Anything for a Moped? by: Dawn De Winter

 

Part 15

The characters are fictional, their names and lives a fabrication. The story is not intended for commercial use and is not to be posted at any other site without the author’s permission. It is intended for readers considerably older than its fourteen-year-old hero.

In the first fourteen parts, Kyle found it more difficult than he expected to keep a deal he made with his mother: That if he wears girls’ clothes for a month that she would buy him a moped (a motor scooter). He’s not quite sure how it happened, but somehow he has become Demi, a full-time cross-dresser with a gay boyfriend and a lesbian lover. Everyone believes that Demi’s a transsexual, including her mother. Only Kyle knows he’s taking sex hormones, and only Kyle knows that he’d still rather be a boy. Part 14 ended with Demi’s awakening in a New York City hotel room, with a hangover from Irish Coffee and a lot of unanswered questions about the night before – for example, whether she had ‘lost her cherry’ to her gay boyfriend Steve, who was nowhere to be found.

 

 

Chapter Nineteen: "Anything for a Pink Harley-Davidson?"

"It’s a disgrace. An absolute disgrace. A hussy like you does not belong in a respectable hotel."

Fatima, the chambermaid for the fourteenth floor, was muttering under her breath, but loudly enough for Demi to overhear as she headed down the hotel corridor to Elvira’s room.

Demi panicked: Did the maid somehow know about Kyle? Was she scorning Demi for not dressing like a boy? No, that wasn’t it, for the maid also said something about "girls who lacked Christian modesty."

Fatima, the maid, was an Afghan fundamentalist who strongly disapproved of pre-marital sex. She had been shocked to see Demi and Steve check into the honeymoon room, as their youthful appearance and names on the register made it highly unlikely that they were married. In Fatima’s eyes, Demi was little better than a whore for spending the night in a boy’s bed, especially in the sheer red negligee that Fatima had discovered the previous evening as she turned down the teens’ bed.

When Demi gave her the finger, Fatima openly cursed her: "You’re a Jezebel and there is no place in heaven for an unrepentant sinner like you. You’re very proud of your breasts, I’m sure. They are very big and ripe. But they will rot off you. God will see to that. When you have breasts like a boy, then you will realize that the flesh is weak and that only the Lord Jesus is strong. Repent, repent, before it’s too late!"

"Eat me," was all that Demi could think to say. She wasn’t used to matching wits with a lay missionary.

Or to outwitting Steve Lancer’s mother. Elvira seized the upper hand the moment Demi knocked on the door of her hotel room, and she kept it for more than twelve hours – that is, until the moment the white swan died.

It was a remarkable performance from Elvira, considering how shocked she was to find Demi standing alone at her door with Steve nowhere to be seen. Even though Elvira had no idea of Steve’s whereabouts, she simply decided that he must have gone outside, as she assured Demi, for a smoke.

"But Steve doesn’t smoke," Demi objected.

"Perhaps he didn’t before he came to New York," Elvira replied. "But you and he were virgins then. It’s quite common for males to light up a cigaret after they have had sex. When you consider that he took your maidenhead last night, I’m sure he’s standing in front of the hotel at this very moment puffing away on a big fat cigar."

"Yesterday I tipped the concierge to pass out cigars the moment he’d heard that Steve had plucked his first cherry. So I imagine that the concierge, the doorman, and several of the male guests are at this very moment singing your praises in between puffs on their cigars."

Though Demi had already suspected that she was no longer a virgin, she was genuinely shocked to hear Elvira speak so flippantly about her son’s sex life. Could it really be true that the entire hotel knew that Demi had lost her cherry? Did that explain the hostility of the maid? Were dozens of men at this very moment listening to Steve boast about his sexual prowess? Was Demi’s private life now a public spectacle?

 

Demi demanded clarification: "Did Steve actually tell you that he … well, you know, put his thing in me?"

"Well, not in so many words. But he did tell me before he went rushing out to make sure I gave you a pillow to sit on, as he said you’d probably have an awfully tender derriere."

Derriere? That didn’t sound like Steve talking. But possibly Elvira was too lady-like to say "ass." As Demi couldn’t believe that either Lancer would lie about such a thing, she had to accept that she’d probably been cornholed.

If so, Demi had let Kyle down badly, for he believed it the queerest act imaginable. Sure, there were lots of schoolyard insults for boys who put their tongue in the wrong place, but these boys had at least been sexually active as they did it – they hadn’t simply lain still while someone had his way with them.

Yes, a cornholed boy had definitely been treated like a girl. As Kyle would never have agreed to spread his legs for any boy, Demi felt a bit guilty that she had apparently, as Elvira now informed her, actually begged Steve to "make her feel like a real woman."

"Jo and that maid are right," Demi thought. "I really am a slut." She must be one, for she had given herself to Steve so wantonly and casually that she couldn’t even remember having done it.

"A decent girl wouldn’t forget that she’d lost her virginity," Demi decided. "But did I behave like a girl last night? Was Steve making love to a girl or to a sissy boy?"

As though she could read Demi’s thoughts, Elvira answered, "Steve told me quite a bit about last night. He even said he no longer has any doubt about your sexual identity. You’re definitely a girl, and he’s glad of it. So, Demi, as I already know all the juicy details, I just want to get your take on last night. What was it like, Demi, to make love to a boy for the first time?"

How about "forgettable"? That was definitely the word that occurred to Demi first. She wondered now why she’d worried for weeks about ‘turning gay’ if she were to have sex with Steve. What had she been worried about?

She now reflected, "If sex with a guy is no more meaningful than that, there’s no danger of Kyle’s ever going queer. As for me, I’m definitely a dyke. Jo’s right – nothing beats sex between two women. At least, you can remember it the next morning."

Demi should have been furious with Steve for taking advantage of her; instead, she was thankful to him for his forgettable lovemaking, for it had simplified her life. She now knew that she could have sex with a boy without emotional complications. Indeed, she felt less guilt about actual intercourse with Steve than she did about their petting sessions. For a girl with a pounding headache, she felt curiously light-headed.

And why not? After all, the homophobia she had learned from her classmates and mother no longer weighed as heavily upon her spirit. She’d once thought that homosexuality was something that could be transmitted from one male to another by the slightest wayward touch. Indeed, she’d refused to be naked with Steve for fear that their sex organs might touch. She feared that his ‘gay force’ might then pass to her – as the life force passed between the index fingers of Adam and God in the Sistine Chapel.

Yet Steve hadn’t just touched her; he’d actually explored her inner recesses. And was Demi, in consequence, now desperate to become a gay male? Hardly! And because she no longer feared ‘conversion’ to the cult of Priapus, Demi was actually looking forward to another night of meaningless, forgettable sex with Steve. This time she’d teach him some tricks she had picked up from Jo, so that there’d be something to remember the next morning.

 

As for satisfying Mrs. Lancer’s curiosity, Demi told her what she apparently needed to hear: Yes, Steve had treated her like a girl the entire time. Yes, the Vagi-Gaff had featured in their lovemaking. And no, they hadn’t done anything to compromise Steve’s own masculinity. Demi didn’t know whether she was lying or telling the truth. But did it matter? Mrs. Lancer seemed happy enough with her story.

Indeed, Elvira bubbled with delight after confirming, then reconfirming, that her son had treated Demi "as a woman" when they had made love. She was so pleased, in fact, that she immediately paid Demi the seventy-five dollars promised for wearing the Vagi-Gaff while in New York.

"I’ll pay you now, so I don’t forget. I want you to know that Elvira Lancer always keeps her word. And so must you. I’m counting on you, Demi, to earn your money honestly. The vagina is never to come off while you’re in this city. Understood?"

Demi nodded. She didn’t need to be bribed to wear the Vagi-Gaff. In fact, after she had gotten over the initial discomfort, it had become a fun thing to wear. Partly, she found it sexually exciting. Any boy, she thought, would enjoy being a girl at least once in his life, so long as he could do it out of town, with confidence that no one would be able to divine his true identity. Thanks to Elvira’s generosity, Demi was having that experience, for the Vagi-Gaff made it easier for her to forget that she had ever been a boy. It obscured Kyle entirely.

Mainly, however, Demi found the Vagi-Gaff relaxing. It made her less afraid of being "read" as a male, and therefore less fearful of wearing skirts and dresses in public. Indeed, she never would have agreed to wear a mini dress to the game had it not been for her security gaff. And she would have felt humiliated, rather than merely embarrassed, to be told by three creeps afterwards that they liked the look of her panties had she not been wearing her Vagi-Gaff protective sheath.

Despite her affection for her new gaff, Demi wished she didn’t have to wear it to bed with Steve. She even wondered if it were the reason their sex had been so unmemorable. Would she have found the sex more pleasurable, she wondered, if she had been completely free to enjoy it. Had Steve taken both her cherries? Possibly there was one left to pluck. Had she actually had vaginal intercourse?

She didn’t know the answers. What she did know was that she needed the money to help Jo get out of the doghouse. Still, nothing in this world came without a price tag, and Demi realized that Mrs. Lancer had bought a chunk of her freedom, a piece of her identity. For seventy-five dollars, Demi was agreeing to hide her maleness from Steve.

Was the deal a fair exchange? Demi thought so. That meant that she intended to honor it, for Demi was, like Kyle, a lot more scrupulous about the deals she made than the stories she told.

And possibly this deal wasn’t costing her much at all, for Steve had apparently enjoyed their first night of sex even though – or was it ‘because’? – she’d never taken off her Vagi-Gaff.

Suddenly, the telephone shattered the silence. It was Mike Lancer calling. As she talked to her ex-husband, Mrs. Lancer lost her good humor. Anger seized and contorted her limbs. She was furious to learn that Steve had run off to his father without informing her first. How dare the boy! She spluttered with impotent rage when Mike told her that Steve wanted to spend the entire day with his dad.

She became livid when Mike next said, "I’ll bring him to the ballet concert you’ve got planned for them. Steve says he’d rather have his teeth pulled than have to see a bunch of girls dressed in tutus hopping about pretending to be swans, but I told him it wouldn’t kill him to get a bit of culture. He then asked me if I’d ever heard the phrase ‘he died from boredom,’ but I reassured him, Elvira, that no one his age had yet died of boredom. Granted, that statistic may be due to the fact that most mothers don’t try to force a boy his age to go to a sissy ballet."

The blood began to return to her head, indeed surged into it, when Mike continued the call by telling her to put a cot in Steve’s hotel room so that he wouldn’t be "forced to sleep with Demi." According to Mike, his son wanted his own bed and should have it, even if his mother had to pay a surcharge.

Elvira was incensed that her ex-husband would dare to interfere with her sleeping arrangements for Steve and Demi. Didn’t he realize that it was none of his business where Steve slept? Or for that matter, with whom he slept?

The court had given her sole custody of their child, hadn’t it? Elvira swore to herself that she’d freeze Mike out of Steve’s life entirely if he didn’t back off. There was no question of Steve’s sleeping alone when a girl, even a demi-girl, was ready and willing to lie with him.

Finally, her face swelled up like a tomato about to explode from over-ripeness when her ex basically ordered her to meet him at the ballet during the intermission.

"How can I do that?" she’d sneered. "You won’t have a ticket. How will you possibly be able to see me?"

"Oh, I’ll get a ticket. Don’t worry about that. I’ve got contacts. I’ll get it. And I insist on talking to you before you do any more damage to Steve and Kyle. Steve has already told me more than enough for me to wonder whether his mother has gone stark raving mad, and I …"

"Well, I never!" Elvira exclaimed as she slammed down the receiver. "The nerve of the man! Tonight we’ll see who’s the boss tonight." Briefly she thought of throwing a scene at the ballet and having him arrested for "assault," but then decided that Steve might lose interest in sex with Demi if he started worrying about his father’s being forced to have sex with Rocky or Bruno in the city lock-up. No, an arrest was probably a bad idea. However, Elvira would find some way to make it clear to Mike that he’d lose his son for good if he continued to interfere with her efforts to salvage Steve for the world of women.

"He’d better not meddle with my plans for Demi either!" Elvira quietly muttered to herself "I’ll not have him put strange notions in her head. My son must – and soon will – have a real girlfriend who will never again need a gaff."

Elvira was convinced she was still on "top of things." Even so, the phone call had unnerved her. Steve, she had to recognize, was fighting her plans to turn him into a heterosexual. To her it was incredible – he’d actually decided to hang out with his ‘faggot’ father than spend the day touring New York with a pretty girl.

That ‘girl’ was Elvira’s sole companion for the day. Deprived of the opportunity to work that day on Steve’s ‘heterosexuality," Elvira decided to dedicate her day to dominating Demi. Steve might have temporarily slipped from her grasp, but Demi was – to the girl’s obvious dismay – going to be tightly in her grip for the next twelve hours.

Elvira would use the day to impress on Demi that she was a transsexual who wanted a complete sex change as soon as the doctors and the government would permit it. As Demi was a minor, it would take a lot of doctors’ signatures to convince a hospital to do the requisite surgery, and so Elvira arranged for a visit to Dr. Sven Johansson, an eminent New York psychiatrist, to be part of Demi’s Sunday in New York. Elvira’s high school sweetheart, he was still so smitten with her that he actually agreed to see Demi on a Sunday, and he’d been planning for months to attend a Star Trek convention in Yonkers that day dressed as Lieutenant Uhura.

Demi naturally wanted to be with Steve. She didn’t come to New York to ‘hang’ with someone’s mother! When Elvira told her – this time correctly – that Steve insisted on being alone with his father until the concert, Demi sulkily replied, "In that case, I just want to watch TV in my room. I brought some money with me, and I’ll use that to buy a movie, and maybe to order room service. Is that all right with you? I promise not to leave the hotel. So you can do whatever you want to do in New York."

Not leave the hotel? It was not a promise that Demi intended to keep. She was anxious to prowl the famous avenues of midtown Manhattan, but not in the company of Mrs. Lancer, who was bound to be a drag. As soon as her friend’s mother was out of sight, Demi hoped to hit the sidewalks of New York. Already her mouth was watering at the thought of eating a giant pretzel oozing with mustard. That would be so excellent!

As Elvira was impatient to begin Demi’s day of feminization and beautification, she decided not to waste any time persuading the girl that she had no choice but to tag along behind the adult charged with her care. Hence she decided to buy the girl’s compliance: "Demi, I don’t have the energy to argue with you today. I promise you that you’ll have a great day. I’ll treat you like my own daughter. You’re going to be spoiled rotten."

"But just in case I no longer know what young girls like to do these days, and you don’t have a good time, how about my giving you fifty dollars for being my companion today? You’ll get it at the ballet if you’ve been an obedient and dutiful girl all day. You won’t get the money if you talk back to me, even once, but if you behave yourself and respect your elders, you’ll have another fifty dollars to give to your friend Joanne. That should get her out of debt and out of trouble. So what do you say?"

She extended a limp hand. "Is it a deal?"

Demi bargained. "The money’s for Jo. What about something for me? If I’m real nice, could you buy me a CD Walkman? You know – a sports model that I could wear when I ride my moped."

"Aren’t you the greedy little girl! I tell you what. If you convince me today that you are absolutely thrilled with being a girl, that you can’t wait to have the plastic surgery to make you even more beautiful, and that you can no longer fathom why you ever wanted to be a boy – if you convince me, in other words, that you’re desperate to be Demi for the rest of your life, then I’ll give you the money and the Walkman. A deal?"

"Sure, it’s a deal." It was a surprisingly easy one to make, for it changed very little. Demi knew that Mrs. Lancer "would go ballistic" if she didn’t act like a girl all day. She’d made that clear since their first conversation at the airport. Thus, Demi was actually giving up very little to get the money and the Walkman."

As Demi figured it, "I’ve been asking for ‘breasts just like Joannie’s’ for weeks now, and I haven’t got ‘em yet! All that black magic has added up to a big goose egg – thank God. Mrs. Lancer may sometimes act like a witch, but she’s not one, not really, and so she can’t put a spell on me. If she wants me to beg for a frigging vagina every hour on the hour, I’ll do it. Why not? What difference can it make? Words don’t matter. No one can force me to have a sex change. It’s a free country, and it’s been that way ever since we kicked some Nazi butt. So if Mrs. Lancer needs me to lie, I’ll be a nice little girl and do it."

"Demi, just so I know that you understand the spirit of this deal, I’d like us to seal it by both curtseying to each other."

Demi paused, and then broke into a big smile. "Sure thing, Mrs. Lancer." Though it took her several tries to get it right, Demi soon proved she could spread her blue dress and curtsey like an Iowa debutante. Her day of feminization and beautification had formally gotten underway.

To ensure Demi wouldn’t forget their deal, their first stop was an electronics store where Elvira found a ‘bargain’ – a sports model Walkman for half of what she would have paid for it in Des Moines. Demi loved using it, but had to give it up to Elvira when they arrived at their second stop of the day, since Elvira said, "It’s not really yours, Demi. Not yet. Indeed, I’ll be giving it to Steve’s cousin as a birthday present unless you convince me today that you really do want to complete your transition to full femininity. You do want a real girl’s body as soon as possible, isn’t that right, Demi?"

Demi eyed the Walkman as she dutifully confirmed, "Yes, Mrs. Lancer, I wish I had real hooters and … a hole between my legs."

"Not a hole, silly Demi, a vagina! And a lady says ‘breasts’ or ‘bosom," never anything crass like ‘hooters’."

"Yeh, a vagina … and bosom."

They had now arrived at the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see its collection of antiquities. The choice of museums had been Demi’s; for almost any art museum would have served Elvira’s purpose that day. But Demi had been keen on seeing "a real live Egyptian mummy" ever since she had seen the "kick-ass movie".

When she finally found herself face to face with one of the bandaged dead, Demi defied its curse: "I dare you to come after me. I’m not afraid of you. The name is Demi. I’m waiting for you in Des Moines with a box of matches and sharp scissors if you’ve got the guts to show your ugly mug in Iowa. Guts? That’s really funny. You’ve got no guts, do you?"

And then, Demi had a belly laugh at the mummy’s expense. Elvira was unimpressed by Demi’s bravado: "You’re such a tomboy at times," she said. "A lady does not use words like ‘guts.’ Nor does she threaten anyone, including the dead, with being burned alive. Now that you’ve told the mummy off, I think it’s time for you to learn something about Greek and Roman statuary."

It was only the nudes that Elvira wanted Demi to see. To Demi’s mortification, Elvira insisted that she closely inspect every inch of each of the youthful figures they came across, and then to imagine, out loud, what it would be like to make love to the males and to have the body of the females. As Demi began to describe the most sexually appealing features of her tenth Apollo, she suddenly realized that she preferred her men to be muscular – just like Steve.

After she blurted out that a statute of Ganymede reminded her of Steve, Elvira hugged her excitedly. From then on, Elvira had Demi address each of the male statues as "Steve" before describing in loving detail which part of his maleness she wished most to explore.

Just as Demi became comfortable with publicly discussing the sexual appeal of the classical male, Elvira had her switch her attention to the statues of Venus, Aphrodite, Leda and Diana. Now, Demi had to decide which of the female bodies she most coveted for herself. Elvira actually handed her a sketchpad, and had Demi draw the curves that most appealed to her eye and spirit.

This part of their visit to the Met counted as one of the high points of Demi’s trip to New York. All the while they talked about the female statuary, Demi marveled at her good fortune. "Imagine," she thought. "I’m actually being ordered to look at naked women." She so loved looking at them that she didn’t think twice about playing Elvira’s game – that is, to discuss each body in terms of her upcoming sex change.

"Those are the breasts I most want for myself," Demi was expected to say out loud, even though at first she was really thinking, "Those are the breasts I’d most like to fondle." After a while, however, Demi got into the spirit of the game. She actually started asking herself which breast, which arm, which thigh, which leg she most coveted for her own body. With Elvira’s help, she drew a composite figure that Elvira insisted she label as "Demi James at age 16."

She also had to sign it as she was the "artist". Elvira, claiming it showed genuine artistry, paid to have it framed at a nearby shop. She paid enough to ensure prompt service, even from a New Yorker, and Demi for the rest of their day together lugged around a drawing of herself as the ideal female. It had to make an impression on her as she stole the occasional glance at it that afternoon and morning, and later as it graced her bedroom wall.

After a morning spent fantasizing about herself as the ideal woman making love to the perfect man, Demi had lunch at a club for professional women affiliated with the Quilting Society of Iowa, the most prestigious women’s organization in the entire Midwest willing to admit Elvira as a member.

While Demi found it flattering to have so many "women in suits" feign interest in her future, she did find it genuinely "weird" that so many of them were anxious to impress on her the importance of putting career ahead of men and babies. Indeed, she found it almost as odd to think of herself as a single, childless career woman as she had earlier to fantasize about herself as Leda having sex with a trumpeter swan. Even so, lunch had its desired effect – Demi had spent yet another hour being told her future as a woman.

Immediately after lunch, they kept Demi’s appointment with Dr. Johansson. When Elvira saw that he still looked like a Viking, she temporarily lost focus. Afterwards, she told Demi that she was simply trying to give her pointers on how to seduce a man, but it sure seemed at the time that she had forgotten that she and Sven had company.

Indeed, she only seemed to remember Demi’s presence after she’d already been French-kissing the doctor for a good ten minutes, and had encouraged the doctor to hike her skirt high to reveal her garter belt and the bottom of her matching black lace panties.

Demi was being as quiet and as unobtrusive as possible, for she was getting off on being a voyeur, but Elvira finally noticed her, or perhaps heard her labored breathing, and so cooled the doctor’s ardor by reminding him that there was a child watching. She also gave him her hotel room number for later.

Dr. Johansson had no apologies for his behavior. Indeed, he told Demi that apartments were so small in his homeland that children often saw their parents having sex. "Indeed," he said, "to make maximum use of space, many children sleep in comfortable boxes that are pulled out at night from under their parents’ bed."

"Naturally, they see and hear everything, which is as it should be. Americans tend to infantilize their children. They treat them like simpletons long after they have become wise in the ways of the world. I hold that children are simply short adults and should be treated as such from the moment they are old enough to make their own decisions."

"What age is that?" Demi asked.

"Why, at their seventh birthday, of course. I am a firm believer that a child of seven knows better than any adult what is best for her. And when a girl is as old and mature as you, then adults have absolutely no right to second-guess any of her decisions."

"Wow! I wish my mother agreed with you."

"She will soon enough. My ideas – those of child liberation – are sweeping the world, young Demi. Already the courts have ruled that an eleven-year-old can sue his parents to force them to give him up for adoption. It’s just a matter of time before those same courts recognize that a girl your age shouldn’t have to ask either her parents or a doctor for permission to have a sex change. That should be her decision, and hers alone."

"In a just society, the government would pay for the sexual reassignment of anyone over the age of six who asks for it. I also believe that we’ll never get rid of sexism until we recognize that every citizen should be encouraged to change sexes – to find out how the other half lives – at least once before she or he has finished high school."

The whole idea boggled Demi’s mind. "Do you think I should change my sex?" she asked.

"Of course, you should. You were a boy for fourteen years. That’s a long time. Why not be a girl for the next fourteen years? It’s important not to get into a rut. However, what I think you should do is of no consequence, for the whole meaning of child liberation is that it’s up to you, the child, to make the decision. You and no one else. I have three questions to ask you, and it’s crucial that you answer them as forthrightly as you can. Agreed?"

"Sure," Demi nodded.

"First, are you happier as a girl than you were as a boy? Second, do you want your body to be as much like a girl’s as possible? Third, how anxious are you to have your sex change right now? Can you wait for a few months?"

Demi looked toward Elvira Lancer to see how she should answer. Elvira was nodding her head so vigorously that Demi knew the money and the Walkman were on the line. So she affirmed that she was far happier as a girl, and that she was eager to have a sex change operation as soon as possible. "It’s too bad it can’t be done this weekend," Demi said to win a huge grin of approval from Elvira.

"Demi, your answers don’t surprise me. It’s obvious that you’re a transsexual. However, I have to give you a gender-identity test to confirm my diagnosis. As I’ve found that most of the questions on these tests are a sheer waste of time, I’ve boiled the test down to three questions. Once I have your answers to them, I’ll know for certain whether or not you’re a transsexual. Are you ready for the questions?"

Demi nodded, but the test worried her. If she failed it, she probably wouldn’t get her Walkman and Jo’s money. She was so tense that she had to ask Dr. Johansson to repeat his questions. As he did, Demi relaxed entirely. This was a test she could not fail, for it asked her the best desert in which to get a suntan, the most beautiful gem, and the most essential part of a car – all questions from Dr. Loupi’s test!

She rattled off the answers, but to her dismay got only two out of three correct. While that was good enough for Dr. Johansson to confirm that she was a transsexual, Demi was miffed that he’d marked one question differently from Dr. Loupi. She had been cheated out of her perfect score. It wasn’t fair.

Dr. Johansson, unaware that she was upset, congratulated Demi on knowing her own mind, and with a flourish filled out the form in quadruplicate authorizing sexual reassignment surgery for Demi "at the first opportunity." He said he’d send three of the forms to Demi’s mother, who’d be one step closer, the doctor said, to having official sanction for Demi’s operation. He asked if anyone else had recommended an immediate sex change for her, and Demi answered that her high school psychologist had written several people on her behalf.

"Great," replied Dr. Johansson. "Just find two more doctors to vouch for you, and your mother will be able to give you a new, feminine body as a present for your fifteenth birthday."

He then said he had to rush off to catch the last hour of a ‘convention.’ There was time left only for one last embrace with Elvira that became so hot and heavy that Elvira from then on showed up occasionally in Demi’s erotic dreams – always as a lesbian, and usually as a dominatrix.

Their next stop was a bridal shop, where Elvira hoped to persuade the management of the wisdom of allowing a fourteen-year-old to try on a $12,000 dress. To Demi’s relief, the store refused to let her teenage sweat and grime soil any of its creations in linen and lace. Even so, she had to endure a tedious discussion of her future wedding, and to grit her teeth as she thanked Elvira for being "generous" enough to pay for her to receive the store’s catalogs twice a year until her twenty-first birthday.

Much to her surprise, Demi did study the catalogs when they arrived. Though she claimed she was interested solely in the models, she soon developed strong opinions on which dress she would want to wear to her wedding, assuming that she were actually a female and heterosexual. However, truth be told, once or twice she fantasized about walking down a Gothic church aisle in a long, flowing gown to embrace a tuxedoed Jo in front of the altar.

Though Demi did not get to wear a wedding dress while in New York, she certainly had lots of opportunity to try on clothes, for Elvira was determined to buy her "something to dazzle Steve." They went to Floweringvale’s Department Store where Demi received, with minimal reluctance, a manicure and pedicure, as well as a professional opinion on the shades of makeup and eyeshade that would make an apple-cheeked blond from Iowa look "simply ravishing" to all the men she met.

To her own surprise, Demi was nonchalant about two other "firsts" at Floweringvale’s: her first visit (in the company of Elvira) to a ladies’ powder room and changing room. In both, her fears about being "found out" quickly gave way to the pleasure of being able to watch females in various stages of undress.

After watching several young women strip to their bras and panties, Demi knew from the pressures in her Vagi-Gaff that she "was definitely a lesbian." The women who saw her hungry eyes were also convinced they had just disrobed in front of a lesbian. Though one or two of the women at Bloomingdale’s were flattered to be thought attractive by such a stripling of a girl, there were three others who vowed to shop thereafter in the New Jersey suburbs in order to avoid "the moral degenerates of New York City."

Demi, unaware that she was giving the Big Apple a bad reputation, had great fun trying on the most expensive dresses that the store had to offer. As she experimented, Demi discovered that some styles flattered her more than others. Indeed, she came to the startling conclusion that she looked sexier in two of the dresses than she ever had in jeans – either hers or Kyle’s.

As Elvira would pay for just one of them, she finally settled on a red dress, with a black floral pattern, and a high empire waist above which black velvet snuggled her breasts. Convinced that the dress was "way cool," Demi surprised Elvira Lancer with a kiss on the lips. Elvira was so pleased she rewarded Demi with a new black leather purse and matching shoes with three-inch heels – the spikiest that the girl had worn yet.

Elvira, leaving no card unplayed, next summoned the occult to assist her in feminizing Demi. Interceding on Demi’s behalf with the underworld was Madam Zeta, proprietor, waitress, and seer at "The Brazilian Tearoom" near Carnegie Hall.

As business was slow, Madam Zeta had time for a Tarot reading for Demi, who refused to give out any information other than her name, age, and hometown. Demi wanted Madam Zeta to think her a girl, and to know nothing at all about Kyle, for in that way Demi would be able to tell whether the fortuneteller was a fraud.

Demi’s reasoned, "If she can’t figure out I’m really a boy, then I’ll know that she’s making everything else up."

Zeta was eyeing Demi carefully, looking for some insight into her nature and character. Apparently she found it, for Zeta suddenly announced that the Tarot reading "will now commence." Once Demi and Zeta were seated across from each other at a small table, Zeta picked out a card to signify Demi. Since she was a blond-haired youth, Zeta picked out the page of wands.

It was a disconcerting way to start, for the cards already seemed to be hinting at Demi’s ambiguous gender. Demi was only partially mollified by being told that any girl her age would have a page as a signifier, for the cards seemed to be confirming that the gender of a fourteen-year-old was every bit as malleable as Dr. Loupi and Elvira Lancer claimed.

Demi then shuffled the Tarot deck, concentrating on her ‘question’ as she did. She was told to keep the question to herself, for Zeta said, "I see doubt in your mind. You will put more trust in the cards if you keep your question a secret, even from the mother of your friend."

"How does Madam Zeta know that Mrs. Lancer’s not related to me? Jeez, I guess we must have let that slip. Now what question should I ask?"

The question was obvious, even if Demi had trouble reducing it to a few words: "Who am I? Am I a boy or am I a girl? Am I Kyle or am I Demi? Are my fake breasts and vagina going to be real one day?’

Did the cards have an answer? And which question would they answer? The actual reading began with Zeta laying out ten more cards, six of them in the form of a Celtic cross, and four more in a line beside it. The first card to be turned over pleased Zeta immensely, though Demi frankly thought it an insult: labeled "The Fool" it showed a gaily-dressed youth about to walk blithely off a mountain precipice, with his left hand holding a white rose, "like a sissy," thought Demi.

Zeta explained that, "The Fool should be understood as someone pure of soul and unsullied by the world. He is, like Demi, a youth setting off in search of true wisdom. He will not fall off the cliff if he chooses the path of truth and righteousness. But he is about to make the most important decision in his life. I now know that your question is not a trivial one. Indeed, it is vital to your future."

Demi, slack-jawed, nodded agreement. Yes, she did not want to fall into an abyss.

The next card, Zeta explained, identified the ‘opposing forces’ – those that would get in the way of Demi’s making the right choice. "Ah," Zeta sighed. "Exactly what I expected: the Hierophant. Some also call it Jupiter or the Pope. He represents organized religion and the conventions of society. Your need to conform and your yearning for social approval will be the barriers to your finding the right path – the one in which you find true wisdom, especially about yourself."

Demi understood what the card was saying – namely, that she shouldn’t let the kids in her class tell her what to do, or who to be. She was keen on finding out what the third card would say about her childhood, for she was getting hooked on Tarot. "Temperance" – that’s what the card said.

Demi thought, "What a dumb card to show up! Of course, I practiced temperance when I was a little kid. No one was going to give me a beer when I was five. Jeez, that was a waste of a card."

However, Zeta had another take on the card: She pointed out that the winged angel depicted by the card was neither male nor female. "It represents," she said, "the union of spirit and matter, and of the male and female principle. I can see, Demi, that you were a bit of a tomboy when you were younger. That may explain why I sense in you, even now, a combination of the male and female that is praiseworthy in a girl your age. Too often, teenagers are intent on putting the opposite sex down."

"My suspicion that you were a tomboy as a child is confirmed, Demi, by the fourth card, the one that represents the recent past. It’s called The Chariot, and you’re the charioteer trying to keep the two sphinxes that are pulling it from going off in two directions, thereby tearing you and the chariot in two. The card is a very good one, Demi, for it suggests you will achieve greatness so long as you have the willpower to pursue your destiny. I conclude that there must be a vehicle of some sort – the modern day equivalent of a chariot – that has played a role in bringing you to this point in your life – to the moment when you must choose the one course of action that will make you whole."

"Wow!" exclaimed Demi. "Those cards know everything. That’s my moped. It’s sort of a motorbike, and it definitely has had me pulling in two directions. How did the cards know about my moped?"

"Demi, the cards know all. Now let us look at the current influences on you and your question. "The Wheel of Fortune – just what I expected. It reminds us that you are about to make an immense change in your life. Moreover, something recently happened – possibly it was that moped you just talked about – to change your luck for the better. This card tells you, Demi, that all things must change, and so must you. It also says: Complete the transition, which incredible good fortune has brought your way."

Elvira spoke for the first time: "Don’t you see, Demi? The more you change, the happier you’ll be."

"Please, Elvira, I’m the one who interprets the cards. Let us now see what the near future holds for Demi."

It was death! The "Death" card – the one card that Demi most feared in the Tarot deck had showed up. Demi started to snivel. She didn’t want to die!

Zeta patted her hand: "There, there, Demi. Don’t carry on so. This card doesn’t say you’re going to die. Rather it represents the death of the old self, and the birth of a new, better person. It is a card of transformation and renewal. It tells us, Demi, that you are going to complete your change. You will become a new, superior person."

"This next card is what you fear most, Demi. Before I turn it over, I want you to realize that you will only be happy if you overcome this fear. It prevents you from remaking yourself as a happier, more successful person."

Demi now believed in the cards. She leaned forward to see the next card, which was, to Zeta’s astonishment, yet another card of the major arcana, one of the twenty-two face cards of the seventy-eight card deck. "Demi, you’re getting so many strong cards," Zeta now said. "And none of them have been reversed."

"That means, Demi, that whatever the cards tell us, they could not be saying it more loudly. And they’re telling us something that is far from surprising. "The Tower" card shows, as you see, someone – that would be your old self – falling out of a tall, thin building that has just been struck by lighting."

"Or a surgeon’s scalpel," thought Demi. The decapitated phallus on the card definitely summed up her worst fear – namely that someone was going to cut off Kyle’s privates.

Zeta interrupted Demi’s thoughts to say that the card revealed, understandably, that Demi feared the transition between her old and new self. "There is no question that the change you are about to make will be painful in the short run, Demi, but it’s definitely in your best interests. So say the cards thus far."

Thus far. There was still hope that the cards would change their mind and Demi’s fate. Maybe Kyle would be able to catch a ‘Hail Mary’ pass after the two minute warning and stay in the football game.

"Is there one card that can overrule all the other cards?" Demi asked.

"Yes, it’s the tenth and last card," Zeta replied.

So Demi barely noticed as Zeta told her that the "Judgment" card meant that her family and friends would be soon encouraging her to make her transition, or that "The Lovers" card indicated that Demi apparently hoped she could, by changing herself, win the love of the most important person in her life.

"Is that my mother?" Demi asked.

"No, dear, the card refers to someone your own age – to someone you want to love you until you die of old age."

Finally, Zeta turned over the last card – the one that would confirm or undercut the reading that Demi had heard so far, the reading that seemed to be writing Kyle’s obituary. Zeta could not hide her astonishment. Not only was it another major arcana, there also could not be a stronger answer to Demi’s question. It was the "World" card.

Demi looked at the card as a mongoose would a cobra, for the card showed a buxom, naked woman wreathed in leaves, a magic wand in each hand. It was the counterpart of "The Fool." A card connoting total triumph, completion, and cosmic bliss, it confirmed that Demi would overcome her fears, complete her transition, and finish up a much happier and wiser person than she had been, as Zeta put it, before she began "her journey on the moped."

The reading stunned Demi. She was speechless. For her the last card had an indisputable meaning for it, like the "The Fool," had just one figure on it. But where "The Fool" card depicted a youthful male about to set out blithely on a hazardous journey, "The World" showed a naked, buxom female as the journey’s end.

Madam Zeta could say whatever she wanted about the occult meaning of the cards, but to Demi their literal meaning could not have been more obvious: They said that Kyle would become Demi forever – or at least long enough to acquire the body of an adult female. To a fourteen-year-old boy, that was the same as forever.

The reading also floored Elvira. True, she had quietly asked Zeta to "tell Demi to welcome change" when she had paid the fortune-teller her fee, as demanded in advance (as Zeta could never predict which clients were going to stiff her). Yet Elvira had never expected the cards to insist on Demi’s completing her sex change. She now was wondering whether there was something to this fortune-telling business.

Beckoning Elvira to one side, Zeta whispered, "That was an honest reading. There weren’t any tricks with the cards. I’ve rarely seen the cards be so definite in their advice. I didn’t want to say it out loud just in case it would upset the child. But the message of the cards is unmistakable: She should have the sex change she’s been thinking about. Demi should definitely become a boy."

Elvira almost laughed in Madam Zeta’s face. However, she was delighted to tell Demi, once they were outside on the sidewalk, that, "Zeta just told me that she didn’t want to upset you by saying that the cards literally advise you to ‘have the sex change’ you’ve been thinking about. But why would that advice upset you? It must be a great relief for you to know for sure, Demi, that you should have the operation as soon as possible."

Kyle was glum: Everything pointed to his being a transsexual. Not only had he passed two psychological tests, one of them with a perfect score, but also the Tarot cards had practically ordered him to become a female. Everyone, it seemed, wanted him to at least dress like a girl, and lots of people wanted him to acquire a girl’s body as well.

"There’s Mrs. Lancer, Dr. Johansson, Dr. Loupi, Madam Zeta, the black shirts, the Jets, and Jo – they all wish I had a vagina. Even Steve now wants me to buy one."

Was there anyone who definitely wanted Kyle to remain a boy – other than Kyle himself? He couldn’t think of anyone. Even his own mother preferred him in skirts.

For a few moments he felt trapped. But his mood brightened as he realized that he lived in America, a free country, and that no one could force him to have breast implants or to cut off his dick.

"I’m master of my own destiny. Or at least its mistress," he giggled to himself.

Why then was he walking down Fifth Avenue in a blue dress? Because he wanted to, that’s why. And he was ready to punch out anyone who’d deny him the right to dress like a girl, or to be a girl for that matter – not that he actually wanted to be a girl. But if he did, nothing and nobody would stop him from getting the operations he needed. Nothing and nobody!

Kyle’s thoughts had run away from him. He didn’t want to be a girl. No sirree! But Dr. Johansson was right: Every red-blooded American boy had the god-given right to become a girl – if he so desired.

He also had the right to look pretty. Or rather, Demi had that right, and Elvira was intent on her exercising it at the last stop of their "girls’ day out," a hairstylist. Ever since Elvira had put the salon appointment on their busy schedule, Demi had been fretting about "a permanent" – something she definitely didn’t want, but was afraid that she’d have to accept in order to get her Walkman. When she learned that Elvira simply wanted the stylist to reshape Demi’s hair into something "more suitable for a night at the ballet," Demi relaxed – for the first time in days – and simply melted into the practiced, reassuring hands of her male stylist. Anything he wanted to do was fine with her, just so long as it was "impermanent" and reversible. I turned out that he loved the German ‘maedchen" look, and Demi ended up with her hair braided into two giant "meatballs".

It wasn’t the sort of thing a girl wore in Iowa unless her name was Heidi or Gretchen, but Demi and Elvira both agreed that her new hairstyle made Demi look like she’d been living in New York City all her life, or at least it would in combination with her new dress, purse, and shoes.

As they left the salon, Elvira announced, "Demi dearest, I’m sorry to say that we’ve run out of time. There were so many more things I wanted to buy you; but we’re now have to rush to get to the concert on time. You’ve been such a sweetheart today – the ideal daughter. I don’t want you to wait a single minute longer for your Walkman. Here it is, and here’s the money I promised you for your girlfriend Jo. She’s lucky to have a friend like you."

Then she surprised Demi by leaning forward to kiss her forward. Her eyes were damp and a teardrop was trickling down her cheek, muddying her makeup. Elvira’s emotion was infectious: Demi also teared up as she returned the kiss.

Demi decided she liked Mrs. Lancer – which wasn’t all that surprising since she was the mother of Steve, a super friend. For an entire day Mrs. Lancer had pampered and flattered her. Repeatedly she had complimented Demi on her beauty or pointed to boys who were watching her every move.

"Don’t you see," Elvira said, "They find you sexy. You like the attention, don’t you? I feel sorry for teenaged boys. They’re always being ignored. But a pretty teenaged girl is the center of the universe. Ah, Demi, I wish I were your age again."

Elvira commented on more than Demi’s body and sex appeal. She even praised her mind. True, it was a backhanded sort of compliment, but Demi appreciated it nonetheless: "Demi, I do realize that you have misgivings about your transition to womanhood, but I know that you’re doing the right thing, because you’re very intelligent, so intelligent that you couldn’t possibly have been put on this earth merely to be a cloddish boy. Anyone as smart as you must be a transsexual."

Demi felt important in the presence of Mrs. Lancer. Having to pretend that she was one day going to have a sex-change operation was a small price to pay for such lavish attention and praise. Hence, she was sad to see their shopping trip end. When Elvira offered her hand, Demi clasped it, and as they stood waiting by the curb as Elvira hailed a cab, they looked like mother and daughter.

Over a steak dinner in Elvira’s hotel room, Elvira elicited a kiss from Demi when she said, "Demi dearest, after a rocky start, this has turned into a wonderful day. Steve’s insistence on hanging out with his father gave us a chance to get to know each other so much better. And the better I know you, the better I like you. Demi, you are a truly exceptional girl."

Elvira lent forward expectantly and Demi, blushing furiously, kissed her cheek. Elvira continued: "I’m starting to love you, Demi, the way an aunt loves her niece. I’ve always wanted a niece, as well as a daughter. Will you do me the great honor of agreeing to be my niece? Will you call me Auntie Elvie?"

Auntie Elvie? Demi would have had difficulty being so familiar with the formidable Mrs. Lancer, but Kyle found it almost unthinkable. Her "niece"? He thought not. So Kyle figured it was time to speak up, and to remind Steve’s mother that he was, despite surface appearances, still very much a boy; and a boy couldn’t be anyone’s "niece," could he?

As he had the fifty dollars safely pocketed and the Walkman stowed away in his room, Kyle thought it timely to remind Mrs. Lancer of Demi’s true nature: a cross-dressing boy who was going to give up girls’ clothes forever as soon as the Jets grew tired of their game or he was able to find, with Jo’s help, a new school where no one had ever heard of Demi.

So Kyle diffidently said, "Mrs. Lancer, I’d feel awkward calling you by your first name. Jeez, you’re Steve’s mother! I wish I could be your niece, but I can’t be because I’m a boy. How’s about my being your nephew, Mrs. Lancer?"

"I don’t need a nephew, Demi. I already have two dirty little urchins who claim that title. I need a niece, and in you I have one – if you’d just call me Auntie Elvie and let me pamper and help you through life. Oh Demi, I have so many plans for you! You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve planned your "sweet sixteen" party. The presents you’ll get! I know you like motorcycles and so I’ve already looked into buying you a Harley Davidson for your sixteenth birthday."

A Harley? Kyle could scarcely believe his ears. He could barely think, so loud was the engine revving in his head.

"I’ve even identified a garage that does custom work. I’ll get them to repaint the Harley in a more feminine color – I would think you’d want a vibrant shade of pink – and to accessorize it with a vanity mirror, special pouches for your make-up and sanitary napkins, and whatever else a hip, modern girl needs to make her bike roadworthy."

"Mrs. Lancer, a motorcycle is much too expensive. I couldn’t let you buy me one." ("Especially if it’s pink," he thought)

"Don’t be silly. It’s the least I could do for my niece on her sixteenth birthday. Demi dearest, I want only the best for you, including your college. I’ve already contacted Smith, Wellesley and Mount Holyoke on your behalf – three of the best women’s colleges in the country – and I’ve told each of them that I’m willing to make a very sizeable donation to whichever college is wise enough to admit my niece. How does that sound?"

A boy at a girls’ school? The idea was either terrible or wonderful. It all depended on whether the boy could be himself or not. Kyle had seen a television show about guys who attended girls’ colleges. Outnumbered seven to one, they never lacked for dates. They were the satisfied rooster in a barnyard full of frustrated hens.

Kyle was willing to be one of those roosters – if Jo agreed to it. He wasn’t sure how she’d react if he suggested they attend a girls’ school together. She might be jealous. Heck, he might be jealous of Jo if they went to one.

Did he really want to surround Jo with so many potential lesbians? And wasn’t Demi also a lesbian? What if she resurfaced and started misbehaving at college? Jo would have a fit if her girlfriend started acting like a bitch in heat.

So many emotions were flickering across Kyle’s face that Elvira couldn’t capture any of them long enough to read his thoughts. Even so, she was relieved that Demi hadn’t actually rejected the idea of a New England women’s college. When the time came to separate Demi and Steve so that he could start dating a "girl able to give him a baby," Elvira would be free of all guilt, for she’d be packing Demi off to one of the best educations possible.

By attending an elite college like Wellesley, Demi would meet some of America’s most eligible bachelors at mixers, and one of them she’d marry. But she wouldn’t become a homemaker. Nor would she become a mother, even of adopted children.

No, she’d be a DINK – part of a high-powered couple with "a double income and no kids" – and therefore able to afford a spacious apartment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side to which she’d regularly invite her cherished Auntie Elvie. In the future that Elvira had planned for Demi, the girl would grow into a doting aunt to Steve’s daughters, who’d of course never be told about their aunt’s odd start in life.

It was a beguiling future that Elvira had in mind for Demi. Indeed, Elvira envied it. She therefore could not understand why Demi had any hesitation about embracing her destiny as beloved daughter, niece, wife, and aunt. "Everything will work out perfectly," Elvira thought, "if Demi will simply stop being so stubborn. Frankly, her mulishness is quite unbecoming in a girl."

Kyle had thought up another deal: "Mrs. Lancer," he began, but then seeing her stricken look, he switched to "Auntie Elvie." Her face shone with happiness, so he plunged onward: "I really like you a lot. You’ve been very kind to me. And I’d love to be your nephew. I’ve just got to become a boy again. Don’t you understand that?"

Even though Auntie Elvie was frowning, Kyle thought the time right to make his pitch: "How about my being your nephew in Iowa and your niece elsewhere? For example, if you wanted to take me to a basketball game in Chicago or maybe to Disney World, I’d be your perfect niece. We’d go shopping and you could buy me some really sexy outfits."

"Let me understand this, Demi. You want to travel with me as my niece?"

Kyle nodded enthusiastically.

"And you’re promising to be the perfect niece? So if I thought your upper lip was getting too much peach fuzz to look attractive on a girl, you’d agree to electrolysis to remove it?"

Kyle had no idea what "lectrosis" was, but was, like any boy his age, eager to start shaving. So was he willing to use a lectrosis to remain clean-shaven? Sure, why not? "Auntie Elvie, I promise to faithfully lectrosis whenever we’re on a trip together. Whatever you want, just so that you agree that I can dress in boys’ clothes when I’m in Iowa. And you’ll call me Kyle. Is it a deal, Auntie Elvie?"

"Auntie Elvie" mulled over her options. She decided that she liked the deal, with a twist: "Demi, my dear niece, anything you want, I want. That’s why I’ve done so much to facilitate your transition to womanhood. And so, I promise to call you ‘Kyle’ and pretend you’re a boy if I ever see you dressed as one."

"I’ve always believed in fostering a child’s imagination, and it’s a shame when children lose their zest for play-acting. So, I’ll call you Kyle, or Michael Jordan, or Tiger Woods, or whatever other role you’ve chosen for yourself that day. You’ll have to make sure that you’re in costume, however, if you expect me to call you by a make-believe name. If you’re wearing your own clothes, I’ll certainly be calling you Demi, especially when we’re in Des Moines."

"So if I’m dressed like a boy, you’ll call me Kyle and treat me like your nephew?"

"Of course, Demi dearest. How many times do I have to say it – if you’re dressing up like a boy, I’ll have no problem calling you Kyle, just as I will be delighted to call you Pocahontas any time I see you in a deerskin dress. Is that okay with you? Is that what you want?"

Kyle hadn’t liked the way she worded the deal. It wasn’t quite what he had in mind, but it was good enough, and so he extended his hand to shake on it.

"Not so fast, young lady. I want to make sure that we both agree on what our deal entails when you’re on the road with me. For example, right now we’re in New York, and you’re saying that you’ll be the perfect niece so long as we’re here. Right?"

"Right" Kyle agreed, though he had no idea where the conversation was now heading, for he’d been acting like a girl all day. What more could Auntie Elvie want?

"Demi, sweetie, tonight you’re having another date with your kissing cousin. As you two have already become sexually intimate, then you’ll be definitely having sex again tonight – probably all night long. Teenagers have so much energy! This time you’ll enjoy the sex a lot more, because you won’t be worrying about losing your virginity, and Steve will have a better idea of what turns on a woman."

Demi blushed and looked away.

"Demi, I want you to promise that you’ll never forget that you’re a girl when you’re holding hands with Steve at the ballet or embracing him later in bed. Also, you’re to promise that you’ll never forget you’re a lady. Any niece of mine will always act like a proper lady. That means she will not let her beau kiss her below her waist, and she will refuse to have sex ‘doggy-style’."

"God insists," Elvira continued, "that a man and a woman look into each other’s eyes, in to each other’s souls, as they have sex. The church and good taste also forbid a lady to permit a man to treat her like a catamite, in other words, like a male prostitute. A lady would rather die than commit such an unclean act. Is that understood?"

Demi, somewhat bewildered, nodded.

"Demi dearest, I’ve seen you tell quite a few whoppers. You’ve not always been the most truthful of children. So I need some assurance that this is a promise you’ll keep – namely, that you will never forget that you’re both a lady and a girl whenever we’re on a trip together or, if we’re in Des Moines, you’re not pretending to be a boy. There is only one way I can get that assurance – you must give me your most solemn oath. Tell me how you do that."

After a brief, whispered explanation, Demi and Auntie Elvie placed their right hand on their heart, swore on their mother’s grave to keep their word, then spit in each other’s right hand, and finally sealed their deal by mingling their spit with a handshake.

Demi had promised her Auntie Elvie that she’d never forget that she was a girl for a single moment while she was in New York. She’d also promised always to have sex "like a lady." Were these promises she could keep? And if she did, would she one day be roaring around the campus of an elite women’s college on a bright pink Harley?

Is that the future Steve envisaged for Kyle?

As Demi excitedly dressed for the ballet, she temporarily forgot who she really was, and what Steve really was. Had she paused to reflect, she would have realized that her strategy for the evening – to look and to smell as feminine as possible – wasn’t the best one for endearing herself to a gay boy who liked his "men" as masculine as possible.

And she should also have thought twice, if sex were truly on her mind, about becoming his "first cousin." After all, it was staid, puritanical Iowa that had bred Steve, and not one of those remote, incestuous, and libidinous islands off the coast of New York and southern New England.

Yet it probably didn’t matter how Demi dressed for her ballet date with Steve, because he could think of only one thing as he dressed for the concert – "Do I have the guts to tell Kyle what I did to him? And if I do tell him, will he still be my friend?"

 

Continued in chapter 20, which will see Demi’s trip to New York end with a shocking revelation.

 

 

 

© 2001
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