as promised. Just give it about three squirts as far back as you can. That should be enough to make you siren voiced for a few hours. Do it discretely now.”

David did, his hand largely masking the small silver coloured, Venumar logoed spray capsule, pressing the top three times. It tasted slightly metallic and was icy. He coughed and was aware of a numbing and a tightening feeling deep at the back of his throat.

And then it was time. The two groups rose and drifted together as they followed Laura and Janet up to the roof garden where they stepped out into a warm morning of bright sunshine.

“Grace de Messembry sent special instructions this morning,” Janet explained. “Normally inspections are in the main concourse, but today, well she thought it would be appropriate on such a nice day to have a change. It certainly had the maintenance people running around like scalded cats as they had to improvise something for the new venue.”

The usual tables and chairs where there. Slightly apart from these had been placed a rather grander round wooden table surrounded by a couple of matching chairs and three green leather easy chairs. By the summerhouse there had been set up a long table covered by a white cloth on which could be seen a collection of glasses and a selection of drinks.

They all gathered waiting nervously. David found that his left hand felt slightly sweaty on the small clutch bag that Laura had handed to him. The girls’ chatter had a brittle edge and even Laura and Janet seemed apprehensive, slightly less in command.

The minutes dragged on. David found himself in a little huddle with Anne and Emma. They spoke but nothing was said. The words they uttered were just a background noise to their waiting. David’s words needed a little effort. Soft and throaty he had to almost squeeze them out through a constricted, slightly numb, larynx.

And then they heard the click clack of heels ascending the stairs, changing tone as they reached the roof garden itself. Two pairs of heels unevenly beating out the message of their approach.

Grace de Messembry stalked towards the group, elegant, supremely self composed. The last time, the only time, David had seen her was at the interview when he had cowered, stuttering, half naked, dirty, before her. So long ago it seemed. So long ago in another age. A Tuesday in a different time scale when his manhood had been unquestioned.

She was indeed very beautiful David saw. Every movement of her body in the fresh mid morning sunshine chorused the aptness of her naming. At that first meeting she had been static, sitting behind a desk. Even then she had dominated the room and all therein. Now standing upright, moving with infinite poise and authority, she was literally awe inspiring.

Half a pace behind her David recognised one of the other women who had been at that first meeting. She would be about 5' 8" if it had not been for her heels. Dark hair swept over to the left of her face, the archetypical raven’s wing, with dark brown eyes and crimson lips that curled in mirth easily. Blessed with a sinuous figure with more than a hint of voluptuousness. If it hadn’t been for Grace de Messembry’s presence she would have merited far greater attention.

Laura and Janet both stepped forward in greeting as the girls themselves drew almost unconsciously together as if seeking mutual protection.

Grace de Messembry reached out both hands, clasping first Laura’s and then Janet’s hands in greeting. “How are you both?” She purred. “If looks are any guide at all then you must be both in absolutely splendid form! Helen and I were just saying on our way here that the only downside to these visits is that they make us feel so very jealous!”

She half turned towards the woman at her heels. “You do both know Helen Vanbrugh don’t you?”
“Of course they do” smiled the lady in question. “How are you Janet, Laura. So good to see you both again. And both looking quite stunning.”

Laura and Janet murmured polite greetings, disclaimers of any pretension to beauty but with appropriate acknowledgement of the kindness that had fostered the remarks, and advanced compliments on the unrivalled attractiveness of their visitors.

Then Grace de Messembry was amongst the group of nervous girls standing around the tables. Radiating charm she drifted amongst them. A word here, a word there. Helen Vanbrugh also circulated, with Laura and Janet hovering around them.

Suddenly David was face to face with the head of the Venumar Foundation. “Ah Sophie”, she smiled. “Such an improvement my dear.” She turned to Laura. “You really have worked wonders Laura. I hardly recognised her from the wretched creature that we saw at the beginning of the week. On her way to becoming quite the presentable young lady now. She does you credit.”

“Sophie has worked very hard Miss de Messembry. I have nothing but praise for her. And the other girls find her a delight.”

“Nothing but praise for her? Really? How very encouraging! I do like to see girls taking full advantage of the opportunities we afford them here.” She smiled at David. Perhaps it was his imagination but her eyes, full of genuine humour, were also mocking him.

“I so look forward to discussing all this in more depth with the dear girl presently.”

With that she moved on leaving David ill at ease sensing an ordeal to come. His thoughts were interrupted by a husky contralto voice just behind him. “Sophie. I am glad that you have managed to transition so successfully from our first meeting.” He turned to find Helen Vanbrugh smiling at him.

“Tell me. Are you settling in well? Not that I need hardly ask. You seem to be blossoming! Is Laura looking after you well?” Helen smiled at him inviting replies.

“Yes thank you Miss Vanbrugh. Indeed Laura has been very kind” David was unsure of what was expected of him and conscious that his own voice, although slightly now less constrained, matched Helen Vanbrugh’s husky sexiness.

Laura, ever watchful, had moved to his side, turning the conversation back to David’s own efforts whilst feeding him his lines, prompting him adroitly, encouraging him in making anodyne replies that glossed over his inward struggles and resentments and paid lip service to, appreciation of, the kindnesses he had experienced that week in the Holding Wing.

It was all a game David realised. A game in which Helen Vanbrugh and Laura were encouraging him. Working in tandem to school him, rehearsing him perhaps, in preparation for the meeting with Grace de Messembry that loomed on his near horizon. Questions about his perfume, about the cut of his dress. Just reminding him, preparing him.

And then suddenly that meeting was imminent. Grace de Messembry had moved away to the separate round table, and Helen Vanbrugh sketched an apology as she left to join her. There they conferred examining a small pile of files, shuffling through them, rearranging their order. Then Laura and Janet were called over for a short consultation.

A file was picked up, the four faces turned towards the waiting group, and Grace de Messembry beckoned to David and called out.

“We will start with you Sophie dear, as the new girl on the block.”

Chapter 14.

David walked over obedient to the call. It seemed a far longer walk than a mere fifteen or so yards. Apprehension overshadowed the residual anger and defiance that normally occupied so much of his waking hours. He was conscious more than ever of his breasts moving on his chest, the constriction of his girdle, the silky liquidity of all his female clothing. He tried to rid his mind of all but the concentration of walking in his heels, of remembering the hasty deportment lessons he had had. Janet passed him on her way back to rejoin her charges. She smiled at him encouragingly, sympathetically. Laura stayed waiting with his interrogators to be. Her face carried the same expression; willing him to do well, to succeed in pleasing, to pass whatever trial lay ahead.

“Sophie dear do sit down” Grace de Messembry was all charm as she waved David into one of the leather easy chairs. “And do join us Laura,” she continued, pointing to the second chair whilst she herself slid elegantly into the third. David carefully smoothed a hand over the back of his skirt as he and Laura followed her example. Neither did it with quite the same infinite skill which made the simple action a statement of elegant femininity although Laura ran her close. David’s effort was still rather clumsy and he was further unsettled by the knowledge that the others knew and judged.

Helen Vanbrugh remained standing, half leaning against the table, close enough to participate but distant enough to be an observer.

“Do please relax Sophie dear, I don’t know what fearful tales Laura has been telling you,” here a glance of mock protest in Laura’s direction, “but I am not an ogress!” Again perfect white teeth were shown to their best advantage as the seductive lips parted in a smile. “This is just a friendly little chat to see how you are settling in to our regime here. To try to evaluate what progress you have made so far, and perhaps to learn what adjustments need to be made so that things continue to go smoothly in the future.”

“Please believe that it is as much in your interest, as it is in ours, that this little exchange of views take place, and that the benefits to be reaped are mutual.”

“Firstly has Laura been looking after you? Are you comfortable?” Grace de Messembry leaned back a little and looked at David over steepled fingers.

“Yes thank you Miss de Messembry”. It was not his voice at all really, any more than were the sentiments it expressed; husky and sultry to his ears, it took him by surprise to hear it. Feeling more was required, he added. “Miss Laura has been most kind and helpful. I could never have managed without her.”

“I am sure she has. She always is. We are all very fond of her.” Grace de Messembry inclined her head gracefully towards Laura. “ And she speaks so very well of your cooperation in a position which she thinks has perhaps been difficult for you.” Grace de Messembry shook her head slightly and made a little moue of disagreement. “Though there I think she does exaggerate a little. If she has a fault it is that she is over indulgent to the feelings of others. Such a sensitive creature.”

“What do you think Sophie dear? Surely your position over the last few days has improved drastically of late?” An imperious eyebrow was raised inquisitively. “When I think of the state that you were in before, I would have thought that the transfer here would seem sheer bliss!”

David stuttered. “Indeed Miss de Messembry, it is far better in many ways, but still .... but still ...”

He was interrupted by Grace de Messembry who half turned to Laura. “I have been so worried that perhaps Sophie would blame me a teeny weeny bit for her sojourn in Reception. I know it is necessary but of course one can’t explain that to the poor darlings and they must feel quite distraught and so neglected!”

The mocking eyes turned back to give David the full benefit of their brightness. “And that is why dear we do pamper you here a little. I have been criticised in some quarters for spoiling my girls, but I have always maintained that to get the best out of a girl she must feel that we, in our turn, are sparing neither of resources nor indeed of affection”

“Am I not right Sophie dear?” This was a direct question.

“Yes Miss de Messembry.”

Again the eyebrow lifted interrogatively delicately. “And you have appreciated our efforts I trust? The Beauty and Hairdressing Salons. The library? The restaurant, This delightful roof garden? Where else would a girl find anything to match them and all under the same roof.”

“They are very fine Miss de Messembry, very fine indeed, I have not experienced their like before, but.... “

Again the ‘but’ triggered an interruption. This time from Laura. “The proof of the pudding is in the eating Miss de Messembry. You can see for yourself the extent to which Sophie has benefited, and in such a short time!”

“How right you are Laura. Practical progress is the only real yardstick. Now when I last saw you Sophie dear you were even under a misapprehension about your name as I recall.”

“What is your name dear?” Again the direct question.

“Sophie,” David said. “My name is Sophie.” David hesitated then decided that ‘Jackson’ would be an unwelcome addition.

“No doubt about it now?”

“No doubt. My name is Sophie.” David admitted.

“Last time the topic came up you were less than enthusiastic. You had, as I recall, some foolish reservation about the name.” Grace de Messembry wrinkled her forehead very slightly as if trying to recall the details. She looked sideways at Helen Vanbrugh. “Can you remember Helen?”

“If my memory serves me well Grace, I think that Sophie found the name rather too feminine for her then perception of herself.”

“Of course. I remember now. So foolish. I was, as I recall, quite irritated. So unlike me but it seemed so unrealistic of her in the circumstances.”

Again addressing David. “Do tell me if there is any doubt in your mind now Sophie dear?”

“No doubt Miss de Messembry.”

“You are happy with the name Sophie?”

“Yes.”

“Happy with its femininity?”

“Yes.”

“You no longer feel it is at odds with your perception of yourself?”

David’s pause was almost imperceptible. “No. No longer at odds.”

“Happy with your femininity indeed?”

This time the pause was just that little bit longer. And when the answer came it was a little rushed as if trying to make up for the time lost in the pause. The words tumbling over each other.

“I am happy .... happy as Sophie .... happy here being feminine. Laura has been so very kind .... and all the others .... making me happy here.”

Grace de Messembry almost purred. She sat back even further. Her steepled fingers relaxed into lightly clasped hands. In contrast Laura leant forward further. Helen Vanbrugh shook her head slightly, sympathetically almost.

David knew he had erred. That he had lost the game, had not convinced. He had fallen at the first real hurdle.

All waited for Grace de Messembry. She took her time. Then she shrugged slightly and smiled to herself. She looked at Laura and smiled at her.

“Don’t worry. I don’t expect miracles in a couple of days. The inner self always lags behind outer appearances.”

Now it was Sophie’s turn to receive the smile. “Don’t they Sophie dear? Never mind. Outer appearances do count for a lot, and you have made a promising start there. All we have to do is to work together to help your inner being to catch up.”

David felt her gaze resting on him, considering, calculating, estimating.

“As I said at the beginning the value of this little chat is to evaluate progress and help formulate future plans to benefit us all.”

“That’s all I think.” This to the world in general. “Apart for one or two loose ends.”

David was aware of a sudden tension in the air. He saw Laura lean forward yet further looking worried.

“There are a couple of reports that have come to my attention that would suggest that even the outer Sophie is sometimes perhaps more wilful than is desirable in a properly brought up young lady.”

“Perhaps you would like to comment on them Sophie dear. I am sure there are perfectly simple and rational explanations with which you can put my mind at ease.”

Again she smiled as if inviting confidences. An all-girls-together smile. The smile on the face of the tiger.

“Firstly you seem to have a habit of going to bed naked. Sleeping in the buff as I believe it is called. Is there some medical or psychological cause? Does this particular nightdress offend your idea of what is becoming in a nightdress, or is it perhaps just girlish wilfulness?”

David felt chill. Although the sun was stronger now as noon approached, yet it seemed to have lost all warmth. Surely not wearing a nightdress was not worthy of her attention? Not a crime?

“Come Sophie dear, I am waiting. If there is a medical reason then the very best help is at hand within our organisation. If the nightgown displeases then you have only to mention it to Laura and I am sure alternatives can be found. If wilfulness .... well if wilfulness I do so hope it is indeed truly girlish and not another instance of foolish hankerings after times past.”

David glanced desperately at Laura. Surely she would not have told her?

“Well Sophie dear?”

David thought desperately. “No real reason Miss de Messembry. Just that I have always slept that way. even as a small bo... even as a child. I think it was .... “ Inspiration came. “I think it was because my parents slept that way too. I just acquired the habit.”

“Oh well done Sophie dear.” Grace de Messembry brought her hands together in what could be mistaken for ironic applause. “The simple explanations are always the best. But you must realise dear that you are here to acquire new and better ways of doing things. At least we think they are better, and without wishing to undermine any lingering parental authority, I must ask you to humour me in conforming to our little rules.”

Grace de Messembry looked across at Laura. “Perhaps we can find a half way house for dear Sophie,” she said. Something light and minimal. A sort of gossamer baby doll effect would perhaps please her more. Far less constricting. Hardly there at all and so pretty and feminine”

“Would that be better Sophie dear?” Again the delicately poised eyebrow. “I would hate that slumber was denied to you because of any lack of flexibility on our part.”

David knew defeat and bowed his head. “Thank you Miss de Messembry. That is very kind of you. I am grateful. I can think of nothing nicer”

Laura rose and came to stand close to David, a hand resting gently on his shoulder.

“That is indeed thoughtful Miss de Messembry, I am sure we can find something very suitable that Sophie will not be able to resist wearing. I am sure she will be just thrilled.”

“There you are Sophie dear. You must realise that most of your little problems and worries can be easily solved once aired.”

Again the smile. In another other than Grace de Messembry it might be thought to be overdone but with her it just seemed naturally part of her bright confident self. It also seemed to take on infinite shades of meaning, including a cat and mouse menace.

“Which brings me to my second query. Again Sophie dear you will forgive me if it appears trivial but as I explained we do have rules and, silly though they may seem, rules need to be obeyed. otherwise chaos is let loose. Where does one stop once exceptions are the order of the day?”

David was filled with foreboding. He felt Laura’s hand tighten slightly on his shoulder.

“You seem to have an aversion Sophie dear to being seated whilst urinating. Well at least being seated when that is your sole purpose. When there is another contemporaneous reason, then you have no such inhibitions and in those circumstances apparently urinate without difficulty. Tell me is this also the result of childhood influences?”

David felt Laura’s nails now digging hard into his shoulder.

God she knew even that. His little pathetic act of rebellion. Pathetic at the time, but no longer seeming so little, gaining in importance by the second as Grace de Messembry awaited his reply.

Laura’s nails so painful through the thin material of his dress. If it was not Laura who had told them, then they must have eyes, ears everywhere. Must know everything.

“Miss de Messembry. I am sorry... I did not think .... Did not think it important. I ....”

David floundered.

“Did not think Sophie dear? Really. Did not Laura specifically remind you of the need to conform in this respect?”

“Yes she did. I am sorry. I ..... I just forgot at the time”

“Just forgot at the time? Oh? On how many occasions did you just forget at the time Sophie dear?

Laura cut in. “Miss de Messembry perhaps I am to blame. Perhaps I was not insistent enough, not emphatic enough. Sophie had so many instructions, so much to remember”

“No Laura I don’t think you are to blame at all. You did tell her. A girl has to take some responsibility for her actions. But perhaps the claim that dear Sophie had too much to remember has some validity.”

Grace de Messembry seemed pensive. “Yes the dear girl had too many things to remember. So difficult I expect, all those different priorities jostling for attention. One is almost bound to overlook something.”

She smiled again at David, her green eyes concerned. “Is that the reason Sophie dear? Where you just overwhelmed by the sheer weight of things to remember? Just a poor confused creature desperate to do her best, to please, but defeated in her laudable endeavours by the enormity of the task?”

Somewhere in the midst of that last speech Grace de Messembry had stopped smiling. The menace less veiled now.

David felt physically sick. He tried to respond, tried to recover. “Yes Miss de Messembry. I am sorry. It won’t happen again. I will remember in future. I promise. I am at fault and I am sorry. I just forgot. I do try to please. Please.”

David felt his pleading sounded as pathetic as his gesture had been. The fact that he was pleading at all, was by fear reduced to this, was humiliating.

“I do so want to believe it was a mistake, a mere lapse of an overburdened memory, Sophie dear,” mused Grace de Messembry. “I would hate to think that it was a wilful act of defiance as I am afraid did first cross my mind. If such were indeed the case I would be terribly disappointed to think that a girl of mine would be stupid enough to indulge in such a childish futile gesture. And of course it would reopen the question of your commitment to our little community. If you inner self is really so obdurate, if your outward compliance were to be shown to be a mere sham, it would require quite another approach from us. It would sadden me to think that you had been deceiving me Sophie dear. Deceit is quite the ugliest trait in a girl.”

The ‘dear’ which had seemed so harmlessly linked to his name seemed now to have assumed a decidedly more threatening aspect.

“Please Miss de Messembry I just forgot, I just forgot. I meant no disrespect. I am a .... I want to be a good girl. Truly I do”

David was babbling now. Frightened though he knew not why nor of what. Ashamed of being afraid. Ashamed of what he was. Ashamed of what she was making of him.

Both of Laura’s hands were now clenched on his shoulders; tomorrow the marks would show purple

“I am sure Sophie is really contrite Miss de Messembry. She has honestly tried so hard.” This from Laura, her voice low in its intensity.

“What do you think Helen? I do so want to believe dear Sophie as Laura urges. But am I just being gullible, letting my trusting nature betray me into foolishness?

Helen smiled at David. “Grace, It will do you good to be foolish once in a while. But in this case I honestly don’t think you are being. I am sure you are right to be guided by your more charitable instincts. I am on Laura’s side. Sophie has done remarkably well in most things, and she has indeed had an awful lot of things to absorb and to remember. And ....”

Helen’s smile was gentle. “And I am sure she will not make the same mistake again. Can’t you see the poor girl is terrified. I think you should give her another chance.”

Grace de Messembry silently regarded David, her head slightly on one side. Then she sighed. “You see what good friends you have in Laura and Helen Sophie dear? Such staunch advocates in your defence.”

She smiled at him.

“Well I am quite persuaded that it was a mistake. So we will dwell no more on it. It’s over and done with!”

David felt Laura’s hands start to relax. He himself felt the sun’s warmth again.

“All we have to do now is to ensure that it is not repeated. I am sure you would wish to ensure that we don’t have to re-run this scene next time we meet Sophie dear? We really must find some sort of aide-memoire to assist you.”

Laura’s hands tensed again.

“I believe we all agreed earlier that the great value in these little get-togethers was that any little problem once aired could be easily resolved, and I think that this is yet another example of that.

Grace de Messembry’s fingers were steepled again as she nodded gently. “I will ask Dr. Walters to perform one of her little interventions. You remember dear Victoria Helen? It worked for her and I am sure it would be of equal benefit to dear Sophie. Remind me to give her a ring as soon as we get back Helen and she can liaise with Laura as to a suitable time and date to perform the operation.”

David felt himself imprisoned in a small cold cocoon. Numb and seeing, hearing, the others as though a glass panel. No longer connected to their world. Even the feel of Laura’s fingers digging in to his shoulders was unreal.

Grace de Messembry’s voice filtered through to him from that other world.

“Nothing to worry about Sophie dear, just a local anaesthetic and Joyce Walters is one of the very best of our young surgeons. Just a little soreness perhaps for a couple of days and then you will be as right as rain.”

David’s eyes watched horrified as her lips continued to move and the words issued forth.

“Nothing too drastic of course. Oh no not that! Don’t look so terrified dear! Although perhaps .... Well .... but for the present all Dr. Walters will do is to make a little incision in the shaft of that little organ that is the cause of your current problem, just above the sack containing your little testes. A sort of little slit into the canal inside so that the urine, or indeed any liquid emission whatsoever, is diverted out at the base. No more of that barely controllable spraying or spurting. Just a nice steady feminine flow.”

Grace de Messembry regarded David sympathetically.

“I do apologise if this embarrasses you Sophie dear, I know that you girls don’t like to be reminded of these apparent deformities that so detract from your feminine persona. Quite a disfigurement, and all that tiresome tucking, not to mention the potential embarrassment if, or rather when ....”

Grace de Messembry made a little moue of distaste.

“But we must face facts, unpalatable though they may be, and at the moment you are encumbered with such an organ and we cannot always just ignore the fact. But nothing to worry about I assure you. Think of it as similar to having your ears pierced. Admittedly the hole is rather larger but Dr. Walters will insert a small hollow plug, a really good silver one, quite decorative really, nothing plasticky or cheap, on the same principle as the initial ear studs, to keep the gap open till at least it heals.”

“There is apparently no physical impairment in the function of the organ itself. I am told that the erectile function is unimpaired. Although .....”

Grace de Messembry turned to Helen. “Didn’t Dr Walters mention something about a curious psychological effect at dinner the other day Helen?”

“Yes Grace, as I understand it, there can be a sort of mental block whereby the brain accepts that the penis is incapable in fulfilling its primary role of impregnation and, well I am no scientist, but in layman’s terms it simply gives up trying. Accepts the inevitable as it were. It’s all in the mind of course but it no longer responds to the customary stimuli. Flaccidity becomes its normal and permanent condition. But of course not enough research has been done on it to be 100% sure. The data base is just not big enough to rule out error.”

“Thank you Helen,” Grace de Messembry turned again to David and said reassuringly. “But it is still very encouraging Sophie dear. Not only will it make sitting de rigeur, ruling out any future lapses in your overcharged memory, but if Helen is correct it will, with luck, save you from those embarrassing moments that certain of my girls, I am told, experience, when the line of their apparel is quite threatened by unwelcomed arousal of a sexual nature. Of course there are chemical preventatives but at this stage I do not favour such. It is so important that my girls maintain their complete natural integrity without the complication of drugs dulling their reactions.”

All this washed over David. He heard. He comprehended. But somehow he could not believe that he was listening to it. That it involved him. He tried to establish contact through concentrating on the pressure exerted by Laura’s fingers, but they had relaxed. They rested now gently on his shoulders communicating only resignation and acceptance.

“Please,” he managed . “Please Miss de Messembry I do not want .... Please ....”

“Sophie dear, you must not worry your pretty little head over such trivialities. There is no pain I assure you. All that is required is a little local anaesthetic. A mere pinprick. Just a teeny weeny little discomfort for a couple of days which will be amply compensated, I am sure, by lots and lots of special pampering by Laura and the rest of the girls.”

“Just one little detail to bear in mind for Sophie Laura. Tight constricting undies should be avoided for at least a week. Has Sophie lots of cami knickers in her wardrobe? Nothing revives a girl’s morale more than saucy floating undies! And lots of flouncy feminine dresses will be the order of the day.“

Grace de Messembry’s infectious enthusiasm failed to communicate itself to David

“You will just love it Sophie dear.”

Grace de Messembry spoke over David’s head directly to Laura. “You have my full permission to pamper dear Sophie extravagantly Laura. Just liaise with Joyce as to date and time. No need to leave the building. Sophie’s room will be quite adequate. It is really a very simple procedure, over in twenty minutes. She needn’t miss a meal.”

David saw her, saw them all, as through the wrong end of a telescope. He shook his head to clear them from his vision, wearily hoping against hope that they would disappear.

“I think that just about covers all the ground here” he heard. “I know Laura thinks these inspections are a little disrupting, but it really is of immense value to me just to meet up with the girls, chat with them, and sort out any minor hiccups. And I really believe the girls appreciate it too deep down.”

She turned her attention back to David. “Sophie dear, unless you have any questions of your own to ask, I think that we have finished with you. I am so glad you have settled in so well and even more that we have together managed to iron out any small irregularities that might have impeded your future progress.”

She beamed at him.

“No questions? Good. Could you ask Anne to join us please. Oh and to bring three schooners of ‘Dry Fly’ with her if she would be so kind.”

She looked more closely at David. “And do have one yourself Sophie dear. You look quite pale. It must be all the excitement.”

To Helen and Laura she said, “I think that perhaps the girls lead too cloistered a life here. A breath of the outside world might be good for them from time to time. And I have plans for that.”

David gathered his feet under him and rose. Uncertain of his balance. Uncertain of anything except a sensation of numb isolation founded in despair. He faced them, lifting his eyes to theirs.

“Thank you Miss de Messembry,” he heard himself say. He turned towards the little group of girls all anxiously awaiting their moment in the spotlight. As an automaton he commenced to walk the few yards that separated them.

As in a dream he heard Grace de Messembry’s voice fading behind him. “Laura, I do think you are so very lucky to have this intimate day to day involvement with our girls, seeing them blossom, coming to realise their full potential. Helen and I are so tied up in the world of big business which although it has its moments, is usually so impersonal and ultimately rather soulless. So much more satisfying this sense of doing something worthwhile, of helping people achieve new horizons.”

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