Duty, Honor, Country       by: Brandy Dewinter

 

Chapter 3 - Trans what?

Beech followed Karen down the hallway. He watched her as she glided along in her towering heels and began to truly understand the academic knowledge she had provided with her directions. He actually became reasonably comfortable in his own tall spikes, especially once he gained a little confidence in how much weight the thin heels could actually support. By the time they reached the cozy dining area he was hindered more by the pain in his feet from the unaccustomed pressures than by any inherent balance or skill. In the dining area Marilyn and Constance were already circulating among the arriving recruits, each of whom was now dressed in a similar robe, though each one had a unique color carefully selected to complement the appearance of the trainee. The transformation in the general was now complete, at least in appearance. Her beautiful face and shining hair were accented by a short robe, towering heels, and slimming seamed stockings just as the trainees wore (and Constance). Her elegant grace, in gestures as well as in walking, could leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that the general was every bit as feminine as Constance herself.

Beech was pleased to see that he had mastered the sway required by his high heels at least as well as any of the new trainees. He walked easily into the room and looked around for the others from his regiment. Jaymi Fox was just then entering, not as naturally as Beech had moved perhaps, but clearly on track to learning this skill. Others filed in and only the fact that Beech was watching for Carp Anderson, (what was his femme name?) reminded him that the third soldier from his regiment had not appeared. Marilyn must have been keeping count as well, for she spoke quietly to Constance who moved off down the appropriate corridor. In a few minutes she returned with Carp and his instructor, practically carrying the reluctant recruit. He tried to move on his own, but every other step his ankle turned, or his heel slipped, or he caught his pointed toe in the carpet. When they finally released him, he clung to the back of a chair, teetering precariously. "Clumsy Carp" indeed.

"Very well, then," Marilyn said. "Let’s get our food and be seated."

A delicious brunch had been laid out for them, complete with all manner of meats, breads, fruits, and vegetables. A cook stood by to make eggs to order as the group filed along the buffet. Beech gathered up his usual breakfast fare sized for an active young man’s appetite, and added a sandwich more appropriate for lunch while he was at it. He hadn’t eaten since noon yesterday, though come to think of it, he wasn’t as hungry as he expected. The distraction of the food broke the concentration of some of those who were just learning to walk all over again, but Beech soon forgot the shoes he wore and just went through the line. Marilyn was watching unobtrusively as the group moved along and their eyes met briefly, then Beech received a smile of approval for his success and a discreet wave of invitation to the general’s table. He swayed his way over to where Marilyn and Constance were sitting and added his own tray to the table beside theirs.

"With your permission, . . uh . . ma’am?" he stammered.

An instant of frown creased Marilyn’s beautiful brow for a second, then she relaxed. She knew it would take a while for them to get used to the idea. "Sit down," came the order. "Sandy, isn’t it?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Why don’t you just call me Marilyn?" the general requested. "When we’re on the mission, we’ll need to seem like friends, not soldiers."

"Yes, ma’am, I mean, yes, Marilyn," Beech replied, not much better.

The frown was again marring Marilyn’s face as she watched Carp struggle through the line. He clutched at the counter with each step, barely managing to push his tray along. Beech noted the general’s glance and sighed.

"What’s wrong?" Constance asked.

"Oh, it’s Carp, I mean, Anderson," answered Beech.

"Carp?" now Marilyn was asking.

"That’s just what we call him. It’s from the comic character, Clumsy Carp. I’m afraid he’s not very graceful."

"I wish I’d have known that before we left your base," the general’s frown was in full force now, reminding them of her . . no . . with that look, his command presence.

Constance caught the look, and gently reminded him, "Now, Marilyn, that frown just doesn’t work for you. Try a pout instead."

Marilyn’s attention flashed back to "her" table companion with a rueful smile, acknowledging what must have been one in a long series of corrections. She changed her expression to one somehow more feminine without being more happy. Truly a dainty pout rather than a masculine frown.

"I still wish I’d have known," she complained.

"So do I, dear," Constance agreed, "but we didn’t. Asking too many questions would have taken too long."

Marilyn nodded, then turned back to the very quiet Sandy Beech who was trying to disappear without moving while the elephants were angry.

"Is there anything else we should know about those from your regiment?" she asked.

Beech hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to do about Fox. This whole situation was so bizarre that he wasn’t sure whether ratting on a comrade was better than disobeying an order. Finally, though, it was an order, or at least a question that required a full and honest answer.

"Ma’am," the formality recognizing Marilyn’s authority, "the rumors within the regiment were that . . um . . Jaymi . . Fox was . . um . . homosexual."

"Exclusively?" demanded the general, once more surrendering feminine mannerism to forceful directness.

"I don’t know, um . . ma’am."

The general made as if to stand up, then calmed down. In a few moments, the frown was once again replaced with a pout that could have been devastatingly attractive, if Beech weren’t so terrified.

"Well," Marilyn mused, "with what we’re going to be doing, that may almost be an asset. I’m afraid Donna will have to go, though."

Donna, that was Carp’s femme name, Beech remembered, now even more terrified as what sounded like a sentence of death was passed on a new recruit on the very first day. For a Private to be sitting in supposedly casual conversation with a General, one granted almost unlimited authority by the President himself, made juggling hand grenades seem tame and safe by comparison. A single poorly chosen word and Beech might find out for himself just what happened to non-performers, a judgment the general was obviously quite ready to make. At another table, Jaymi ate his brunch in careless oblivion, at least, as careless as he or any of the recruits could be while wearing the unaccustomed corsets and heels. Beech wondered if he had sabotaged both of the men from his regiment in the space of a minute, and whether someone would sabotage him just as quickly.

Finally the brunch was over. Beech realized he was too full to eat another bite long before he had cleared his plate. Another mistake. The army allowed soldiers to eat well, but expected them not to waste their food. The corset just wouldn’t let him eat any more, though. The general and Constance had selected light meals and ate all they took. Looking around, Beech could see that virtually all of the new trainees had made the same mistake. Marilyn stood, provoking a disorderly rush by the trainees to stand in response, almost catastrophic in some cases as they forgot the care required by their high heels. Poor Carp was holding carefully to the table, all confidence gone and whatever poise he might have hoped for gone with it. In a moment new instructors were approaching each trainee and escorting them away from their tables.

The one who came to Beech was as pretty as any woman he had ever seen. But then, so was Marilyn. His suspicions were fully engaged as he followed her down the hallway. He noticed that she was wearing flats and he envied her the comfort even as he realized how stiff it seemed to make her motion. His own hips were orbiting with ever-increasing grace as he adapted to the demands of his new clothes.

The pretty girl leading him along looked over her shoulder and said, "My name is Kathy. I’ll be your instructor in makeup and hairstyles."

Beech had so many questions he couldn’t have consciously picked a single one, but one leaped uninvited into first place in a long line. "Do the names of all the instructors start with a K?"

She laughed and nodded, "All of yours, in any event. No one gives their correct names here, nor do I know yours. You might have noticed that only Marilyn and Constance talked with you until after your briefing and selection of new names. We’ve all been warned what will happen if we pry into whatever your mission is. I don’t want to know."

His next question was almost as pressing, building from a seeming dilemma. He rubbed his hand over the millimeters of hair that was all that basic training had left him and asked, "What sort of training do I need for my hair?"

"You’ll see," she giggled. Now that didn’t make him feel any better, not any better at all. They returned to his bedroom and he was directed to the vanity.

"You will need to learn to wear makeup with special skill, since it will need to cover any trace of masculinity as well as make you look attractive. Pay close attention. I’ll do one side of your face, more or less, and expect you to do the other. You’ll be graded at dinner on how well the two sides match. If Marilyn can’t tell which side you did and which side I did, you pass."

That was the introduction to a long, detailed lecture on makeup. Beech was motivated perhaps a bit more than most of the trainees, having just watched as a sentence was passed on one of the recruits. Perhaps he also had a knack for colors and shapes as well, because in a short while he was matching the approach Kathy had identified, even improving on it. He was so wrapped up in his task that the full impact didn’t really register. His face was transforming from that of a somewhat delicately-featured man, to a young, amazingly pretty girl.

"Not bad," Kathy admitted, "now for the next step. What color is your hair when it’s grown out?"

"Black," he replied.

"Absolutely black, blue-black?" demanded his instructor.

"Well, no, in some lights there are brown highlights, maybe even red. Or at least there were, when I let it grow long."

"How long have you worn it?"

"Over my shoulders, when I was in high school," he explained, leveling his hands about even with his collar bones.

"Good, then you have a start on understanding hair care," Kathy smiled, then reached for one of several tall boxes on the floor.

"I think we’ll start with this one," she said as she pulled out a thick mass of tumbling night, almost black, with just a hint of red. Beech was turned away from the mirror when she put it on him for the first time since Kathy needed to see how it would fit before she could tell Beech how to do it. As a result, she was the first to see Sandy’s total appearance in makeup and wig. Her own concentration kept her from realizing what was happening until she stood back to check the alignment of the wig. It was at that time the full impact of the changes in the recruit’s appearance hit her so forcibly she gasped.

"What’s wrong?" Sandy asked.

"Nothing," Kathy whispered. "Nothing at all."

Sandy turned to look in the mirror and her own gasp echoed the astonishment of her instructor. A beautiful young lady looked out of the mirror at her. Flawless makeup was applied so expertly it appeared to be only the merest accent to pre-existing beauty, and the glorious mane of dark hair tumbled to her tiny waist in rippling waves. This was not an obvious man in corset and heels, nor even a transvestite making a valiant effort to pass as a woman. This was an outstanding example of femininity at its finest, clearly and unmistakably a girl just on the trembling threshold of womanhood.

Beech didn’t know the statistics that indicated most young men had at one time or another experimented with women’s clothes, usually from a mother or older sister and only in private. He hadn’t himself, though, ever. The rapidly arriving shocks of this adventure had kept his mind so focused on the mechanics of the new skills he was expected to attain that he hadn’t considered them from an erotic perspective. The clothes didn’t excite him, particularly, though he had responded physically to Karen’s intimate ministrations in the shower. All of the sudden the impact of what he was wearing flooded through him with desperate embarrassment accompanied by even more powerful arousal. The gorgeous woman in the mirror excited him to the point of pain and he grunted in a most unladylike way at the surprise.

And yet, there was pride as well, not only pride in a job well done, but pride in her beauty. A woman’s self image was strongly driven by her sense of personal attractiveness, just a man’s self image was strengthened by being tall and powerful. Sandy saw her beauty and wanted it to continue, wanted to remain a beautiful girl. That was an urge that had never bothered her before. Beech lusted after the image in the mirror as a man for a desirable woman. Sandy lusted after the image in the mirror as though it were a precious jewel to be cherished, and Sandy quickly regained control. She turned her head from side to side, remembering and reveling in the silky whispers of hair tumbling about her shoulders. She pursed her lips in a slow, sensuous kissing motion, provoking a giggle from Kathy and an abrupt return to earth for her soaring thoughts.

"Honey, you’re going to have to be careful. You keep that up and some of those boys out there will forget their own appearance and have you on your back in a heartbeat," smirked the pretty instructor.

Heat flared to life in Sandy’s cheeks again as she hung her head in embarrassment. But her glance was drawn back to the incredible image in the mirror and it was clear that this was beyond an academic training exercise, way beyond. Sandy was going to have some real work to do before she could understand and cope with the out-of-control emotions flooding through her.

"All right, girl, stand up," ordered Kathy. "We’re do back in the sitting room in just a few minutes. Do you need to visit the facilities?"

Sandy nodded, sending ripples through the liquid night framing her shoulders that so distracted her she entirely forgot the difficulty of her high heels and tight corset. When she reached the bathroom, though, she remembered enough to be grateful that her earlier instructor had made her run the garters under her panties. She was able to take care of business with minimal effort and was soon ready to follow Kathy back to the rest of the group.

Marilyn was already in the room, talking quietly with Constance. It appeared the elegant woman’s name had been chosen to indicate the permanence of her position beside the beautiful general. This time Sandy was the first of the recruits to reach the gathering. That focused Marilyn’s attention on the green-eyed brunette, a discomforting situation for Sandy. It also focused Connie’s attention, one that was decidedly welcome. Sandy was trying to sort out all the conflicting emotions rampaging through her when Marilyn moved close enough to talk.

"Excellent, Sandy!" the general complimented her. "You are spectacular!"

"Thank you, ma’am," Sandy said automatically. It wasn’t until the words were out of her mouth that she remembered the general had asked to be addressed as Marilyn. Even then, it was another heartbeat before Sandy realized the ‘ma’am’ had been automatic. Marilyn was entirely too pretty to be a ‘sir’. Sandy’s instructor escort had disappeared discreetly as soon as they reached the room, so she was on her own once again with an officer at least 17 ranks higher than her in the chain of command.

"I didn’t know you were left-handed. It’s not in your file," Constance mused.

"Ma’am?" Sandy responded, not understanding the comment.

"You’re left-handed, aren’t you?"

"No, ma’am," denied Sandy. "What makes you think so?"

"Well, all the instructors were told to do the left side of the trainee’s faces, allowing them to try and match it on the right side, except for left-handed students. All were to be allowed to try and match the makeup approach on the side that’s easiest for the hand with the most dexterity."

"Yes, ma’am, that’s what Kathy did. She did the left side of my face, and I did the right."

Marilyn joined the conversation, "But the right side of your face is even more beautiful than the left."

"If you say so, ma’am. Thank you," Sandy agreed, not sure of the significance of the remarks.

The significance became apparent as the next trainees entered the room. As with the high heels (had that only happened a few hours ago?) there was a spectrum of success at the new skill. Some recruits had achieved a passable application of cosmetics on their assigned side, but none had achieved the levels of artistry defined by their instructors, none but Sandy. Some had not had much success at all. Eyeliner was streaked, lashes were clumpy, blush was stark and poorly blended, lipstick straggled anywhere between the nose and the chin. The clownish appearance of the less successful again brought a frown to Marilyn’s beautiful brow. She must have been working on that, though. The endearing pout she had used before had been merged with her stern frown to a new expression that demonstrated delicate concern. It was not as intimidating as the previous scowl, but elegantly feminine and entirely appropriate for a den mother in charge of young ladies.

Once all of the recruits had arrived (now numbering eight without Carp), Marilyn announced that the bar was open. One shouldn’t make such an announcement if one were between a group of young soldiers and the bar. There was a most unladylike surge toward the "refreshments", sufficiently aggressive to tumble one neophyte female impersonator from "her" towering heels. Sandy was just as interested in the refreshments as anyone, but some instinct made her glance at the general before joining the stampede. She saw that frown of irritation once again disturbing Marilyn’s amazingly pretty face, and recognized that they were all, always, being evaluated.

A small, wistful smile tugged at the corners or Sandy’s lush lips. At sadly resigned expression peeked out from behind her long lashes. A tiny sigh (all that the corset would allow) lifted her shoulders within the thin robe as she decided to wait for the rush to dissipate before moving forward. Those delicately feminine mannerisms, caused as much by her introspective thoughts as by any deliberate intent, were devastatingly attractive to those around. Her better-than-expert makeup combined with her glorious cape of richly dark hair and added to those gentle signals of regret to make her seem somehow fragile and innocent, a dewy-eyed damsel in distress. Almost by reflex, the two white-coated waiters that were in the room moved toward her.

"Can I help you, miss?" the first one asked, barely nudging out the other hovering server. These men knew that the trainees were cross-dressers, not natural women. Some of the recruits were pathetically far from passing as women, and all were known to be part of the program. Nonetheless, the image of vulnerable, almost childlike femininity sparked a response within them too deep for conscious thought. This delicate flower needed their help and they almost fought each other for the privilege of providing it.

Sandy was drawn from her reverie by their solicitous offers and smiled at them, another devastatingly effective attraction. She was about to order the beer she would have gotten at the bar, but once again she looked over to see Marilyn and Connie watching her. Instead, she asked gently for a glass of white wine. The first waiter forced his way with casual indifference past the other similarly-dressed but not similarly-attractive trainees and returned with her glass of wine. Being feminine had its advantages, Sandy realized, and she decided to play with it for a moment. When she took her wine glass she looked into the waiter’s eyes, then dropped hers just enough to let her long lashes dance seductively.

"Thank you," she said softly, letting her fingers brush lightly against his rough hand. His response was a blush even more fiery than the ones that periodically affected Sandy. He stammered and seemed to find his feet of irresistible fascination as he fidgeted back and forth. When he finally raised his eyes he met Sandy’s eyes, their emerald fire twinkling now with amusement. He ducked his head again, then backed away without actually turning, nearly knocking over a small table and then bumping into a none-too-stable trainee. Sandy’s amused smile followed him as he stumbled away, then she casually turned to find a place to sit and give her feet some relief from their unaccustomed pressures.

Once again she found herself in the essentially-private company of Marilyn and Connie who had moved over while the mini-drama was being played out.

"You handled that very well," Marilyn complimented her.

"Thank you, . . Marilyn."

"Even better. Being called ‘ma’am’ all the time make me feel old," the general said with a smile as she took the green-eyed recruit’s arm and steered her toward a small grouping of easy chairs. Marilyn recognized that Sandy had special talents in the vital skills they were learning, so much so that it would be worthwhile to make her feel as comfortable as possible in the role. With some trainees, stern measures or even dismissal would be required, but it was clear that Sandy was going to do her very best without threats. In her case gentle encouragement would have the greatest chance of helping her complete the training.

"So," continued Marilyn, "what do you think of the first day?"

"I don’t know what to think," admitted Sandy. "Even when you told us that feminization training would be part of the job, I never envisioned anything like this."

The young brunette continued with surprising frankness, as though talking to herself rather than the Commanding Officer, "I’m surprised to find I like it. I’ve never done anything like this before, ever. At first, I was too busy to think about it hardly at all. Now that my mind is catching up a bit, I find that I’m enjoying this. I liked the power I had with just a smile to make that poor boy feel awkward. I’ve never had that kind of power before. I suppose I shouldn’t have teased him like that, but it felt . . wonderful."

"Were you sexually attracted to him?" Connie asked with brutal directness.

"No!" came the instant denial, then it was softened by an honest self-examination, "at least, I don’t think so."

"Don’t you know?" persisted Connie. "Are you physically aroused?"

"Yes ma’am," Sandy answered the direct question, "but I’ve been that way ever since I looked in the mirror with my makeup and long hair. I don’t know why, I just am."

"That’s fine," Marilyn gentled the young girl. "It’s to be expected. These are confusing times for all of us. You’re doing fine. I’m sure you realize that you’re the most promising of the present recruits, at least so far. Keep up the good work and you’ll be able to help us out tremendously. Finish your wine and go on into the dining room whenever you’re ready. It’s informal tonight."

With that Marilyn stood up, her constant Constance beside her, and they began to circulate among the less-successful trainees. Sandy stood as they left, then once standing went to the dining room. As she stood the crumpled hem of her thin robe stayed high on her swiveling bottom and she plucked ineffectually at its inadequate length. She realized she would have to take care to keep it smooth whenever she sat or it would never hang straight. Sipping at her wine, she strolled around before sitting. This was her first chance to relax for a moment since she had awakened that morning, especially with a slight amount of privacy. The dining room was well lit through large picture windows and she could see that they were indeed in the mountains, though none she recognized. The barracks looked more like a fancy resort lodge than a typical army installation, though with one glaring discordant note. In the distance, Sandy could see a high double-fence, each barrier topped with vicious razor wire. No one would be leaving the compound without permission. It might as well have been a prison, perhaps a comfortable one, but just as confining.

By now a couple of other trainees had been passed by the command pair and allowed to enter the dining room. Sandy’s group time had been so monopolized by Marilyn and Constance that she hadn’t really met any of the other recruits. They had already started to form their own friendships and she knew she would soon be ostracized unless she made a special effort, so she smiled brightly at the first ones to enter and moved toward them. She had already started her motion when she realized that one was Jaymi Fox.

Among a group of real women, especially pretty ones, there would have been a jealous pecking order established, from prettiest (at least in her own mind) to plainest. Perhaps a couple of pecking orders as cliques formed. These "girls" though, had been selected from men (boys, really) who had been at the very bottom of the social order among their peers. Short, slight, not terribly athletic, not terribly handsome by the standards of men, these recruits had always wished for attention from others, especially from pretty girls. Even Fox had longed for the attention of pretty girls for casual friendships. When the prettiest among them, one who also had the general’s favor, approached with a smile, their return smiles were instantaneous.

"So, Jaymi, who’s your friend?" Sandy started the conversation.

"Carol Stevenson, this is Sandy Beech," Jaymi performed the necessary social duties, triggering the obligatory snort that Sandy always heard when the pun in her name was sounded out. "Sandy, this is Carol. Sandy and I are from the same regiment."

Carol was a bit taller than Sandy, probably 5’10", one of the tallest of the "girls" to be accepted into training. Her hair, or wig, was a bright copper flame surrounding a sea of freckles that her makeup instructor had wisely left showing. Despite her best intentions not to be catty, Sandy thought how much prettier her own green eyes would have been when framed by all that red, but Carol was stuck with "only" crystal blue jewels. Each of these three recruits had mastered enough of the cosmetic arts to create a really beautiful appearance, one that would have passed anywhere as female. As they fell into a discussion of the techniques they had learned they moved easily (despite their heels) to one of the tables and sat. Only Sandy remembered to smooth the brief hem of her robe before she sat, though the others noted her motion and immediately stood, then sat again more correctly. Within moments the first course of dinner was before them and they began to eat. All had learned the lesson of small portions for compressed stomachs so they carefully put aside their salads when only half finished. Their judgment was rewarded by a main entree with a sizzling Filet Mignon, sized much smaller than their experience would have indicated would be needed to fill them up, but just right under the circumstances.

By the time they finished, the last pair of recruits were staggering in, shepherded by Marilyn and Constance. Staggering for more than one reason. These stragglers had demonstrated the least success with their makeup, but were among those with the least success at walking in heels, also. In addition, they had made full use of the open bar. These two soldiers would have had a difficult time walking a straight line in combat boots, let alone the spindly heels they actually wore. The frown on Marilyn’s face was bordering back into the masculine zone when she finally got them seated safely. Sandy knew that at least two more recruits were about to wash out of the program, and it was still only the first day.

Before the general and her companion took their own seats, they came over to the table with the three most-successful trainees and congratulated them once again.

"Sandy, Carol, Jaymi, you’ve done well today. How was your meal?"

"Fine, Marilyn," Sandy answered as the unofficial leader of the beautiful trio.

"Is there anything special you need tonight?" Constance asked, clearly fulfilling an executive officer role for the general, whatever her real position might be.

"No, ma’am," Sandy declined, "except, it will be nice to get these shoes off, and this corset."

"Yes, it will," giggled the general. Yes, actually giggled, an amazingly feminine mannerism that the trio knew must have been acquired through training. That instant of insight did more to warn them of the additional things they needed to learn than any lecture from their officers could have achieved. Despite Marilyn’s mirth, the three recruits were suddenly somber as the implications of the extent of their transformation began to sink in.

"If you’re done, feel free to wander about the lodge. Don’t go outside, yet. Of course, you can go to your rooms and get some sleep whenever you want," offered Marilyn.

It wasn’t sleep that interested them as much as getting out of their corsets and heels, so all three of the stunning recruits stood and made their way to their rooms. Once inside, Sandy glanced around for an instructor, but the room was empty. She made her way to the powder room and completed a bit of immediate business, then tried to decide how to get out of her outfit by herself. Her feet hurt too much to just wander around the lodge in hopes of finding an instructor. After a moment, an idea came to her, one that she wasn’t sure she wanted to try. Instead, she took off her emerald robe and bent down to the ankle straps on her shoes, or at least tried to bend down. The corset pulled her up far short of reaching the little buckle. The logical choice was then to take the corset off first, but she couldn’t figure out the knot while reaching around her back and looking in the mirror. Finally she decided she would have to try her first idea, however distasteful. Putting her robe back on, Sandy went out into the hallway and made her way to Jaymi’s room. She knocked tentatively on the door, then stood fidgeting. With no warning the door was opened and Sandy was suddenly face to face, in private, with one of "them."

"I’m sorry to bother you," Sandy said quietly, "but I’m having trouble getting out of these shoes and the corset. Could I ask you to help me?"

"Certainly," Jaymi replied, stepping back into her room. Sandy hesitated yet again, but stepped forward. Her nervousness was obvious and Jaymi picked up on it immediately. She was used to that, though, and she decided to try and help Sandy through her dilemma.

"You’re not really comfortable around me, are you?" asked Jaymi.

A denial started to form on Sandy’s ruby lips, but it was stilled before any real answer was made. She slowly nodded her head and, for the first time, let her eyes meet the deep brown ones that waited patiently for her response.

"Would it help you to know I’m really bisexual? I just like making love with people, holding and hugging and sex in all its flavors. Well, not all flavors, they’re some things that are too far out even for me, but mostly anything consenting adults want to do that’s clean and doesn’t hurt anyone is interesting to me. What about you?"

Now Sandy’s embarrassment flared to nova temperatures. She was sure her long hair would ignite from the heat on her cheeks. Her eyes fell and she fidgeted, but didn’t say anything.

"You’re a virgin!" Jaymi exclaimed with sudden insight.

"Yeah, what of it?" Sandy answered pugnaciously, for a moment all feminine mannerisms submerged below a defensive shell.

"Nothing," Jaymi gently assured her, "or at least, nothing bad. I think that’s just fine. Of course, some day I hope you find out what you’re missing, but there’s plenty of time for that."

The green-eyed beauty studied Jaymi’s face for any sign of ridicule, but only found friendship and acceptance. Sandy began to realize that the conditioning implanted by society wasn’t necessarily accurate, at least not in every case. This person wasn’t some alien creature with psychotically destructive propensities that might blow up in her face. She was just another recruit in an incredible situation. They had more in common than in conflict. Sandy tried out a tentative smile, grateful for the lack of derision in Jaymi’s attitude.

"Besides," Jaymi continued with an answering grin, "in this crazy situation, you’re more likely to get turned on by me dressed like a woman than I would be by you, if I were exclusively homosexual."

"I know," giggled Sandy," some of those ‘girls’ are so gorgeous I keep forgetting what’s under their robes."

"Some of US girls, you mean," Jaymi countered. "None are prettier than you."

Sandy blushed again, this time from a host of emotions too complex for a simple label. She knew it was true and part of her was ashamed that she, a man, could look so feminine. But part of her was proud that she could look so pretty. That thought spiral threatened to capture her thoughts and an introspective look settled on her delicate features. Jaymi interrupted her, though, before she could withdraw into her own mind.

"Now, let me help you with your corset. Then you help me with mine."

With no further thought of the implications of undressing in front of one of "them", Sandy quickly removed her robe and twirled around so Jaymi could reach her laces. It took a minute or so for Jaymi to figure out the knot. That triggered a little sub-processor thought trickling through the back of her mind, one that she didn’t even consciously recognize for a moment as she struggled with the laces. After a moment, she had it undone, though, and was starting to ease off on the taut strings. Sandy gave a sigh of relief that was so heartfelt Jaymi couldn’t help giggling, which triggered Sandy into her own light-hearted laughter. She smiled with genuine friendship now at Jaymi, and twirled her finger to indicate Jaymi should turn around now. Sandy had her own troubles with the knot, trying to puzzle out the complicated tangle.

After a few seconds, the idea that had been stirring in the back of Jaymi’s mind leaped to the forefront and she exclaimed, "They did that on purpose!"

"Huh?" Sandy grunted, a most unladylike response excused by her concentration on the knot.

"That knot is really complicated, right?" asked Jaymi.

"Yeah," Sandy confirmed.

"I bet they did it that way on purpose, to make sure we needed to help each other. I hope the other girls realize it and help each other out."

"You’re probably right, now hold still. I think I have it figured out," directed Sandy as she worked an end through the twisted laces. In a few moments Jaymi was heaving her own sigh of relief, prompting another giggle duet that fed on itself until both were shaking with mirth.

"Can you get your shoes by yourself?" asked Jaymi.

"Yes. Thanks for your help. I’ll see you in the morning," Sandy answered, realizing as she did so that she was truly looking forward to seeing Jaymi in the morning. In her own mind, that might just have been the biggest lesson of the day.

 

(continued in part 4)

 

 

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