Fair warning before reading. When I write stories, I'm a writer, and while not a bad one, I am not practiced at that. I am not a businessman, lawyer, doctor, theologian nor a hair care expert. Though I do have a working knowledge of many of these fields, I am an amateur not a professional writer. So there might be a whole bunch of factual errors in this piece. I did what research I could, but my primary goal was to tell a story, not to write a dissertation.

In addition, it has been many, many years since I took an English class; and my grammar, as many of you have commented on before, is politely described as eccentric. I did the best editing I could and I'm getting better, you wouldn't want to see my first stuff, but there may still be many errors below. I practice, practice, and practice; and hopefully become a better writer, in the meantime, please bear with me as I submit to you my humble offerings. What you do read below has been cleaned by the finest editor on this, or any other, plain of existence, and who wishes to go unnamed. If you cringe and some of my mistakes just try to imagine what she had to go through.

And a last comment, this story includes some religious issues in the telling of the tale. Please don't feel I'm being self righteous or shoving my idea of Christianity upon you. I tried leaving the universe open to many diverse possibilities, so there's room enough for us all to get along. Also, I make light of some sacred and hallowed institutions. Please don't take offence. As the great Kevin Smith once said, "-- even God has a sense of humour, just look at the duck billed platypus." If this or stories with a TG element are likely to offend, you should probably leave now, though I don't understand why you're here, if that were the case. To the rest of the readers, please read, and I hope you enjoy.

Anyway, here is my humble (keyword there) offering to you.

 

The Archangel Files: The Heir

by The Last Boy Scout

 

Things were pretty bad for Michael Lane, a 21-year-old college dropout. The circumstances leading up to his departure from higher education were complicated, and tragic. Mike was a good old boy, from a good old family. If the United States had a landed aristocracy, the Lanes would rate a duchy at the very least. Even as it is, they have congressmen in their pockets, and senators waiting for permission to breath. The Lanes were living at the pinnacle of the finest civilization that history had ever produced. No enemy had ever come close to vanquishing them from their pedestal, not since old man Lane had walked off of the boat in 1833. No enemy that is, except themselves.

When such an empire reaches such great power, it become much more than one man can manage. Old man Lane, surviving a civil war in his adopted country, had retired, and left the managing of his company to his three sons. But as they were not as capable as their father, they became envious, and paranoid about what their brothers were doing, and in less than a year after relinquishing his power, old man Lane was forced to return and sort out his sons. After watching the trouble develop and grow, he concluded that wealth and power like this could never be shared; and he put forth an unbreakable family law that only the eldest may inherit the control, and he would reign supreme.

Brother went into combat against brother more viciously than was done during the civil war, which had made the family its fortune. In the end, Thomas Lane was the last surviving heir. Rather than present such an opportunity for conflict in the future, he tried to arrange that he had but one son. When his wife presented him with a second son, he ordered the baby sent away to an orphanage, denying it was his. He would see no more heirs fighting for control, if he could help it. Such was the force of the personality of Thomas Lane, that he imprinted his own ideas upon his son, who did the same for his son. And it continued downward, thru time, until the present, when Mike's father, John Lane had gotten married, and had taken control of Lane Incorporated.

It was now the 21^st century, and of course, one man did not manage Lane Incorporated all alone. Executive vice presidents and regional directors all managed divisions and subgroups of the 35 Billion dollar private company. But no matter how mundane, in the end, the final decisions were all made by one person, the Chief Executive Officer, President and Chairman of the Board, John Lane. Lane reigned more completely than any absolute monarch of any country in earlier eras. You see, in the end, those rulers were ultimately accountable to their people, who would rise up in rebellion if angered enough; but a Lane was accountable to no one.

The trouble was, John lane was an old man. He had married late, and fathered late, and while 65 years old may be a vigorous enough age for a healthy man in 2002 . It was an age when many a man looks forward to easing up a little, to enjoy the golden years of his life. John Lane wanted to retire; but he felt his son was not ready for the mantle of leadership. "Not, by goddamned ready, one little bit.", was his spoken observation.

John Lane was cursed by his own traditions. In other dynasties there was always a second in line to the throne. However, after five generations of only one child, there were no brothers or sisters, neither were there any cousins nor seconds cousins. No one was available to assume the mantle of one of the largest private fortunes on earth, but a 21-year-old kid, who right now, was freezing to death on Interstate 80.

Mike had gone to Harvard, for about a minute, then Yale, Dartmouth then steadily down the list until ending up at Creighton University. It wasn't a carefully thought out decision to attend there, he simply wanted a place as far away from his family and the clinging responsibilities as he could manage. It wasn't that he wasn't intelligent, far from it. Lanes always tested high on the IQ exam; rather, it was a question of motivation. Pass or fail, sink or swim, Mike had always known what his destiny would be. He could become the greatest biochemist on earth, and not be able to spend one day in a lab, because the family business needed be run. He could have the athletic ability to rival Michael Jordan, or Joe Montana, and not be able to play one game. What man would try and tackle or block the heir apparent, who could buy and sell you, your parents, your parent's friends and an armoured division, just for fun.

"Friends" were forthcoming, of course, but none wanted to meet Mike. They wanted to get into the good graces of Michael Elmer Lane, Executive Vice President, at age 18, of Lane Incorporated. Whenever he arrived at a new school, he had maybe a week, until they came out of the woodwork, tipped off by the society pages or scandal rags. Those few people he had met, before the news spread, usually got shifted off to the side in the resulting stampede.

There had been girls after him, lots of girls ; by the time he was 19, and had learned how to hide his mail, and his e-mail address, he had received one thousand one hundred and fifteen marriage proposals, most of them from women he had never met, and several of them from men he had never met. He had "dated", at least that's what they called it, by dressing up in a tuxedo and accompanying, whichever prissy muffin, his mother or his father had decided he should take, to whichever charity event his attendance was required. None of these outings had resulted in a second engagement. While this may have been some men's fantasy, it wasn't his. Some of these girls would do anything to have a relationship with the Lane heir. Mike knew he wasn't going to find true love in these conditions, when one time, he jokingly ordered a girl to bark like a dog; and she had actually done it.

Mike had never taken a girl out to a movie, or to some cheap pizza place. Never, had he necked in the back of a car. Hard to do that with a five-man security detail which would rival some heads of state always present. One time, when Mike did a tour of Stanford University, he had almost witnessed a full-fledged gunfight as his detail "bumped" into the one guarding the daughter of the U.S. President. The excitement would have amused Mike more, if the secret service agents hadn't been so quick to apologise, almost getting on their hands and knees at the thought of offending The Heir.

The situation had gotten so bad, even at Creighton, that Mike had packed up what he could, given his "friend" a check for $20,000, then driven his car westward. Trying to get away from school well wishers and his very own praetorian guard. Mike didn't know where he was going, his only plan, was to stop whenever he hit the mountains, and then to decide where to go from there.

The specific incident which had set off his flight, had been the university president's smarmy offer, to completely ignore the sexual complaints filed against Mike and his fraternity, due to a party held over the past weekend. That Mike hadn't even been to that party, and as far as he knew nothing improper had happened, was of course, only of secondary importance to the University president, who wanted a new sports-center. Mike had told the President to go perform a certain anatomically impossible act upon himself, then sicced his father's lawyers on him and the university. If the wolves left him with his retirement plan, Mike would be surprised.

The trouble was, it was winter; and he hadn't checked any weather advisories before leaving. Never having driven for himself, longer than it took to get the license in the first place, and hardly ever being on his own, Mike can understandably be forgiven his error in judgement thinking the "few flurries" would go away soon.

Only they didn't. And, over the last hour, the "few flurries" had become a full-force snowstorm. And with the wind picking up, a full-fledged blizzard was more than likely to develop.

Not being completely stupid, Mike slowed the car down until barely going 15 m.p.h.; and decided to pull over and wait out the storm at the next town. The trouble was, going 15 m.p.h., and not being able to see 15 feet in front of him, the next town was becoming difficult to find. Panicking due to his lack of experience and being on his own for maybe the first time in his life, he increased his speed hoping to get to safely that much quicker. What it did do, was send him to oblivion that much sooner. The tires of his Toyota spun out, and the car, after doing a complete 360, crashed off the road and into a snow embankment.

"Why the hell couldn't Nick have had a truck, or an SUV, like any self respecting teenager." Mike said, angered at his own stupidity.

Mike was a 6'2, 200 pound, dark haired young man, who even if he didn't have all his father's money coming to him, still could have attracted a few backward glances from the female portion of the species. He knew though, that his good looks could quickly be spoiled by decomposition, unless he found a way to survive this situation. The engine was still running, but no matter how much gas Mike applied, the car wouldn't move back up the hill in reverse; and trying to go forward proved equally pointless.

Mike hadn't had much real life experience at much of anything, no matter how much he despised his constant supervision, they had made sure he didn't want for, or have to do, really anything. He had read though, extensively. He rationalized that if he stayed in the car, he would be suffocated, succumb to fumes, or even more certain, simply freeze to death. There was still some traffic on the highway, not much, but he might catch a passing car, if only they could see him, that is.

Emptying out his suitcase, Mike put on first one, then two additional layers of clothes, trying to bundle up as best as possible against the cold devastation of the storm. After a quick examination of the car and the trunk, he didn't find anything helpful like a flare, or a survival kit. A college student seldom needed one thought Mike. Climbing up the hill into the freezing winter wind, he made it up to a level surface he deduced was the road. Looking as far as he could in either direction, he could see no sign of a city, or of a passing car. He didn't see anything but the endless whiteness, and the markers by the side of the road.

Thinking that walking, at least, would keep him warm, Mike headed on the interstate in the opposite direction he had been travelling. He didn't know what was ahead, but he did know he had passed a town, a few miles back. Cursing life in general, and himself in particular, Michael Elmer Lane began walking through the unknown whiteness.

"Its one of yours boss," said Gabriel, as he looked down from his vantage point in Heaven.

"Christ!" said the Archangel Michael, as he took the viewing disk from his associate.

"Yes?" came a questioning voice.

"Not you kid. Sorry to bother you." Said Michael chagrined at having disturbed him.

"Its all right Mickey, Happens all the time. We still on for the poker game Friday?."

"You bet, but no more guilting me out of giving all my winnings away. We play for markers this time"

"I am understandably reluctant about matchsticks"

"We'll figure something out. See you around."

"He's a good kid," said Gabriel, as he turned to his friend

"Yea," said Michael, as he turned back to viewing. "But this one sure isn't."

"Oh, I don't know. He's never done anything really wrong. I got his file right here, and in comparison to some of my cases, we should nominate see him for sainthood.

"But he hasn't done anything really right either He was given everything. Leaving aside his Boss given talents, he's got all that power and money: and he hasn't used it for anything more noble than a big party for his friends."

"Spreading happiness is a noble goal.", countered Gabriel.

"But that's all he has to show for his life, a few keggers,. How's he supposed to face Pete with just that in his résumé."

"Your talking yourself up to something boss,"

"How did we get roped into doing this, Gabe? Time was, you and me rained down fire and brimstone, led all the angels of heaven, and fought all the armies of hell. How do we rate, when it comes down to it, being glorified guardian angels?"

"Its one of the Big Boss' pet projects. You know that.

"The whole human race is one of his pet projects and one that isn't exactly panning out, if you ask me."

"I don't know Mickey, these new guys, the Romans, they really know how to have a goodtime. I know Pete doesn't care for em much, because of how he arrived here, but I kind of like them."

"You need to get out more Gabe," said Michael smirking.

"Probably true. You want me to handle this one, then?"

"No. I've got it. I have something extra special planed for this disgrace to my name."

"Try to keep your temper, the last time you were in that part of the world, the geography got rearranged."

"Hey, the Grand Canyon is a natural wonder of the world"

Mike Lane was starting to get the idea that maybe getting out of the car was a bad idea. No car had passed him since he had started walking. Apparently, every other resident of the state of Nebraska was smarter than him; and were staying off the roads. Mike had no idea how far he had gone, or how far he had yet to stumble through the snow. The town he had thought was only a few miles back, might as well have been on the moon. Mike knew that unless someone stumbled upon him soon, he would likely die out here.

Mike was about to give up hope, and try to go back for what little shelter the car offered, when he began to see a gathering of lights in the distance. The snowstorm was scattering the light all over the horizon; but ahead there was something making the light. Perhaps not the town. Perhaps only a farm. In any case, Mike didn't see any other option; he started stumbling toward the lights.

Time didn't really have meaning; if it was measured at all, it was in paces, an entire lifetime in a step.

So cold.

Just a few more steps. One step at a time.

The lights were getting closer; Mike could begin to distinguish buildings.

Cold.

A few more steps.

But those few more steps were not forthcoming,. Mick stumbled in the snow, and his already protesting muscles would follow orders no longer. With one last heave of will, Mike struggled up, but he could only go a few more feet, before frozen limbs collapsed in admitted defeat.

Mike could see the town ahead; and he tried to scream for help. The best he could manage was a weak wail that could not have been audible for ten feet.

'I'm going to die', Mike thought to himself.

The realization didn't seem to bother him; since he stopped moving, he had actually started to feel a very comfortable warmth travel thru his body. Mike knew enough to know this was not a welcome warmness, but a final stage of hypothermia.

"I'm sorry Daddy," Mike said before closing his eyes, and welcoming whatever was coming for him.

 

"Come on wake up," said Archangel Michael, as he slapped Mike Lane hard across the face.

"I've got a nice pancake breakfast ready for you,"

No response.

"I've got three blond co-eds just waiting to get in your shorts." Michael said having difficulties.

"Oh come on. No one's that dead," said Michael with exasperation, and looking up. "Kid, little help here, please."

Mike Lane jolted up from his deceased slumber with a gasp.

"Thanks kid, I've been out of practice."

This was not Mike's idea of the afterlife, so he can be forgiven for not understanding the situation he was in. He looked around and saw a simple 12 by 12 room with a single bed, a TV, and with curtains drawn. A simple Spartan hotel room, of the type he had seen on television a thousand times before: but never, ever stayed in.

"Who the hell are you?" asked Mike, when he saw the middle aged blond man in a three-piece business suit.

"I'll thank you sir, not to use that word in my presence; and to answer your question, my name is Michael," sharply informed the Archangel

"Well Michael, my names Mike." Said Mike Lane trying to make some sort of sense of the situation.

"Nice to meet your Mike."

"Same here Mike, how did I get here Mike?"

"Well Mike your recently deceased; and I needed a place to sort you out. The side of the road just didn't seem appropriate for the proceedings."

"I…see. Well, actually I don't see; but I wouldn't want to be impolite."

"My thanks, how are you feeling?"

"Actually I can't really feel anything at all, not just physically, but emotionally too. Somehow, I have the feeling that I should be feeling something about my supposed death. But feelings aren't forthcoming, does that make sense?"

"Actually it does, you learn to accept anything after a few assignments, you roll with the punches in my job."

"Which is?"

"Archangel, or perhaps I should say The Archangel. I usually don't rotate back to the world for grunt work like this but the Boss wanted it done"

"The…Boss?"

"Doesn't like being called, that,…other word, thinks its clichéd, bit of an eccentric, really."

"Well if anyone's entitled."

"I'm glad you agree."

"The last thing I remember was walking through a blizzard. Am I to assume then that I, that I didn't make it."

"One may assume that yes," replied the Archangel amused.

"What now," asked Mike confused.

"Well that's the question isn't it? Some of my more sporting associates are taking bets on what I'll choose. You'd be amazed on what you can wager on after a few eons. Hey Gabe," said the archangel shouting upwards. "How's the bookmaking going?"

"Even money you drop him into a third world country; or you give him exactly what he's been praying for, that's always a favourite," said a disjointed voice from heaven.

"What about the third option?"

"Come on boss, not even you're that vindictive."

"No. I suppose not," replied Michael, as he turned back to Lane

"Third world country?," Mike Lane asked.

"You've seen the movie, I'm sure, a spoiled little rich kid is shown how the other half lives by a mystical switch; and then learns a valuable life-lesson about what's he's always taken for granted; and he could have done to make the world a better place, yada yada yada. Not one of my favourites, nature abhors a vacuum, He likes an orderly office. As soon as we send some brat to Bolivia, another rises in his place, no I like to keep them in their present situation and teach them a lesson in siiu."

"The third option?," Mike asked getting progressively more concerned.

"Don't even bring that up. I was just joking. No, I'm talking about giving you exactly what you have prayed for."

"Would you please elaborate, I don't recall sending any prayers up to heaven."

"Nothing quite so direct, no. But you have been wishing for happiness haven't you,? Or more importantly, a way to make something of yourself your father can be proud of. What was it you said ? Oh yes."

"I'm sorry daddy" Mike's voice was perfectly reproduced inside the hotel room.

"Did I actually say Daddy?"

"Yea,"

"Well shattering as that is to my masculine ego, how did you plan on making me happy."

"Funny you should mention your masculine go, cause that's what I'm going to remove.

"My ego?"

"Your masculinity."

"I'd rather you not." Mike replied, now gravely concerned.

"I'm afraid you haven't got much of a choice Mike. You've made a hash out of your life as a male. So we are going to switch things up a bit; and see how you handle it from the other side. Don't think a set of XX chromosomes will solve all your ills either. In most cases, it's a much more difficult life; but you were stuck in a rut, with no idea of how to get out of it. This will force you to make a change in your life, and use some of those Boss given talents you've wasted for 21 years."

"A near death experience isn't shaking things up enough?"

"No. I'm afraid it isn't. You wouldn't believe some of the recidivism we get. We kill a guy, have a nice long talk with him, tell him to shape up; and sure, he's on the straight and narrow for a while, but soon enough, he thinks it was all some dream, that there isn't really a Heaven, Hell or New Jersey and he doesn't have to be good anymore. Changing you into a woman will be a fairly prevalent reminder that this wasn't some kind of dream."

"New Jersey?"

"We had to put purgatory somewhere; and all the good real estate in New York was too expensive."

"I can get a you a good deal on a few thousand acres in Westchester.

"Really?"

"Yea, but I suppose you already broke ground in the Garden State."

"Yes we have, but I'll make sure to keep you guys in mind next time a project comes up."

"We always appreciate new clients."

"Growth rates are not something my outfit worries to much about, sooner or later we get everyone's business."

"What about the competition? I would think they're eating into your market share."

"Not so you would notice, sure they have good years and bad years, buts its pretty much stabilised these days."

"Good to hear, not sure I would like it if the "competition" got a monopoly."

"Neither would . Well Mike, it's been fun, but I gotta run. The Cubs are about to sign a truly phenomenal pitcher; and I want to make sure things go as planned."

"It will be nice to see them win a series"

"Win, Ha, not while I'm around, that pitchers going to the Yankees, the boss sent a memo down about the Cubs and he doesn't like to be disappointed.

Now lie still, cause this, is gonna hurt."

"Wait!"

"What?" asked the Archangel, getting more than a little annoyed

"Can't I at least say goodbye to captain winky"

"Oh, if you must."

"In private please."

"Mike, I helped design that piece of anatomy.

"I would rather you turned around, please.

"Fine thirty seconds, then we gotta do this thing"

"Thank you," said Mike gratefully.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going!" yelled the Archangel as Mike suddenly took off, running out of the room.

Mike Lane only got about ten feet before he was grabbed by an invisible force, and unceremoniously carried back into the room. He didn't really think he could get away from the Lord's chosen champion, but he had to give it a try.

"Cute," said the Archangel annoyed. " Just for that little stunt I'm going to make sure you're much more now."

"Isn't there any other option?, Can't I just give away a bunch of money?," queried Mike, grasping for any reprieve.

"Doesn't work that way, contrary to what certain organised religions claim. Your money isn't the solution to all the problems in the world. And it wont insure your soul's salvation. Just remember what I said, shape up. I'll be watching you. Now salute the captain, and get ready. I gotta be at Wrigley.

 

Mike was awakened by a hard knock on his hotel door. His mind was fuzzy, and he was certain his memories of last night had to be a dream. That belief lasted about 1.5 seconds, enough time for him to turn his head, and realise that he wasn't a he anymore, not at all.

'What the hell' thought Mike, when he saw long strands of brunette hair impinging on his vision. Then he saw the other things.

Knock!

Knock!

"Ma'am I have your breakfast" came a Spanish accented voice from other side of the door. After waking up as a female, waking up to find out that he had room service was no great surprise; and still in shock, Mike got out of bed and began walking towards the door. The shoulder length hair kept swishing ; his rearranged hips and legs made his walk anything but graceful,; and the lack of anything between those waddling legs shoved the transformation into his mind with every step he took. Eventually, Mike reached the room's door and took stock of his appearance in the mirror mounted on it. With two prominent protrusions Mike felt a concrete wall wouldn't have been protection enough for decent attire, but he supposed the nightdress would have to do.

"Yes," said Mike in a soprano voice as he opened the door.

"Your room service, breakfast Ma'am."

"I'm afraid I didn't order any and I couldn't pay for it anyway, I'm sorry," said Mike suddenly aware that he left his wallet in his other body.

"Yes ma'am, but its been paid for by Mister Angelo before he checked out along with your room for the day, he even left a rather large tip. I wish we had more guests like him. It must be nice to have an expense account like that. If you'll just sign here ma'am, I'll set it up on the table, or would you prefer your breakfast in bed?

"The table is fine, thank you," responded Mike, as he released the chain, opened the door, and took the ticket as he admitted the man.

"Beautiful day today, ma'am. The snowstorm left everything white. We didn't have many guests last night, because of the storm, and I think I'll take my kids to the hills for sledding later today. I never sledded in Bolivia"

"What did you say?," Mike asked

"Bolivia, I immigrated from there about 15 years ago."

"Was it nice there." asked Mike, out of curiosity

"It could have been," he answered sadly. "But, we were so far behind everyone else, we just couldn't catch up. If we had stayed there, we would have starved to death, not to mention any children we have."

"I'm sorry," Mike replied, suddenly feeling guilty

"Why should you feel sorry ma'am, you didn't do anything Now, when you're finished, just leave the tray outside the hall, and if you need anything else, just ask for assistant manager Santiago. I'm afraid most of my staff couldn't get in today.

"Thank you."

"Have a nice stay ma'am," said Santiago as he left.

It turned out, the archangel was as good as his word. Mike lifted up the silvered cover and found three buttermilk pancakes, three links of sausage, tea and orange juice. Whatever lay ahead in his new female life, at least she would go ahead on a full stomach. After several tries Mike was able to sit down in his nightdress, and cross his legs. He made a valiant attempt to do so in a masculine manner, but his hips weren't designed that way anymore; and they fell into the stereotypical female fashion. Whatever else had changed, his appetite had not, the pancake, sausage and OJ disappeared in short order; and Mike was sipping his after breakfast tea while it was still piping hot.

Refreshed and sated, Mike took a more comprehensive stock of his body. Mike didn't have a tape measure so he could only guess his new dimensions. He had lost height, but not drastically so,. He was short of six feet, but he guessed he was about 5'10 or 5'11, respectable for a woman. Mike would have preferred to not have breasts hidden behind his nightdress at all, but he grudgingly admitted if he had to have them, then his were just the right size. About C cup, not too large to manage, but enough to draw attention, on second thought, bad idea, he didn't want any attention directed at him.

Mike walked over to the mirror above the dresser and examined his face. The shoulder length brunette hair shone lusciously and bounced with every movement of his head. The features were much softer than his own, he didn't recognise the exact face but he could clearly tell that it was his own. A almost perfect recreation of his mother with just enough of his father thrown in to make Mike feel this is what his sister would have looked like if his mother had not had her tubes tide. Or more accurately this is what Mike would have looked like if he had been born female.

Damn that archangel to the competition! Why did he have to make Mike so cute.

 

"I got a lead," said security chief Conklin, as he entered John Lanes office in New York.

"Where is she," asked John, his voice betraying his concern.

"Kearney Nebraska."

"Kearney?, What was she thinking."

"Apparently, she borrowed a car from one of her girlfriends with the intention of going to Colorado."

"And slipping your detail in order to do it. Those people don't work for me anymore, get it done."

"That's going to be difficult sir," said the security chief. "Your daughter has developed something of a sentimental attachment to them, and they to her"

"Which is probably how she was able to hoodwink them and slip away. No Jack, they're gone. Pay their severance package, and give them references, they have given good service for years; but as far as I'm concerned, if this is their 'protection', all those years we've been lucky."

"Yes sir," Jack Conklin replied,

"You get her back now Jack, she's all I care about, safe and sound, without a hair touched on her head; or I'll consider the twenty years you've given me to be lucky too. Are we clear?." Asked John Lane coldly

"Yes sir, I'm on my way personally. I won't let you down"

"Then why are you still here."

"Yes sir," said Jack Conklin, as he rushed out of his employer's office.

 

Mike didn't know what to do with himself. One look outside had ended any notion he had of leaving the hotel room for town. After a very pleasant shower experience, Mike located his suitcase, it was remarkably the same suitcase he had taken from his dorm room, but instead of jeans sweatshirts and men's jockey shorts, there were woman's jeans, skirts, blouses, dresses, panties, bras, and items that the male mind couldn't even, and didn't want, to try to identify this early in the morning.

One item that surprised him, though perhaps he shouldn't be surprised by anything today, was a small looking cloth backpack. Mike had seen some girls carry similar ones around on campus. Being a reasonably intelligent fellow, he deduced this served as his new purse. Apparently the Archangel Michael was a great one for the details. Mike knew most girls carried their whole lives around in their purses, and now he was no different. He dumped everything out onto the bed for an inventory, all the contents of the main pouch and then all the side pockets, until the cloth purse was an empty shell. Pieces of paper, old recipes from years ago, lipstick and other makeup items, five different pens, one paper pad, one electronic PDA that never seemed to have been used, one key ring that probably rivalled the one necessary for a nuclear missile silo, sanitary napkins, which put Mike into shock, at what he could now expect every month, that is until he found the tampons, which shocked him even further, a penlight, a multitool, a can of mace, three breakfast cereal bars, and a billfold were all identified and memorized.

Opening up the billfold, Mike found out his new identity. Michelle Lois Lane. Mike was ready to kill that trickster archangel, bad enough to turn him into a woman, bad enough to name him after a pop culture character, but a character from Superman was just putting salt in the wounds. Further examination of the billfold told Mike that he had all the same credit cards, club memberships, and even the correct amount of cash, as best he could remember it. Turning one of the flaps, Mike was surprised to see a family photo, he had never carried any of them around in his old wallet, and didn't expect to find them in his new one, but there it was. His father looked the same, a little more vigorous even, his mother was smiling like she always did, and seated in front of them both was the girl Mike had been transformed into.

The archangel hadn't been kidding, he had left him in the same situation as before. Same mother and father, same school, same fat bank account but with one minor change.

Knock!

Knock!

"Yes," Mike asked when he opened the door to find Mr. Santiago.

"I'm sorry Ma'am, but I've received a rather urgent call from the hotel's corporate office, some heiress is on the loose; and they think she may be in the area. They asked me to check the register to see if she was staying at the hotel, and I have, but your name wasn't listed, the bill was paid by Mr. Angelo you see."

"Yes I see, this heiress, her name wouldn't happen to be Michelle Lane would it?"

"Why yes, is that, are you?"

"Yes," Mike replied smiling.

"I see," the manager's manner suddenly became much colder. "I will inform the interested parties at once Miss Lane. Your security detail will be here in a few hours; and I must politely ask you to remain here until they arrive. We wouldn't want any harm to befall you in the dangerous city of Kearny. If there's anything I, or the Holiday Inn Company may provide you in the meantime, we are at your service."

"Have I done something wrong Mister Santiago, you don't seem as cheerful as before?"

"Miss Lane, I would rather not answer that question at this time, I value my livelihood. Rest assured, no one will bother you while I am here, good day to you Ma'am," finished Santiago as he stiffly exited the room.

Mike was used to such treatment, it was meticulously courteous, but completely false politeness. People took one look at the name and the stock portfolio, and they stiffened up. It appeared that the situation was no different as a woman, except now, he could look forward to males stiffening up a particularly body part, in addition to their stiff manner. Oh joy. Old Captain Jack, formerly of the United States Marine Corps, was probably punching a hole in the sky trying to get to Nebraska in one of the companies Gulfstream jets. He had slipped away a few times before, but nothing quite as dramatic as this. The last time had been to see "Lord of the Rings" without a fellowship of his own. The hobbits had gotten to Lothlorien when the film was shut off, the lights turned on, and ten very humourless armed people filed in and found him in his seat. Mike quietly had gotten up left, and never did get to see the film in a theatre. No matter how much Mike had complained to his father about the lack of theatre experience, he wouldn't let him wander into so exposed a public place without a guard, and a greater entertainment black hole than the Praetorian Guard was hard to find. When he further complained that a DVD wasn't the same thing, John Lane's solution was to buy a significant interest in the AMC theatre company and ask them to have a theatre empty for his son's convenience.

Mike had never used it.

 

The earlier mentioned Praetorian Guard arrived several hours later, with an anxious Jack Conklin at the head. Mike had refused to answer any of their questions and simply packed up his new clothes, handing the suitcase to one of the guards specifically chosen for the task. Mike allowed himself to be led into a waiting car; and the bleak winter wasteland was a perfect metaphor to his feelings. The Gulfstream made a short jump, returning Mike to Omaha and Creighton University. Apparently his female self had never had a sexual harassment complaint filed against her by a co-ed, and therefore he had no cause to tell the university president what to go do with himself. The apartment designed for four, but occupied by him alone, was as dreary as ever. The few female touches that were evident, did little to change his mood for the better, but rather highlighted the humiliation he was now experiencing. And to make matters worse, Susan Lane was inside too, waiting for her daughter.

Susie, as she allowed her friends to call her, was not the typical corporate trophy wife. Indeed, she had done almost everything wrong, if one wants to court one of the richest men in the world. She had been a medical student at St. Johns Medical Center, and was completely unimpressed with a 35-year-old man, who didn't have the common sense to stay on his horse. And she, being of Irish decent, was not the least hesitant in telling John Lane exactly what she thought of his middle aged neo-adolescent stupidity.

He was in love.

She wasn't.

He sent her not a single bouquet of flowers; but instead had the annoying tendency of filling a hospital room to the brim with flower baskets, while she was getting some much needed sleep between shifts.

Susan O'Neil took those flowers, and redistributed them around the hospital. Not to be discouraged, John Lane was single handily responsible for the New York flower boom of 1973. He tried everything, romantic serenades by Frank Sinatra, yachting expeditions to faraway tropical beaches, $10,000 a plate dinners with President Nixon, all of which seemed to have the opposite effect he was hoping for. Diamonds, Gold jewellery, priceless works of art, she wasn't having any of it. Which only made him want her more. Finally, John's father Fredrick, concerned about the huge flow of capital from his company's coffers, decided to see what kind of girl could drive his normally phlegmatic son over the edge.

When he met the girl in question he made it known he wasn't impressed.

Indeed, he informed Susan O'Neil he agreed completely with her sentiments, as she obviously wasn't a suitable consort for his heir apparent.

Big mistake.

No one tells an Irishwoman whom she can date; Susan accepted the latest offer from John simply out of spite to his father. Her plan was to go on one date, just to stick it to the old man.

Only it hadn't gone according to plan. Because John Lane demonstrated a little more grace than he had when he was sent to St. Johns Medical Center in the first place. Indeed, once given the chance, he swept her off her feet. After a six-month long whirlwind romance, carefully catalogued by the National Inquirer, they wed. Fredrick Lane was more than happy to participate in the happy occasion. You see, while Susan may have been an Irishwoman, he was a Scotsman, and he was getting slightly worried about his sons slackness in the grandchildren department.

 

Fredrick was getting even more worried when six years into the marriage she still hadn't conceived. After a short conversation with his daughter-in-law, Fredrick determined that in order to produce a child the two people had to be in the same room in the first place, and John Lane had been neglecting his marriage duties. Instead, he was trying to build his company to world prominence in the wake of his father's retirement. Not helping matters much, was the now Dr. Lane, who was also too busy to see the proper part put in the proper hole more than once a month, as she was involved in pioneering new methods of organ transplant.

A Scotsman was never to be underestimated were procreation was concerned, and still having significant influence over the companies security department, and the governing board of the St. Johns Medical Centre; Fredrick made the suitable arrangements, and had the happy couple kidnapped, dropped on an uninhabited island in the pacific with enough supplies for a year, and no way to contact civilization.

A ship came for them six months later.

A child was born to them four months after that.

Only in this reality, instead of a bouncing baby boy, Dr Susan Lane had given birth to a sweet, sugar and spice and all things nice, Michelle Lois Lane.

 

All things considered, Susie showed remarkable self-control in waiting even the ten seconds necessary for the security detail to leave the room before jumping down her new daughters throat.

"Where have you been, young lady? Your father and I have been worried sick." Susan asked harshly.

"I'm sorry mother," Mike answered suitably scolded.

"Sorry isn't going to cut it Shelly, nor will any of your witty stories. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?"

"I have a pretty good idea," answered Mike thinking about the conversation he had with another Mike.

"I don't think you do, because if you did, you wouldn't even think about running away from proper protection. Let me just highlight your father and my nightmare scenario. We're sitting calmly in the winter house, sipping tea, and reading the New Yorker, when Jack Conklin USMC walks into the room with a phone saying 'boss they got your daughter.' Your father takes the phone but I cant hear what's he's told, I can only look at his face, and see the fear the phone generates. The next thing I know a box is carried in by the butler, it was just dropped off at the door, inside is a piece of your clothing, your right index finger, and a photo of you tied up with today's New York Times as 'proof of Life.' The message inside reads '$10,000,000,000 or she dies! Two days'! Your father calls his people; but they can't release the funds, or sell off assets that quickly. He calls the banks but they can't loan him any money because, suddenly, he's a bad credit risk. He calls and is connected straight to the president, but is politely informed that it is not his government's policy to negotiate with terrorists, but he offers the services of the FBI. The kidnapers, because they have the government infiltrated, send us your left index finger the next day, and up the ransom to $20,000,000,000 because we ignored their orders and contacted the authorities. Your father is out of his mind with worry and the entire world economy is shaken to its base by the necessary arrangements to get the money in time. Tens of thousands of jobs are lost in the US because divisions of Lane Inc. had to be sold off at bargain basement prices to be stripped by any corporate raider that can pay soon, and pay cash. Money to developing nations are halted, Syria doesn't get its World Bank loan and decides 'what the hell, might as well try it, better to die than live in poverty', so they invade Israel. Israel retaliates with nuclear weapons, and the powder keg that is the Middle East explodes with hundreds of millions dying. But it was all for nothing, because you had angered the kidnappers with your smart ass mouth, and they decided a dead hostage was a lot simpler to manage than a live one.

EVERY TIME YOU DISAPPEAR FOR TEN SECONDS! THAT'S WHAT WE FEAR BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT CAN HAPPEN!

"I'm sorry Mom." Mike said crying and falling to the floor. It wasn't just the female hormones flowing through his body, he was well and truly ashamed of what he had put his mother and father. through. No matter how much he didn't care for his life, he always knew his parents cared for him. And this was how he showed them gratitude. "I'm sorry mommy," he said again, as he fell into his mother's arms bawling like the little girl he now was.

"I'm sorry"

Mike woke up the next morning in his own bed, which was clearly her own bed now. The fluffy and embroidered pinkness of it all was enough to turn a man's stomach, it was probably a good thing then, that there wasn't one in the room. Mike rose, grabbed his towel, and went off to the bathroom for a shower. Passing one of the apartment's guest rooms, he saw his mother sleeping soundly. The sight of her still shamed Mike, even a day later. Entering the bathroom, Mike disrobed, and once again marvelled at his new form. The subtle curves were turning him on. Even though he consciously understood that the girl in the mirror was himself, the deep, dark, hidden male mind only saw SCREWABLE: FEMALE- ONE and looked no further than that. The shower was quite the experience; normally he took ten minutes to clinically scrub his body, wash his hair, and brush his teeth in the morning. But showering as a female was a much more drawn out affair. The fruit scented bath products in the rack were mysterious to Mike, but he presumed their purpose, if not their smell, was similar to what he had known as a male. Beyond the obvious detail of needing more time, to wash more and previously unknown areas, Mike was distracted by the sheer sensuousness of his body. The water, massaging his nipples and new vagina, sent waves of pleasure all through his body. Not being able to help it, and not fully aware of what he was doing, Mike began picking up where the water left off, massaging his breasts and inserting one of his fingers in his new primary sexual organs.

Within moments, Mike had experience his first female orgasm followed, shortly thereafter by his second, and his third. He likely would have begun developing calluses on some very personal places, if his mother hadn't banged on the door, telling her daughter not to turn into a prune. After a few seconds, to make sure the by-products were washed away, Mike exited the shower and padded himself dry. After his first experience with a hotel towel yesterday, he understood that his more sensitive skin would not tolerate scraping himself dry with a harsh towel, like he had done for years before. Dressed in a flower print bathrobe, Mike now had to face one of the most frightening places known to mankind, the ladies dressing room.

Mike had never had any steady girlfriends, certainly not any live-in ones. Nor had he had any sisters, and being who he was, with a career mother who had hundreds of servants, he hadn't spent any mornings getting ready with her either. Indeed, Mike had nothing to go on beyond what he had seen on television, or read in a few books, which wasn't going to help him much.

"Well, this is going to be fun," Mike said to himself. "The least you could have done was give me an instruction manual."

The new woman knew enough that wet hair shouldn't be allowed to dry on its own, unless the grunge look was the desired fashion. Plugging in the hair drier, Mike went about attacking his shoulder length tresses. At least it was relatively straight, the brunette with hints of auburn hair yielding easily to the drier and brush. After a near eternity, of about 15 minutes, Mike was finished with his hair, and he set his dryer and brush down, to search trough his wardrobes. Mike, as a male, had had about three changes of about every style, from t-shirt and shorts, to penguin suit. One of the apartments bedrooms had been given over entirely to a dressing room, and Mike could see that as a female he had even more clothes, a feat he would not have previously thought possible.

"If I ever catch myself saying I have nothing to wear, it's a sure sign of approaching mental illness."

Not brave enough to try on anything complicated, Mike put on a simple white bra and panties. The bra snugly secured his breasts, and it simultaneously made Mike feel more comfortable, and safe, and then embarrassed and nervous, that his mother would burst in to see him in drag. The panties covered his new vulnerable anatomy, and while he was still pained at his loss, he still felt significantly better that their was at least something, however thin, between his womanhood and any knuckle dragging pre-hominid XY out there who might wish to get into said womanhood.

With the easy part done, Mike was now faced with one of the most critical decision of his new life, what to wear. Since just about every style and fashion was represented, he had no idea how his female self usually dressed. The only thing he had to go on, was what had been packed in the suitcase, and if that was any indication, she was as much at home in jeans as she was in dresses. Well Mike certainly wasn't at home in dresses, so he chose a pair of jeans from one of the drawers. He pulled them up to about his hips before meeting stiff resistance, and abandoning his attempt. Apparently, this was one of those pairs of women's jeans that were painted on, rather than worn. Searching through the drawers, Mike eventually found a pair that seemed much looser than the first. They looked reasonably good on him, and had the extra-added bonus of allowing him to breathe. Remembering that jeans matched with just about anything, Mike took the first suitable blouse he found, a lemon colored one, and put it on despite the buttons on the wrong side.

Mike hadn't been without a watch in his life if he could help it. Some things were apparently ingrained at a genetic level, as he had a selection of over twenty to put on, all synchronised. But beyond the watch, Mike had no idea what jewellery to put on. Small earrings were attached to his lobes when he woke up yesterday, they were some type of glittering stone, and knowing his father, they had very little chance of being fake diamonds. Wearing diamonds with jeans somehow seemed a bit tacky to him; but, since he didn't really have much of any option in his jewellery chest but diamonds or precious stones, he decided to leave them in. No doubt his mother would say something about it, if it turned out to be improper.

The makeup table was a complete mystery to Mike, and he could only hope he could get by with nothing, for the time being. He certainly felt he didn't need any enhancements to the beautiful face he now wore. His parents did good work, if he did say so himself. Mike remembered that he couldn't go through a department store without being bombarded by chemical warfare in the guise of perfume. And that in that same area, professional makeovers, and makeup tips, were supplied to any willing woman. Hey, who was he kidding, he was a Lane heir, he could probably have Victoria Secret, Elizabeth Taylor, and the president of every makeup company in the world to wait on him, to clothe, to accessorise, and to make him over, at the drop of a hat. Indeed, that's probably what had happened in this alternate reality.

"Shelly, are you almost done," called Susan Lane thru the door.

"Coming mother," Mike said, as he gathered up his purse and walked into the living room.

Mike walked into the kitchen and saw his mother making breakfast, something he had seldom had the opportunity to see before. When he had moved to the apartment, his father had tried sending several family retainers out. But Mike had refused. He wanted to look after himself, well, everything except the laundry and the dishes. A man could only do so much. Apparently Michelle suffered from the same streak of independence. It was an artificial independence, Mike knew, that beyond the obvious point, he hadn't paid for any of it. There was a five man crash team in the apartment next door, that could take over a small country with the credit they had access to, if they had the need.

"Eggs scrambled or sunny side up?" his mother asked cheerfully.

"Well Susie homemaker, scrambled please with ham and cheese."

"One more crack like that, and you'll be wearing your eggs."

"Yes Dr. Lane ma'am," said Mike grinning.

"After breakfast I thought we could spend the day together. This city you exiled yourself to, doesn't have a respectable store, but it has enough to occupy our time"

"Shopping?" Mike asked uncertain

"I know we had a bad time at Harrods, with their silly policy on private armed guards, but after your father called things were sorted out. I don't think the JC Penny would react the same way anyway."

"Dr Susan O'Neil Lane shopping at J.C. Penny?" He asked, trying to sound shocked.

"You should know better than anyone, I've shared my research findings to you countless times. When you are shopping, it doesn't actually matter what you buy. Its simply the act of shopping. It's extremely therapeutic. It will cheer you right up, I know it will."

"Oh, I don't doubt it will cheer you up, but has it occurred to you mother, that I already have an entire room devoted to clothes, were would I put more?"

"What's wrong with you Michelle, usually all I have to do is annunciate the first three letters or so of S-H-O-P-P-I-N-G, and you're up faster than a speeding bullet."

"I'm just not feeling myself at the moment."

"Well then, this will put you to sorts. Listen to "doctor mom" honey, I'm writing you a prescription of at least four new outfits, and assorted accessories. Which reminds me, you don't have any make up on."

"I woke up this morning, mom, hating my looks,. I was hoping you could help me with my make up, make me look like a whole new woman."

Susan Lane brightened up considerably at the thought of helping her daughter with her make up.

"Well if you insist."

The Limo dropped them off at 11:AM. and the 10-person security team spread out to provide a perimeter of protection for the two Lane ladies. Mike had no idea what he was doing, and simply followed his mother wherever she led. Apparently the tradition of shopping was second nature to her. The dressing room experience was not what he expected. On the drive over, he held fantasies that he could see other woman in various stages of undress. Then reality came to the forefront, he was the lane heir, and the security team emptied out the entire dressing room area with a suitable cash payment to the manager. If Mike were to be entertained by the feminine form, it would have to be his own, which wasn't what he had in mind. At first, Mike gave in to whatever his mother suggested, not really caring what she chose. This earned him several questioning looks from his mother. Eventually, she took an extremely hideous skirt off the rack and held it up to Mike for comparison. There was only so much a man could take, and Mike put his petite foot down. His mother seemed slightly put out by her daughters refusal, but in reality, was pleased Shelly was finally getting into it. The refusal was more like the Michelle she was used to. After two and a half hours, they had a respectable collection of bags and boxes, again, being carried by the chosen security guard. The reason that one was specifically tasked for this, was so that those guards that were armed and needed to draw their weapons in a hurry, would not have to drop packages and bags first. More than one secret service detail attached to the first lady or daughter, had been caught by that one, before it became standard operating procedure.

After clothes shopping round one was finished, Mike and his mother went to lunch at a local restaurant. Mike had wanted to order a cheeseburger and fries, his customary lunchtime staple, but his mother had given off such a laser eyed stare and cold, gruff frown, that Mike changed the order to a chicken salad, before the waiter left the table, much to his mothers pleasure. The two talked about family and friends some of whom Mike was not aware of. He resolved to find the always-ubiquitous girls diary and try to piece together his new life. During the lunch, Mike was left with the impression that his relationship with his mother had changed significantly from when he was a male.

They had never been distant. They had always related to each other, and understood each other. But now, Mike felt his mother was much closer to her daughter than she was to her son. Understandable really, some things could not be talked about mother to son. Some of the conversation left Mike blushing.

"Its how I know he doesn't have anything on the side, even if his secretary wasn't older than him, no man could be that vigorous with two woman at once, despite ViagraÔ . Though, I think it ironic that he was in on the ground floor in purchasing Pfizer stock.

"MoTHer! I did not need to know that. Ah! Scarred for life" Mike said, embarrassed as he covered his eyes at the thought of his parents having sex.

"I was just trying to shock you out of your shell, you have barely said a word all day." His mother said concerned.

"I'm still reeling from last night, I really am sorry mom, and I don't know what I was doing."

"Nor do I, why you would just pick up and head west, I don't understand. It wasn't some boy was it? No one tried to do anything to you while the detail was away?"

"No mom, no boy did anything to me," and never will Mike thought. "It just became to much for me all of a sudden."

"I suppose I can understand that Shelly, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and have to turn over and see your father, just to reassure myself it wasn't some fairytale dream, and sometimes maybe a nightmare."

"Cinderella, my life aint," said Mike laughing. "I've hardly had the poor life scrubbing floors, or the wicked step-mother, but I often wonder about the happy ending."

"Don't worry Michelle, Prince Charming will come around some day."

"Later, rather than sooner mother. I'm not sure I can handle a boyfriend right now."

"You'll have to deal with it, later, sooner or however you wish, you're the heir, and you have to have an heir of your own someday."

Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

"That's not really something I want to think about either, right now, Mom."

"Well, just don't take too long young lady, your fathers not getting any younger, and if I know him, he may try a repeat of history."

"If I know Dad, there's not a man on this planet that is good enough for his daughter to be left alone on a deserted island with."

"Probably true, but that doesn't mean he will stop looking, nor should you"

"Yes mother."

 

Going to the restaurant's ladies toilet was hardly Mikes first time relieving himself with his new equipment, but it was the first time he had done it in public. One of the female guards got up and performed a visual inspection, insuring that no snatch and grab team was hiding under the stalls, after thirty seconds Mike was given permission to enter. Even if the guard hadn't indicated which door to enter Mike could not have subconsciously forgotten his new appearance and entered the male restroom, because there was no way he could forget. Instead he walked toward the skirted stick figure like he was walking to his own execution. When Mike did enter, he jumped from a rather large noise.

Bang!

"Sorry," said a blond haired young woman, as she hit a machine on the wall again. "It caught me by surprise and the damn machine wont give"

Bang!

Uncertain of what she was talking about Mike asked her

"What caught you by surprise?"

The blond woman gave Mike a funny look of surprise, but then stepped away from the machine with "Tampax" prominently displayed in pink letters.

"Oh," started Mike, embarrassed on a whole number of levels the blond would never be aware of. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking like myself today, I think I have a tampon or two in reserve inside my purse if you would like one."

"Would you, you'd be a lifesaver, I can pay you," said the blond woman reaching into her own purse for more money.

"Don't worry," said Mick as he removed one of the tampons from his purse, treating it like it was both an item of pure evil, and some great grail from a mystic quest. "My bank account can suffer the cost of one tampon."

"Cindy Watson," the woman said extending her hand.

"Michelle Lane," replied Mike, shaking the woman's hand, in a woman's fashion, and then handing over the woman's sanitary device.

"Ha," Cindy laughed. "No, I don't suppose one tampon will bankrupt you, did that little gremlin with a sour puss who walked in a few moments ago belong to you?"

"Yes, I just met her, but she doesn't seem to have much of a personality."

"Guarding someone like you I can understand why."

"So you know who I am," Mike asked curiously, seeking reassurance that it wasn't some grand conspiracy by his family, and that other people knew him as a woman too.

"I'm a business administration student at Creighton, Lane Incorporated is a case study for us."

"How do we rate?" Mike asked, suddenly curious for an outside opinion.

"Pretty well, all things considered, no toxic waste dumping, or mass layoff in the name of efficiency. At least, not one that anyone's caught anyway."

"I'm an economics major at Creighton."

"Yes I know, a few people have pointed you out to me, I just didn't make the connection. Now I'm sorry to be impolite, but I think I'm leaking."

"Of course, sorry to delay you."

"See you around"

"You too"

The rest of the day passed normally, or as normally as it could be, if you were spending it in skirts and the opposite gender to what you were born. The jeans had lasted till lunch, but the slightly larger nails Mike now had, caused him to drop his coffee all over his jeans. Beyond the immediate burning sensation in areas of his body he didn't want to burn, now Mike needed something to wear in their place. So it was probably handy that they had just finished clothes shopping, and probably fate, that Mike had agreed to three skirts and one dress, in his apathetic agreement to whatever his mother chose. Faced with no alternative, Mike was now dressed in such a sugary female fashion, that he was starting to worry if it were possible to expire from acute embarrassment and sappiness poisoning.

"Oh, isn't that Christmas display so cute, the Santa is just so jolly," said Dr. Susan Lane, F.A.C.S.

Apparently not.

"Where is Christmas this year, mom, Fiji, the Cayman Islands?" Mike asked suddenly curious. Christmases for the Lane trio were always an adventure.

"Omaha," replied Mikes mother, smiling wickedly at him

"What?" asked a puzzled Mike.

"Your father and I never really agreed with your decision to exile yourself out here in the sticks, even if it does give you a better chance to escape from the pressures of New York society. There's not much to recommend this place, but it has a sense of peace and quiet, which your father and I suddenly approve of. What with my new panels, and his problems with the Internet bubble, we have decided kith and kin is a much better alternative than some Polynesian paradise. Besides, it's been ages since I've had a white Christmas. I'll be staying here to set things up, and your father will be arriving on the 22^nd"

"What about your practice? Mike asked concerned.

"You and I both know what that really is, your father letting me play with my toys. Sure, I know that I'm one of the best in the world, and my colleagues do as well. My grateful patients certainly appreciate my attentions, but I don't really have a practice anymore. I get called into interesting cases every once in a while, but since mister Debney, I haven't had anything permanent," Susan Lane informed with a hint of bitterness.

Apparently, Mike switching genders had not changed anything about his mother's life. For almost two decades Dr. Lane had been one of the foremost surgeons in the nation. She became so well known in her doctor persona, that people who met Doctor Lane at a hospital charity event, would meet Mrs Lane at some other benefit, and never realise they were one and the same. And then came Barry Debney. It had never been proven error had been committed , at least not conclusively; and Mike's mother had always insisted the liver transplant had gone according to the book. Susan believed Mr. Debney drank himself into rejecting the new organ. Regardless, when he expired three months after the operation that should have extended his life by 15 years, and left behind six children with his widow, it was a malpractice lawyer's wet dream. They knew Dr. Lane and Mrs Lane were one and the same.

The original claim of one billion dollars was the largest civil action in the history of the world against a single person. But it wasn't the sort of a place in the history books someone sought. Normally, a bereaved widow of a construction worker, with no life insurance, and six children to feed, could not have had a legal staff that rivalled some of the small fortune five hundred companies. But the legal team had agreed to work free of charge, to be paid only if a settlement or judgement was reached. In actuality, Jack Conklin found out, eventually, they were doing nothing of the sort. They were being paid by secret retainer from a consortium of business rivals of Lane Incorporated. The whole thing was an opportunistic attack upon John Lane, with his wife and an innocent family caught in the middle. Even if no billion-dollar judgement was ever reached, the mere threat of one was enough to send much of the companies dealings into hysterics.

The sharks had smelled blood, and they had used every dirty trick in the book, and several that were too foul to be put down in words, to try and force the large payout. During a long and drawn out legal battle lasting seven months, Dr. Lane had attended every day of the hearings, sitting calmly and dignified, daring the lawyers and the jury to find fault with her. The lawyers couldn't bear up under the strain, but continued on anyway, refusing to make eye contact. Toward the end, the "bereaved widow," had stopped coming to the hearings. Finally, Conklin found out, this was because the small stipend she was given by the lawyers for her participation, wasn't enough to feed all six of her children at the same time. Mrs. Debney was working one, then one and a half full time jobs to make ends meet, while her "lawyers" were treating themselves to hundred dollar lunches and Cuban cigars.

When she found out, Susan Lane, against her lawyers advice, acting not as Mrs. Lane, or Dr. Lane, instead approached as Susie Lane, and she talked to Mrs. Debney. Finally, understanding how they were both being used as puppet's pawns in a game of big business, Susan made a settlement offer, still disregarding the lawyers. Mrs. Debney had refused the offer, stating she was forbidden from accepting any offer without the lawyers present. Mrs Debney cried, trembling in the arms of her new friend, stating she never wanted this, indeed had wanted to back out months ago; but her lawyers said they would take away everything she had left, and would separate her from her children, if she dropped the suit and "broke her contract."

Hell hath no fury like an Irish woman scorned. Arranging for suitable police investigators to be staking out the Debney home. Susie told her friend to invite her lawyers in, and inform them she was dropping the case. The police caught on tape threats, blackmail, coercion, and even one case of sexual harassment.

The Judge was, as expected, not amused; and he threw the entire case out of court, fining the "dream team" the entire seven month court cost.

Jayne Debney could have been left with nothing. Indeed, she was entitled to nothing, as Dr. Lane still insisted it was a perfect operation, and there really was no evidence to the contrary, and not everyone could be saved. Regardless, Susie Lane, had, out of her own reasonable fortune, set up a trust for Jayne and her six children, buying a house for them to live in as well. No one in that family would need to go hungry again, and every last one of those six children would be given tuition for any college they could get into.

It was a happy ending for almost everyone involved. The Debney's were taken care of, John Lane's company was safe from a billion dollar legal hit, even the lawyers made out on the deal, the retainer from the backing consortium being more than enough to cover the fines, and leave them a nice hunk of change. Everyone got their happy ending but Dr. Susan Lane. St. Johns Medical Center had apologised profusely, but the associate professor job had been filled while she was on sabbatical. Johns Hopkins regretted to inform her. Mt. Sinai was accepting no applications at this time. No mater how great a surgeon she was, no hospital was willing to risk their name being attached on a lawsuit to such a prominent target. And no insurance company would cover her, despite her long and near perfect record.

Saddened by his wife's rudderless life without her surgery, John Lane had purchased a small teaching hospital in Vermont, within commuting distance of their New York home by helicopter. But it wasn't the same. John made sure that every patron was pre screened, both that they wouldn't have any complications, and they would not seek legal action if there were. Dr. Lane, as expected, did not think it was the same, and for the past three years had resigned herself to teaching her art to other surgeons rather than performing it herself.

"Won't they miss you?" Mike asked

"Walter Crumbly is officially the hospital administrator, but he knows where his pay check comes from, I could leave and return as a ninety year old great grandmother and my office would still be there."

"There you go again, bringing up the procreation again, can we have one conversation without talking about babies"

"Sure, after you have one, and he grows up a little, then we can talk about the terrible two's"

"MoTHer!" Mike yelled embarrassed.

"MoTher! I am not going," Mike vainly tried to protest the next morning at breakfast.

"You really have no excuse Shelly, your finals are finally done, no class until January 21, and as far as I have been able to see, no social life beyond watching television and reading Captain Kangaroo."

"That's smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo mother

"You smoke!"

"No, Mom, that's just how the song goes you know 'Smoken CIIIGarets and wat chin Capt Tain KANNGGuro! Now don't tell me there's nothin to do.'

"That frightens me on so many different levels I would just as soon forget it ever happened" Susan Lane after shaking her head at her daughters singing.

"What? I think I sing well."

"Oh you do, its just that it is one of your fathers favourite songs, and you sung it just like he did, even right down to the chicken like nodding of the head.

"Chicken like?"

"You should have seen yourself in the mirror Bawwk! bawwk! bock!"

"Ditto," replied Mike Lane with a raised eyebrow.

"But back to my original point, you can go to the Aksarben dinner, everyone who is anyone in this town, admittedly no great distinction, is going to be there, and so must we."

"Why? You usually have to be dragged to these affairs with the same steel manacles as I."

"This is a medical benefit for the local children's hospital. And I received an invitation form the chief of surgery in my Dr. Lane persona, and that's the one I'm accepting, rather than the several I received from the local blue bloods with the intellect of flees. If I have to storm the beachheads of Society, I'll need some emotional support from my loving daughter."

"Are we at least going to have some fun?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I remember a few years back when at the charity auction for war orphans you went bid for bid with Mrs Gates knowing full well that she had to have the item in question, and you were going to leave her hanging with last bid, what was it she paid for the Picasso ten times market value."

"Twelve," Susan replied smiling at the experience.

"What is it, that resurrected that thinly veiled, mile long vindictive streak of yours?"

"She called me Susie homemaker, that bitch, she hasn't worked a day in her life. What was really funny about it though, was when the bidding got to ten million, and she had to halt the preceding for a quick call back to Redmond, so another of her accounts could be opened."

"And the auctioneer asked if you needed time as well"

"And I answered 'I don't worry about pocket change'" replied Susan with an evil grin.

"Still you took an awful risk?"

"No I didn't, if two of the richest woman in the world were fighting over a painting then it just had to be worth it. If I was stuck with it, I could have turned around and offloaded it for a nice profit the next day. Besides, compared to some of the other corporate trophy wives escapades, it was a small matter. I'm entitled to a few foibles."

"Corporate trophy wife?" Mike asked

"First prise of course"

"Of course," replied Mike. "All right Dr. Mom, when is this gig?

"Tonight at eight."

"Well, come and get me when its time to go."

"Michelle! We have to start getting ready."

"What are you talking about?," said Mike as he looked at his watch. "Its only 10AM."

"Half the day wasted already, come along dear."

 

The only upside Mike could come up with, after spending most of a day in a beauty salon, was that he didn't have to actually do any of the work and he could sit back and have others do it all for him. Not that he actually enjoyed it. Between the picking, prodding, priming, plucking, and PLEASE GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE! The outside might have been fairytale beautiful, but the inside was a cowering wreck.

After a complete treatment of various unknown agents to every square inch of skin, Mike was beginning to worry about chemical warfare. But since his mother was lying calming in the seat next to him taking it all with a contented expression, Mike supposed the beauticians weren't trying to kill them, yet. The entire process took five hours, and by the end Mike was famished, and he needed to relieve himself before he peed his panties. The trouble was, after all the hours of effort, the highly paid professional tortures did not let him leave until they had given him instructions on how to keep everything in its place while he went about the rest of the day.

 

Oh, of course, none of the dozens of gowns lying in his closet would be suitable for tonight. And even though Susan complained long and hard about the lack of selection, it did not stop her from seizing control of a dress shop and ordering about its staff in a manner that would have made a marine drill instructor proud.

The first dress she wanted him to try on was pink

The second was pinkish.

The third was off pink

The next was bright pink

Mike started to detect a trend developing. Only the fact that time was running out, and the makeup had yet to be applied, forced "El Commandante" to halt the fittings, and force her daughter to make a decision. Mike would have honestly preferred sackcloth and ashes to any of the items in front of him, but quickly understood his mother wouldn't go for it. As all were equally awful on him, from his vantage point anyway, Mike played a mental game with himself. He imagined what he would have preferred to see on some other girl at the dinner tonight. He tried to promote the idea that the Michelle Lane in front of him wasn't him at all. Eventually Mike made his decision to a chorus of 'oh how lovely's' from every female on the staff. Immediately, Mike was having second thoughts about the matter, he suddenly realised that he was the person in front of the mirror. And that his taste in woman's coverings was firmly linked to the proportion of the woman it didn't cover.

But before Mike could foment a revolt, the gown was boxed up and handed to a waiting guard. The two Lane women then set off for Mike's apartment for a quick, and badly needed meal, and the arrival of the makeup artist. There are certain people that just oozed sex from every pore, and Lisa Powel was one of those kind of girls, who when she entered a room, screamed "I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR!" without ever saying a word at all. Taking control from el commandante, who was happy to turn over command, Lisa set Mike down on the kitchen chair, unlocked her three makeup boxes, and proceeded to paint a mistresspiece.

The makeup session was shorter than the beauty salon, but every bit as painful. If anyone made a crack about the 'pains we woman go thru to be beautiful' Mike was quite certain he would have gone on a ten state killing rampage. Eventually the proceedings were over, and Mike was handed a clutch bag with the essential ingredients to touch up any accidents that could occur tonight.

Then, it was time to put on the dress. Making a bit of an ironic statement that no one but him and a trickster angel would get. Mike had not selected a dress of girly pink, instead one of boy blue. The deep navy blue silk gown was both elegant graceful, with a hint of provocative that he really should not have allowed, but it was too late now. Matching shoes had been provided by the shop, and while the three inch heels took some getting used to, they were not that difficult to manage, as long as one didn't move. Mike was quite content to let his mother be a mother hen and select the proper jewellery for him to wear. Though he did not have the first idea about what coordinated with what, he drew the line at the tiara. It just seemed a bit too pretentious to him.

Finally, and for the first time that day, Mike was allowed to see the full effect in a full-length mirror.

He caught his jaw before it really dropped that far, but it was a near thing.

Damn, I'm beautiful, Mike thought to himself

"Damn, but you're beautiful. Its times like these that I'm thankful we have several very large men with several very large guns to guard your virtue.

"MoTHer!"

 

The gathering was like a hundred others Mike had been to before, with one slight little difference. As a Lane, he was still the center of attention, but he was a female Lane now, and some of the male attention he was receiving was a frightening and new experience for him. He had seen avarice looks from some of the man-eater muffins that threw themselves at him when he was a him. But this was different. It was more fundamental than the gold diggers after a large fortune. If anything, all the men in the room saw the beautiful woman first, and the money second.

Great, just freaking great Mike thought to himself angrily. Finally I get people to notice the person before the bank balance, and It's a hundred penis's lining up to make a more personal deposit.

The waiter took their invitations and led them to their table, eight other people were situated around it. There were three couples of a reasonable prosperous middle class appearance, which were obviously shocked that they were sitting with The Lanes. But Dr. Alan Thomson knew his associate from back east would not want to spend the evening discussing the most recent fashions, but rather the new techniques in the field, so he had conveniently sat her at his table. Along with him was he pretty wife, clearly shocked at her husband's casual manner toward near royalty while at the same time clinging to every word Susie said. Also at the table were the couple's two children. They were Stacie, who was wearing a remarkably similar gown to Mikes, and their son Philip, in his first year at Creighton medical school, and also an Ensign in the Navy ROTC.

Mike smelled a plot.

Phil was a nice enough looking guy, if Mike was into that sort of thing, tall, dark, and reasonably handsome, particularly in his dress white uniform. And who, probably because his mother and sister were present to slap him upside the head if he didn't, showed a remarkable courtesy in speaking to Mike's face rather than the area beneath it. Mike was quite content to sit there quietly and munch on the rabbit food these events always euphemistically called "dinner," and wait for the whole thing to be mercifully over.

That was when The Mothers Stuck Back.

"Honey, wouldn't you like to dance tonight?" Mikes mother asked him.

"I can't dance at all tonight," said Mike thinking of Eliza Dolittle and the embassy ball.

"Shoes are bothering you" Susan asked concerned.

"Among other things," Mike replied trying to put on a brave face.

"Best go out on the dance floor before the auction and see some of the perspective bidders, you don't want to be caught unaware," said Mrs Thomson helpfully.

"That's all right, I wasn't planning on bidding on anything," Mike replied tiredly.

"But, Dr. Lane, I thought you told her." Mrs Thomson seems confused.

Mrs Thomson was halted by frantic waves from Mike's mother.

"Told me what?" Mike asked concerned.

"Well its nothing, well not really." Susan replied uncomfortably.

"Tell me what?", now more concerned

"Well, Omaha isn't New York dear, they don't have much items of artistic interest that would warrant a normal charity auction, so instead they're auctioning off another product."

"What Mother?"

"Dates."

"Dates?"

"Yes"

"Well, I'm pleased that I wont have to be a part of that," stated Mike coldly

"Well, there's a little problem with that Shelly, you see, I already put your name on the list."

Mike wanted to shout at the top of his soprano lungs, 'YOU WHAT!'; but he knew from long experience, making a scene would be detrimental to his cause, and would never work anyway. If he got too rambunctious a secondary purpose of the security detail was utilized, and he would have been ignominiously carried off kicking and screaming.

"Did it occur to you mother, to ask my permission before selling me off like a cow at the stock yards?"

"Well, I didn't think it would be a problem dear, she replied sweetly. You did say you wanted to be of help, and you also wanted to meet new people. This will put both in one package."

"How very efficient of you." Mike said sarcastically

"I thought so," replied his mother choosing not to hear her daughter's tone.

"And when were you going to tell me about the approaching slave auction mother?"

LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE. THE AUCTION IS ABOUT TO BEGIN,. MAY WE HAVE THE BACHELORS AND BACHELORETTES APPROACH THE STAGE PLEASE.

"Oh, right about now," answered Susan Lane wincing

"Just keep grinning Lady Macbeth, in a few years your heading to a third rate nursing home."

"I'll own the nursing home dear, and any facilities I'm at, will never be third rate. Now, go on with you."

The auction proceeded as expected, with men bidding on woman, and woman bidding on men, this was Nebraska after all. Even Philip Thompson was put up for bid, and he fetched a healthy five thousand dollars, from a woman in the back, Mike couldn't see. And of course, the worst part was saved for last.

AND NOW, THE BEST WE HAVE SAVED FOR LAST, TONIGHTS CLOSING ENTRY, DIRECT FROM NEW YORK, MICHELLE LANE. WHAT DO I HAVE FOR A FULL EVENINGS ENTERTAINMENT WITH THE BEAUTIFUL ROSE OF WESTCHESTER?

Mike had taken several self defence classes and if the auctioneer didn't stop laying it on very thick, Mike resolved to find out if human knees could bend forward.

"$100,000" came to opening bid from a twenty something penguin in the mid section.

"$150,000" countered a cattle baron-looking fellow up front.

"$200,000," said a distinguished looking fellow of about fifty.

'Oh come on, that ones old enough to be my grandfather. A girl has to have her standards. Come on Mr. Penguin, rescue me from grandpa.'

"$250,000, countered the penguin, though he began to visibly pale at the thought of spending a quarter million dollars on a date. Mike, who was well aware of how valuable he was, considered himself worth much more.

"$500,000," bid the 50ish man to startled gasps around the room. After further examination, Mike could identify the bidder as the President of First Info Services, a local and quite successful company. Not that that made it ok for Mike to go on a date with him. After a moments introspection, Mike realised he didn't want to go on a date, with any man. He quickly did some number crunching in his head, and realised he had a little over $730,000 in his personal account; and he was about to spend three quarters of a million dollars bidding on himself so he didn't have to go on a date, when even this hope was taken from him.

"One million dollars," came a familiar voice from the back of the room. One, that because of the bright stage lights, Mike could not see to identify.

"One million going once."

The auctioneer looked to the First Info president, who shook his head.

"Going twice."

"Sold to the gentleman in the back row for one million dollars. Well ladies and gentleman, I don't know the exact figures but I am happy to say we more than made our goal for the evening. Lets all thank Miss Lane for her attendance, she fetched more than all the rest combined," finished the auctioneer pleased.

Laugh it up old man, one more word from you and I'll sic Captain Jack on you.

Mike was led down the stage to meet his owner for the next evening. Half the way there, Mike saw the earlier mentioned Jack Conklin handing over a check to one of the officials and smiling at Mike.

Speak of the devil and he by god appears

"Well Captain Jack, I didn't know we paid you enough for this, and what would my father say. Your old enough to be my…..

"Boyishly beautiful elder cousin," replied the forty nine year old, balding, former marine.

"Something like that, I know you wouldn't do something like this without orders so were is the intriguer in chief"

"Over with the Thomson's. Well, with my duty here being done, I'm off to set up the security for your fathers arrival."

"What hotel is he staying at?"

"No hotel, he decided he might as well buy a home out here, if your going to be spending so much time here. You wouldn't believe how ridiculously cheap the real estate is, in "The Flyover".

"The fly over.

"Sure, you have New York on one side, Los Angeles on the other, in between is The Flyover"

"What about Chicago?" Mike asked curiously.

"We don't speak that name in mixed company Milady. Daly's town you know, he may be a quarter century dead, but we still don't go anywhere near that thing.

"What ever you say Captain Jack"

"I believe your mother is calling to you."

"Michelle, I would like you to meet your date for tomorrow evening. Now, you make sure he's a gentleman, I paid five thousand dollars for him; and, the least he can do for that money is open a few doors."

Susan Lane came up leading a sheepishly embarrassed Philip Thomson; Mike couldn't find it in his heart to dislike the med student. He was as much a pawn, trapped in the clutches of evil Moms, as he was.

"What mother," asked a greatly annoyed Mike. "In our long history together, would make you think that I would go along with this shameless attempt at matchmaking."

"Its not shameless. I've got a whole bunch of shame. A 21-year-old daughter as beautiful, smart, and talented as you, and you haven't had a steady boyfriend yet. If you don't do this for me, I'll just die of shame."

"With you being such a health Nazi, I somehow doubt it."

"Shelly, please, you need to get out and start dating, dating. You've been sheltered long enough."

"Why should I get out"

"Its not healthy to spend all your days reading,"

"Funny, as a doctor, I would have thought you would be aware of the health risks associated with what your pushing me into."

"Oh, I know you wont get into any sort of trouble, you're to smart a girl"

"Am I now? Well, Mr. Thomson, front and center!"

"Ah, yes Miss Lane"

"As my address has been written on half the toilet stalls on campus I assume you know it."

"Yes Miss Lane.

"And my telephone number written on the other half".

"Yes Miss lane".

"I will inform my service to forward your call. You will be in front of my door at 6:00PM sharp tomorrow evening. Make one phone call to announce your arrival. Now about your car."

"My car?" he asked uncertain

"You have one I presume."

"Yes,"

"It will be washed and cleaned, both inside and outside, and filled with a full tank of gas. If your automobile cannot be made suitable for female habitation you will provide a limousine. Understood?"

"Yes Miss Lane."

"There will be a movie?"

"Ah, yes ma'am."

"Dinner?"

"Of course ma'am."

"After dinner coffee and treat?"

"As you please ma'am."

"You will be entitled to one goodnight kiss, as a mater of courtesy from me,

"Thank you ma'am."

"As a matter of curtsey too me, I ask that you not use excessive tongue or saliva, as it offends me."

"Of course ma'am"

"If you behave yourself like an officer gentleman, and your manner pleases me, I will invite you upstairs for an evening of wild, wanton sex is that understood Sailor?"

"I am at your service ma'am."

"That is all."

"By your leave ma'am."

"Dismissed."

With a curt nod at Philip, and a mischievous grin at their two mothers, Mike gracefully walked out of the room, leaving behind one amused ROTC Ensign, and two suddenly perspiring elder females.

Mikes amusement at the practical joke he had pulled on his mother lasted about five minutes, until he realized, that in less than 24 hours he would have to actually go on a date, as a woman, with a man.

On second thought having a security detail wasn't such a bad thing anymore.

December 21^st and the holiday season is upon us. Merry freaking Christmas. Mike thought to himself the next morning. His mother and he had returned home around midnight, and she wouldn't let him get to bed, before he assured her that he was just joking, and that indeed, providing her with grandchildren was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. The morning progressed normally, as normally that is, for a recently transformed woman about to go on her first date could be. It was only through complicated negotiation that he convinced his mother that another shopping expedition wasn't warranted, as he already had enough apparel to clothe a small army. The argument was made when Mike brought a third party into the proceedings, and secured a powerful ally, by pointing out to the security detail leader, that a mall at Christmas time was probably too crowded and too high risk an environment to tackle. Susan Lane pouted for a few minutes, but gave in to her guard's best judgment. They had been through too much together.

Since Phil had already seen more skin than Mike would have liked to show, modesty was a rather moot point right now. Mike had originally laid out jeans and a sweatshirt, until his mother had pointedly informed him that Phil would likely take him to a nice place for dinner.

"But Mom," Mike complained. "This is just dinner and a movie, and he's a starving college student, he's not going to have the money to… you didn't?"

"I slipped him a little green."

"How little is a little?"

"Ten."

"Ten what?"

"Ten hundreds"

"A thousands buck for one date!"

"So the least you can do is wear a skirt"

"But its freezing outside, and was this before or after my little gag."

"After of course,. I couldn't let it go unchallenged. And wear pantyhose. It's part of the PAIN we woman normally go through to be beautiful."

"If I hear you say that phrase one more time, you really will feel pain mother."

"That's all right dear, there's a doctor in the house."

Eventually, Mike gave in and wore a skirt, but had to go through three pairs of even the heaviest pantyhose. Before he successfully put on one that didn't have runs when he finished. And he slipped an extra undamaged pair into his purse because he would probably suffer a casualty before the night was over. It was ridiculous, it was the 21^st century, and woman had to wear skirts when it was 21 degrees outside. Even with a heavy coat over the skirt and blouse, Mike was leaving some very sensitive areas exposed to nature's elements. He prayed to the Big Boss upstairs that Phil's car had a good heater, because if it didn't, the whole thing was off.

Make up was a trying experience. While his mother was out, Mike had spent most of the day practicing his skills. It's amazing what a person could read on the Internet these days. And, after hours of work, he knew he could apply the bare minimum, which was all he was willing to anyway. If Phil was expecting the full beauticians treatment out of Mike all the time, it was best those illusions were shattered early.

It was at this point that Mike made a shattering self-realization. He was thinking about the future. He hadn't evolved so much that he was thinking about white weddings and babies; but, he had just consciously thought, not only about this date, but the possibility of other dates in the future. After a few minutes pondering, Mike realised that she had given in. In hindsight, she had never really had a chance in the first place. When the Lord's chosen champion comes down from on high, and changes you into a girl, there was a snowball's chance in…… that other place, she was ever going to be a male again. Fight however viciously, claw at it tooth and nail, he was stuck as a girl for the rest of his life.

Mike had a good cry then. Only a little of it was due to giving-in to the female hormones. The rest was simply a release of pent up sorrow and frustration. She had wasted her life. Never done anything noteworthy, cried and railed at every imagined injustice, and gotten herself killed in a fit of rash stupidity. The crying session lasted for about an hour or so, destroying all the carefully crafted make up work. Eventually Mike stopped; and slowly came to the realization, that she was still alive, and she had a life ahead of her. Then she made a resolution to herself not to waste this second life the as she had the first. Perhaps Phil wouldn't be the right person, but that special someone existed. And perhaps her fate as the President of Lane Incorporated was preordained; but, Mike was determined to make the best of her lack of options. After all, how many people, aside from Bill Gates, can say that if they drop out of college, they can still rise to lead a multibillion dollar company.

'Being a woman isn't so bad,' Mike thought to herself. ' Sure, there will be PMS, periods, and pregnancy; and earning only 70% of what a man earns at the same job; and being expected to work, keep house, raise children and put a filling meal on the table, and to look pretty all the while she's doing it; and then to keep smiling whenever her butt was pinched. What could a woman ever have to complain about?'

Mike barely had enough time to repair her makeup before Phil arrived, promptly at 6:00. Punctuality was a character trait she approved of. It was clear however, that Phil was surprised Mike was ready too, promptly at 6:00. It was his experience that when a woman asked you to be there at six, it meant don't plan anything before 6:30. Covering up his surprise well, Phil led her to his waiting car, which, Mike was pleased to admit, sported a quite effective heater.

"I know how you must be freezing in that skirt so I turned it all the way up."

"Bless you Phil" Mike replied gratefully.

"Thanks Miss Lane," he said appreciatively.

"For what, I should thank you?"

"For using my first name", replied Phil. "I thought, due to your performance last night, that this would be a rather formal affair."

"That was just a show for our respective mothers, I certainly hope you didn't take the last part seriously".

"Well no, but a gentlemen can hope cant he?," asked Phil, with a puppy dog look that was so appealing, it had to be practiced.

"Sure, if things progress along steadily, you can look forward to it, in three or four years."

"Well, a graduation present, oh joy Miss Lane," he smiled.

"Call me Mike," she told him kindly

"Mike?"

Damn

"Please call me Mike, it's my nickname, short for Michelle." Mike clarified come on buy it.

"Oh, right, I thought your mother called you Shelly."

"That's what my mother calls me, Philip."

"Gotcha, orders received and understood.

Dinner was Italian, pleasantly so. Mike had experience so many undercooked, overrated, under proportioned, and overpriced meals in his life, that anytime a nice restaurant was both reasonably priced and appetising, was cause for celebration. The dinner conversation was agreeable, and mostly covered both of their families. Mike wasn't feeling any fairy tale sparks, but she was impressed by Phil's self-assured manner. Not many people could do that in the presence of a person who would someday be able to buy countries.

"Wine sir, Miss?" the waiter asked when the meal came.

"No, thank you," Mike replied

"None for me thanks." agreed Phil

"You don't drink," Mike asked curiously.

"Never developed a taste for it. We never had it around the house. Dad being a surgeon and all, he never drank, couldn't afford the slightest hand tremor. When all my friends grew up and started thinking it was ambrosia, I tried it a few times but it tasted horrible. I could never see the point of spending huge amounts of money for something nasty, which could put me in jail or some similarly compromised situation. How about you?"

"Same deal, my moms a surgeon too, and dad, well he doesn't like anything to dull his wits; it's a lot like being the President of the United States, he can be awakened in the middle of the night, and have to make split second decisions that effect the lives of thousands."

"Wow."

"Yea wow. I always knew that's what I was destined for, and despite my father's ideas, I am probably ready for it. But, it's not something I'm looking forward to with any great enthusiasm."

"Why on earth not? All that money, you wouldn't have too worry about anything anymore, why wouldn't someone want what you have?"

"Your training to be a doctor, right?"

"Yes,"

"A practicing physician, or one of those 'look at me I have a diploma' society stars?"

"I want to help people," Phil said defensibly.

"Of course you do, that's a noble goal. But supposing you couldn't? Suppose something tragic happened, your fingers were amputated, and you couldn't perform surgery, ever again. You could still help people. Right? , Teach other surgeons how to heal, maybe do more and even better work that way?"

"I suppose."

"But would you be happy, standing on the sidelines, never again being able to do that which you loved."

"I don't know"

"Well your honest at least, lets make it more interesting. Suppose you turned out to be a descendent of long lost Russian archduke; and you're the heir to billions of dollars hiding in Switzerland. The only catch is, you have to live in Eastern Siberia, your ancestral home, for the rest of your life. To claim the money, you're exiled to a town with three donkeys and a bar. But with that money you can build hospitals, schools, universities, make a difference in the lives of millions. A noble life's ambition, right?"

"Yes."

"But would you be happy? Never being a doctor. Always having the rest of your life decided for you. Never to be free, to go where you want, or else those millions you could have helped would suffer instead."

"Your situation is different"

"Is it? You seem to think all that money means I can do what I want, but its not $35 Billion sitting in a bank, its in ships, factories, laboratories, fabrication works, movie studios, and a hundred and fifty thousand people around the world; a hundred and fifty thousand, and their families depending upon me. Sure, I could cash in the minute I inherit, maybe lose a couple billion in the transaction; but what's ten figures between friends. I could have enough to live off of, the interest alone is more than me or mine could spend in a hundred lifetimes, but I would have to betray those hundred and fifty thousand people and their families to a company that maybe doesn't have a comprehensive retirement plan, family medical and dental coverage, day-care, college scholarships, maternity leave, or any of the thousands of benefits, that make our people the best, most loyal and efficient in the world. Assuming of course, that company wouldn't lay them off first thing in a "productivity hire down." While my father and I are at this game, that money is being used for good works, not just maintaining those hundred and fifty thousand and their families, but financing hospitals, schools, and universities, and making a good difference in the life of millions more."

"But your not happy," Phil finished.

"No, I'm not. I'm very unhappy" Mike admitted

"You seem determined to make yourself so. If I were you, which I admittedly am not, I know I would look terrible in a skirt, I wouldn't spend all my time thinking of the doom that is to await me, the situation that I couldn't avoid even if I wanted to. I would think about how I could make my situation better, force myself to be happy, other people manage it."

"Like who?"

"Your mother and father seem to do all right, certainly she seems a bundle of joy, and I know from my father, events in recent years haven't been kind to her."

"That's different."

"How so?"

"They're in love."

"Well there, you see, all you need is love."

"Humph," Mike laughed. "And I suppose your offering your services as Prince Charming."

"Well, I hear chicks dig the uniform," Phil said with a grin.

"You have an overblown sense of your own attractiveness," huffed Mike, as she got up to leave. "Order us something for desert, I'll be in the ladies room."

"I'll be waiting."

(continued)

   

  

  

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