A Losing Season - An Alternative Ending to Seasons of Change by Tigger Copyright 1998

Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons of Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989. This story is archived in its entirety at Fictionmania.

This story represents an alternative ending to Mr. Lawrence's story. It is essentially a parallel universe story where things start out the same, but follow a much different path than the one portrayed in the original story.

This is my second inspiration from this story. My first derivative story, "A Second Season" starts where the original author's work stopped. That story is archived in its entirety here at Storysite.

This story takes place following the day described in Chapters VI and VII of Joel Lawrence's Seasons of Change. Essentially, it is a darker vision than the one I wrote of in "A Second Season".

Setting: The lead male character, Michael Nash, has been suspended from his very elite private school, St. Andrews Academy. With the concurrence of the school dean, he has been sent by his mother to live with her old friend, Jane Thompson who will attempt to teach the young man (late teens) control and self-discipline.

"Aunt" Jane employs a "Victorian" type training program to tame undisciplined boys. She does this training by means of a delicately balanced regimen of humiliation and enforced feminine deportment. She is assisted in this program by her housekeeper (Marie), and by several businesswomen including the owners of a beauty salon (Carolyn and Sandra) and the proprietor of a combination dress and lingerie shop (Miss Brenda Franson). The other key player is David/Beth, one of Jane's feminized boys who is still living with her and who is required by Jane to "guide" (and setup) the new student.

Michael knows nothing about this, and is slowly "trapped" into Jane's program of petticoat dominance. Jane forces him to accept her program or lose his chance to return to St. Andrews because the dean will only readmit him after Jane certifies that he has been reformed.

As we begin our account, Aunt Jane, David/Beth and Michael/Michelle have returned to Jane's house from Michelle's initial public outing disguised as a girl. They have visited Carolyn and Sandra at the Marisha Chalet where he was humiliated by their taunting and terrorized during a make-up session as Carolyn's training subject, and at Miss Franson's "The Style Shoppe/MiLady's Closet" where he had to maintain his tenuous disguise in the presence of the young female shop clerks while dressed only in lingerie.

Each member of this unlikely trio is flushed with different emotions at the end of their long day of shopping for dresses and lingerie, and of feminine primping at the beauty salon. Michelle has been ordered to go up to her room and put away her new dainties, cosmetics and clothing while Jane and Beth retire to her study.

This story departs from the original tale at this point in time.

 

A Losing Season                    by: Tigger

 

Part I

Chapter 1. Escape Attempt.

Jane relaxed in her favorite chair, sipping a celebratory brandy as Beth daintily nibbled at the low tea Marie had provided for her and Michelle. The day was well worth celebrating in Jane's view. While not yet a major breakthrough, she was certain that this day's excursion would prove to be a significant milestone in Michelle's maturation.

Sandy had gleefully reported Michael's involuntary erection and spontaneous ejaculation from the humiliating treatment and teasing at the Chalet, and then Jane had seen him try to hide a similar reaction while being exhibited in his cute new undies at MiLady's Closet. From Jane's perspective, if not from Michelle's, both were extremely positive reactions. It meant she now had the opportunity to really get into her charge's head sooner rather than later. As her more direct-minded sorority sisters used to say, a hard-on does not lie.

Something deep inside Michelle was beginning to be touched by her unwilling immersion in the feminine condition. More importantly, she was starting to become aroused by her current condition. That gave Jane one more effective tool in addition to humiliation with which to guide her little girl. After all, women had been leading men around by their smaller head since Eve first shined up that juicy red apple and offered it to Adam.

Speaking of Michelle, Jane thought, what is keeping her so long? She should have been back by now. A darkly mirthful grin lit Jane's face. Maybe she was trying on her new things in the privacy of her room. Well, if that was the case, then she'd give her little sissy just a bit of a jab by providing a likely-to-be *very* unwelcome intrusion. Michelle would be mortified to be caught doing something so femme as primping and preening over new clothes. Even by . . . "Beth?" Her charge looked up from the newspaper she had been perusing. "Go up and see what is keeping Michelle, would you please? Her tea is getting cold."

Nodding, Beth rose and curtseyed before hurrying to the stairs. Jane took in the aroma of the fine aged brandy swirling in her crystal snifter as she plotted how she'd play out this little humiliation scene if, as she strongly suspected, Beth found Michelle modeling her new things in the mirror.

"JANE!!! Marie!!! COME HELP ME!!! HURRY, PLEASE!!" The scream was not in the least feminine, but it was definitely David/Beth calling for help. Jane was up and running before the word "hurry", but found Marie already ahead of her as she reached the stairs.

The two women followed the sounds of yelling and scuffling to Michelle's room. What they saw momentarily stunned them into immobility. Michelle and Beth locked in a vicious struggle, with Michelle trying to kick or throw the other girl away as Beth grimly clung to one of Michelle's arms.

"Help me, Dammit." Beth screamed at the two gawking women. "He's trying to slit his wrists!"

Jane and Marie leapt to Beth's assistance, Jane grabbing Michael's other wrist and Marie trying to restrain his flailing feet. The furious boy/girl's surprising strength was almost a match for other three until Marie reared back and slammed a lightning-quick kick into Michelle's solar plexis.

Michael collapsed to his knees, wheezing and gasping for air. Jane finally succeeded in getting the blade from a broken disposable razor from his clenched fist. Moving quickly, the threesome bound the now hysterically sobbing boy spread eagle to his canopied bed using nylon stockings from the large bureau.

Only then did Jane get a good look at *him*, for there was nothing remotely feminine about the completely nude figure straining against the tightening nylon bonds. His newly curled and tinted coiffure had been ruthlessly hacked away, taking pieces of his scalp in the process. Even the painstakingly tweezed and shaped eyebrows had been shaved away. Blood trickled down one cheek and across his forehead where he'd nicked himself with the razor. His hands and wrists also bled, from his attempts to get the blade to his veins and from whatever he'd used to rip away the lacquered-on fingernail tips.

The room was also bore the ravages of her ward's rampage. Ragged swatches of color were strewn all about the room, as if a confetti bomb filled with shredded bits of brightly hued silk, cotton and satin had exploded. Instead of trying on her new things, Michelle had been destroying them, evidently in the throes of an uncontrolled rage.

Nothing of this day's supposedly successful adventures remained intact.

"David, go call Nurse Bedford. Her number is in the organizer on my desk in the study. Tell her I have a boy-girl emergency. Then go wait for me in your room, please."

Beth started at hearing her "boy-name". "You will be all right, Jane?" Jane knew that was not the question Beth wanted to ask, but she nodded as she looked at the still struggling Michael.

"He's strong, but the nylon is stronger. He won't be able to hurt himself further, but I want the Nurse to make sure he didn't do any real damage. Now go and do as I asked."

Jane turned to Marie. "Get some towels, hot water, bandages and antiseptic, Marie. Let's get him cleaned up as best we can."

Suddenly she was alone with him. Gradually, he stopped struggling, and the soul deep, racking sobs diminished to silent tears. Gathering her courage, Jane moved over to take a seat beside the bed. When she finally spoke, all she could think to say was "Why?"

Michael's hairless brows rose in feigned surprise, and then he turned his head away from her. "You will tell me, Michael." she said with a calm she was far from feeling.

Anger flared in the eyes that turned back to lock on her own. "Or what, Jane? What do you have to threaten me with? I will tell you - nothing."

"Are you so certain of that?" she asked, hoping to bait him into keeping talking.

"When you have decided to die, Jane, there is not much else you have to fear, is there? It's not like your threat to pass those damnable photos around at St. Andrews has any bite if I don't intend to live long enough to return there, does it?" was his emotion-hoarse response.

Jane swallowed, trying to control her fear and give some semblance of her normal command presence and confidence. "They say that suicide is a very permanent solution to temporary problems, Michael. This," and she waved her hand about to indicate the still feminine surroundings of the bedroom, "*will* pass. My little girls *do* graduate and go back to their lives."

"Do. . . they . . . really?" he flashed back, sarcasm dripping off each deliberately spoken syllable. "Are they *really* living *their* lives, Jane? Or are they merely existing in the lives that *you* have dictated for them with your . . . program?" The last word came out with a loathing that made Jane wince. "Well, I don't want that life. I want the life I had, the life I had planned for myself, and today I realized that I never would have it again. Some of your changes are just as irreversible as you promised they'd be and I will *never* be the man I *should* have been. . . because of YOU!" that last word was a shriek of pain and rage. He fought for control and then continued. "So I decided that I would do the only thing you'd left me. I would at least die like a man."

"I take exception to that, Michael." Her voice became hard again as she rose to defend her students and herself. "*Every* . . . *single* . . . *one* of *my* boys have gone on to lead happy, productive lives. I keep in touch with all of them. Most of them even remember my birthday and send me holiday gifts. They have become doctors, teachers, scientists and police officers. Does that sound like they are so diminished by their experiences with me?" Keep him talking, she told herself. Maybe he can talk himself out of this.

"It is not going to work, Jane. I am getting out of this the only way I can. You can't keep me restrained forever. Eventually I will succeed and I will destroy you in the doing of it. Some agency ought to get you for abuse of a minor. Maybe I will even get *really* lucky and some of those bitches who aid and abet you in your vicious little games will go down, too."

"You will hurt Beth, I mean David - that's his real name - very badly as well if you do that." she said softly. "Personally as well as professionally. He cares about you so his unwilling part in this will be emotionally devastating for him. Even if he manages to recover from that trauma, the truth about how he has lived for the past months will destroy whatever professional future he might have had. Not to mention what it might do to the other boys I have trained over the years, none of whom have ever done you any harm."

"Go to hell, Jane. If she or *he* cared so damned much about me, he'd have warned me about what you were planning. Had I known what you were *really* going to do to me, I probably would have actually taken you up on your offer to leave here, even dressed in those damned petticoats of yours."

"He had no choice, Michael, perhaps even less than you had. I hold his freedom in my hands. One word from me and he goes to jail."

"Maybe he'd be better off there. At least there, he'd be treated like a man! Learn how to be a *man* again instead of the wimpy caricature of a man *you* envision." was the sharp retort.

Jane closed her eyes in pain, knowing the boy was really attacking her and not Beth/David. "Even if we undid everything we have done to him to the best of our ability, he'd still be very feminine looking when he arrived at prison, Michael. Do you know what happens to effeminate young men in prison?"

She hoped he would relent under that threat, but he quickly dashed those. "That is your decision, Jane, not mine. Besides, that seems to be the ultimate expression of your so-called method. Why *not* get the kid raped? Isn't that the ultimate feminine humiliation experience?"

Stunned in shock at his words, Jane's mind failed her. She could only stare in helpless confusion at the once again struggling young man before her. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words formed in her mind, no sounds issued forth.

A hand gently shook her out of her fugue and she looked up to see Marie with a tray of medical supplies. "Let me take care of this, Jane. Beth needs you now." she said in her matter of fact voice as she set the tray down on the bedside table.

Slowly, painfully, Jane rose from her chair and went to check on the other casualty of this suddenly terrible day.

A Losing Season: Chapter 2. Damage Control

Jane found Beth in her room, sitting rigidly erect on an antique straight back chair, her hands busily crumpling a hankie, her face a frozen mask of fear and worry. Jane moved to the chair and clumsily pulled her up into her arms. Clumsily because, as she suddenly realized in a flash of pain, it was the first time she had ever comforted one of her petticoated charges. Marie or the other sissy in residence had always had that duty, freeing Jane to be the "bad one". Even the young man whose mother had died during his stay at the large Victorian mansion had not turned to her for solace. Fortunately, he'd been at the end of his time with her, anyway.

"David." she said firmly, using his masculine name to cut through his misery. "Come downstairs with me. We need to wait for Mrs. Bedford."

The boy with the girl's face looked up at her use of the name, the mascara and other cosmetics streaming down his cheeks. A trickle of blood from her nostril and the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek bore testament to the physical damage that had accompanied the emotional trauma suffered by this young person given into her care and keeping. "All right, Jane." he said softly, hiccuping back an incipient sob.

The doorbell rang as they reached the bottom of the staircase. Jane opened the door and directed the nurse to her unwilling patient. Then she led her other charge into the study and poured two snifters of brandy, offering one to the slowly calming Beth.

Beth hesitated before taking the snifter. "That stuff is a big part of why I was sent here, Jane." she said uncertainly.

Jane snorted. "That is all you will get, David, so that won't be a problem here, but you need something. I know I do." and she took a swallow of the dark amber spirit. Hesitantly, David followed her example and started coughing as the fiery liquid burned to his stomach. "It is a little strong, dear. Try sipping it until you get used to it." Jane said kindly.

Beth watched her, somewhat warily. While he hadn't heard all of Jane's part of the "conversation", he had heard Michael's end of Jane's abortive attempt to "talk him down". That comment about "learning to be a man" followed shortly by "rape" and "Isn't that the ultimate feminine experience. . " had David/Beth badly shaken. She could only think of one subject of conversation that could have led to that exchange. He really did not want to go to jail, not after already having spent almost five months under Jane's petticoat tyranny. Hadn't he already paid enough for that childish stupidity?

"I take it, Jane, that you told Michael part of my story?" she asked, very softly.

Jane nodded and moved to the desk where she picked up the telephone. "Yes, I did, and now, I regret having done that." She punched out a number from memory. It wasn't difficult to remember the number she'd called several times in the past few days. "Hello, Caro? Yes, it's me. Look, I need you and Sandra over here immediately. I have a major emergency and I need your help." She paused, obviously listening to the other person. "I understand, Carolyn, but this is truly an emergency. No, I cannot discuss it over the phone, but I am not exaggerating when I say it is life or death." Another short pause followed by Jane saying "Thanks, Caro. Bring your tear down kit, please. See you soon."

Just then, Mrs. Bedford came into the study, her face grim. "I gave him a sedative I am not supposed to have, Jane, and I have patched him up as best I can. He's asleep now with Marie sitting with him for the moment. Now what the hell happened?"

Jane offered her a brandy which the nurse declined.

"Obviously, Michael, my newest project, snapped. We went out today for his first feminine day at the mall - beauty shop, clothes shopping, dodging boys - you know the drill. We got back home and I sent him up to put away his new things and to give him a little time to deal with what had been a very emotional, very humiliating day. Then he did not return immediately and I sent Beth up to fetch him down. She caught him trying to slit his wrists after he had finished the other damage to himself and to the new clothes you saw up there. If she'd been two minutes later, he'd probably be dead now."

No one spoke after that dreadful statement. Then Jane looked over and saw the blood still weeping down Beth's cheek and asked the nurse to check her over.

"She'll have a bit of a shiner by tomorrow morning. Doubt even Marie's artistry will be able to hide it, but otherwise, she'll be fine."

"Thanks, Nora." Jane said. "As to hiding it, by tomorrow, that won't be a problem." she finished with a sad sigh.

Now, Nora did go over and help herself to a brandy before turning back to face Jane. "What now? That boy needs professional help. I have a few more sleeping pills, but what I saw up there is not something that is going to fix itself after a good night's sleep. Unless he wasn't really trying to kill himself and it is just an attempt to get cut loose from here?" The last was a question.

Both Beth and Jane shook their heads. "Maybe he will, after some time, see that as a mistake, but he would already be dead if Beth had not gone up when she did."

"He was serious, Mrs. Bedford. He was fighting me so hard, that if I had let go of that arm, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from plunging the blade into his wrist. I don't think he was faking it." Beth added somberly.

"Then he needs help, Jane. Where does that leave you?"

"In great trouble, Nora. If I take him to the hospital in that condition, social services will become involved at the very least, and they will surely call in the police. Who knows where it will go from there? I have temporary legal guardianship of him, but who knows what will happen when they see him in that condition and hear what he has to say?"

"Too bad he did not say it to you first." the nurse mused as she took a sip of her drink.

Beth snorted derisively. "As if she'd have listened."

Jane paled at that direct hit, but then nodded her head, her eyes closed against the hurt. "True, Beth. I probably would not have heard her complaints as anything beyond what any of my other students have said for effect and not really meant."

Moving slowly, as if burdened by a huge weight, Jane reached in and pulled out what appeared to be a photo album or scrap book. Idly, she began flipping through its pages, stopping to read a note here or to enjoy some little memory there. When she looked up, she saw the other two looking at her strangely. A weary smile crossed her lips. "My rogue's gallery." she said holding up the book. "My little black book of former students. I will have to warn them of this pending breach of my security so that they can distance themselves from me as much as the press will allow. I will then destroy this book and hope, but the way things happen in the tabloids these days, I suspect that more than a few of my girls will find themselves plastered across the front page of the National Inquirer right along side of me."

She opened the book again, and then set it down. She looked at the entry on one page and then began hastily punching out numbers on the phone. A woman answered. "May I please speak with Dr. Davis, please? This is Jane Thompson calling and it is very important. . . . .Yes, I would say it was an emergency. Please interrupt the Doctor." There was a long pause before "Eric?!? Oh thank God. Dear, I really need your help. . . .Yes, one of my girls attempted suicide and I don't know what to do. She needs help, but you know what is likely to happen when I take her in. You can? Oh thank you. Yes, I will have someone meet you at the airport."

She hung up and said. "One of my students is now a clinical psychologist in Chicago. He is going to come and see if there is anything we can do for Michael short of putting him into a hospital."

"And if he can't help him?" Nora asked.

"Then, Michael goes into the hospital and I, in all probability, will go to jail. He is still a minor and someone will decide that my treatment of him constitutes abuse."

"Even though other students of yours may not agree?" Beth asked, quite surprising Jane with her near championship.

She could only shake her head sadly. "By the time the press is done with this, dear, you will all be brainwashed puppets and I will be the most perverted, vicious bitch this side of the German Gestapo. Nothing any of us have to say will stand against the pictures of Michael that are sure to make the nationwide news services."

Just then, the bell rang and Beth rose to answer the door. It was Carolyn and Sandy. "Damn, Beth" was the irreverent Sandra's greeting, "What the hell have you done to all of my excellent work? You look like hell."

"And that is not half as bad as what Michael looks like, Sandy." was Jane's response to her friend.

"What did he do? I know we were a little rough on him today, but hell, Jane, he asked for it." was Sandy's complained defensively. "Is that why we are here with the tear down kits? You've decided he is a lost cause and are shipping him off home in disgrace? Never heard of you giving up on a kid before, Jane."

"No." was the simple one word answer. The chill in the room brought even Sandy up short. Quickly, Jane told the increasingly horror-stricken women what had happened.

"And he is going to try to force what you do into the open with his suicide?" Carolyn asked, speaking for the first time. At Jane's nod, she wilted into a chair. "It will pull us out into the open, as well. We probably won't have a business after that happens. What Newport society type is going to want such evil people doing up their hair or teaching their daughters?"

Jane nodded. "I know. I have always known that there was a possibility of such a happenstance, but never thought it very probable. The boys always saw public exposure as a far greater threat to themselves, never seeing the threat it could be to me, so I have always discounted this ever happening."

"Until now." Caro responded tonelessly. "Well, you had better warn Betty Franson, too, because I know you were taking him there today, and she enjoys playing her little games as much as we do. Or as much as we did." she added ruefully. "Doesn't seem like much fun, right now."

Jane nodded her agreement and then Sandy asked. "Well, why are we here, then, if not to undo Michael, Jane?"

"To undo Beth, Sandy." Jane said firmly. "He, and my other students, are the really guiltless ones in this debacle. Tomorrow morning, Eric Davis whom you may remember as Erica when he was with me . . ."

"The slim, green-eyed redhead who we punished by turning her hair carrot orange?" Sandy asked gleefully before she recalled the problem at hand.

"Yes, that is her, I mean, him. He is coming in on a flight from Chicago tomorrow morning. I will get David tickets home and he can drive my car up to the airport, give the keys to Eric and make his own escape."

Carolyn nodded her understanding. "Okay, where do we set up? The usual place?" Jane nodded.

"Ummm. . .Jane? Could we do this tomorrow? I am beat and I don't feel well. If I have to face Sandy and her noxious chemicals, I am liable to get really sick." Beth asked plaintively.

Jane shrugged and turned to Sandy and Carolyn. "It will have to be early because the flight arrives at eight am, and it is a one hour drive to the airport."

"I'll stay the night, Jane." Sandra offered. "The tear down is mostly my end of the shop anyway. Caro can come here in time to do the brow thickening and the other little cosmetic touch ups."

"Thank you." Jane said. "Well, since Marie is watching Michael, I will go see about some dinner."

"If it is all the same to you, Jane, I am going to go up to bed. I am not very hungry." Beth said firmly.

"All right, Beth. Please be up by five so that Sandy will have time to do what must be done." The feminized male nodded, and then made his way haltingly up to the top of the stairs and then to his room. The four women heard the door close.

A Losing Season: Chapter 3. Acquaintances.

The room was dark when the sedative finally wore off. As soundlessly as possible, Michael checked his circumstances and found he was still restrained in bed, although the stockings that had been cutting off his circulation had been replaced with some type of chain and leather cuff arrangement.

As the last vestiges of sleep cleared from his brain and his eyes focused, he saw that he was not alone in the room. A female was dozing quietly in a chair next to his bed. He tried to lift his head to get a closer look and was surprised to see that is was "Sandy?"

The sound of his voice roused the lightly sleeping woman and she sat up quickly. She reached over a cool hand to his brow before turning on the bedside light so they both could see. "Awake, are you?" was the soft reply.

For her part, Sandy did not want to be able to see him any better. She had been shocked and appalled when she'd first glimpsed the ravages he'd inflicted on himself, trying to free himself of the feminine tyrannies that she had helped impose on him. She still had a hard time looking at the hairless face and the scruffy, scraggly patches of fuzz that remained where hours before tight, thick curls had bounced.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded angrily.

Sandra did not answer immediately, instead choosing to sit back down and simply look at him. "Jane called me in to help with Beth. She and Marie were exhausted, but refused to leave you alone so I volunteered to sit with you for a few hours."

He thought about that for long moments before part of what she said caught his attention. "Beth? What is wrong with Beth? Why did she call you? What can you do for her?"

A tired smile curved the woman's lips. "Turn her back into a boy so that she can escape the coming holocaust."

"Huh? What?"

"Jane wants him as far away from here and as safe as possible when she takes you to the hospital, Michael. She figures that her entire setup will come out once social services gets hold of you and she is trying to distance as many folks as she possibly can away from the fallout. Particularly her boys. Tomorrow . . ." she checked her watch and grimaced, "Well, today, actually . . .This morning I will cut Beth's hair, relax the permanent curls, clip her nails and generally undo everything I did to make him into a her. Then Jane will put him on a plane for home where he will hopefully avoid being out-ed in the press along with the rest of us."

"It is only what the lot of you deserve." he snarled back at her.

"I'm sure that from your perspective, Michael, that is only the truth. Although I have to wonder how your Mom is going to take all this."

That drew a snort. "She's the reason I am here. Has Jane even been able to reach her?" Sandy's hesitation was too obvious. "I didn't think so. She's always been somewhere else when I wanted to talk to her. Why should it be any different now?"

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence that spanned several chimes of the large grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway. Sandy finally broke the uneasy peace. "Michael? What were you really thinking? Surely you know that Jane has done this with many young males. You are smart enough to know that she would not still be doing it if she wasn't successful at helping them find balance and meaning in their lives. At least one of her boys would have found a way to come back and hurt her if they were really unhappy with their lives after Jane."

"As if you care."

"Believe what you will, but in fact, I do care. If I am going to see my reputation in tatters and my business destroyed over this, I would at least like to understand."

"Do you have any idea what it is like at an all male boarding school, particularly an Ivy League level school like St. Andrews?

The question startled her, but Sandy managed to answer. "I can't say that I have, Michael."

"It is a purely all-male, *very* male society. The traditions date back to 19th Century English public schools and those are only a little more civilized nowadays. Reputations made in those schools last your entire life, particularly in the business and financial worlds. Any weakness that might be construed as unmanly, any hint that you might lack the essential toughness, gets magnified and is remembered forever by the people who really count in the business world." Michael's voice broke as he recalled how he'd feared being labeled a wimp because of his small stature. How many of his clashes with authority resulted from carrying "manliness" to extremes?

Grimly, he fought back the tears and glared at the woman who had humbled and humiliated him mere hours ago. "Today, when we got back, I came up to put away those damnable clothes Jane forced on me. I actually caught myself holding one of the dresses in front of me while I examined myself critically in the mirror." Michael's voice then dropped, very low. "And I knew."

Sandy waited for him to finish, but he showed no signs of going on. Finally, she could stand it no more. "You knew *what*, Michael?"

Despite his best efforts to the contrary, tears began to flow unchecked down his cheeks. "That I could never go back to St. Andrews. Jane would never let me go until all her little lessons were second nature, instinctive. Shaking hands with a loose wrist, curtseying without thinking, making extravagant hand motions, batting my lashes or tossing my hair coyly. I would be a pariah within the first week back because by then being male would be the masquerade. Hell, even with only the short time here I don't know which is the mask and which is me. Preening before a mirror in my new finery." the words came out dripping with a savage self disgust before Michael was able recover his control again. "The life I had planned for myself is over."

"And so you decided to end your life for real?"

The honestly incredulous disbelief in Sandy's blurted out question stopped him for a moment, making him more pensive. "I can't say it was really a decision. Everything just seemed to go red and next thing I know, Beth is on top of me, screaming for help."

Motion from the doorway interrupted the interlude. Both turned to see Marie, still clad in her nightgown slipping into the room. "Sandra, Beth is up and ready for you downstairs."

~-------------~

The sun was up when Michael next woke up, this time finding Jane seated in the bedside chair. He had to relieve himself and was surprised when Jane produced a bedpan and helped him aim without any snide remark or disparaging comment on his male parts. She then produced a glass of orange juice with a straw and some breakfast bars which she silently fed him until his hunger pangs had been dulled.

"What happens now, Jane?" he asked quietly.

"Well, a great deal of that is yet to be determined. Someone is coming to talk to you today. I guess we will need to hospitalize you, but I promise you this, Michael. We will do what ever is best for you, regardless of the consequences for me."

"Right. Like I believe that."

Jane did not rise to the bait of his impertinence. She simply shrugged. "Whatever. Believe what you will."

"If that *is* true," he challenged her in a tone of strident disbelief, "Then tell me what has changed? The fact that I tried to slit my wrists and bleed all over your pretty satin comforters?"

"Nothing's changed, Michael. As I've told you before, my methods have had, until you," she amended quickly, "an unblemished record of success in helping boys with problems and bad attitudes become productive, upstanding young men. You may not like my methods - you may not even choose to believe me, but my commitment to helping you remains unchanged."

This was a very different Jane, one that Michael had never seen before. Gone was the innuendo-laden, sarcasm and derision that, up until now, had cut him down at every turn. All he heard and saw was a quiet determination that seemed to buttress every word she'd said.

"From what I can gather from Sandy, you feel that my vision of masculinity gentled by your feminine side would serve you ill at St. Andrews." Jane became quiet and introspective for a few moments as she tried again to absorb that alien concept. She visibly shook herself and turned back to Michael. "Perhaps that is true. I have never considered anything like that before. You are the first student I have ever had who was so committed to that Ivy League old-monied aristocracy business world." She frowned tiredly as she lapsed into thought again.

"Sandy said she was here to change Beth?"

"Hmmm? Oh, yes. Beth is once again David and he is now on his way to somewhere west where none of this can touch him further."

They heard the doorbell ring and Marie hurrying to open the door. Voices spoke, but the words were not intelligible in the upstairs bedroom.

Moments later, a person entered the room. The first thing Michael noticed was not the tall, slender elegantly turned out redhead, but rather was the disbelieving look of shock on Jane's face.

"E. . .E. .Eric?" she stuttered out.

The female looking person standing in the doorway smiled gently and opened her arms to Jane who ran jerkily to her. "I still go by Erica when I am all done up like this, Jane." was the softly inflected answer.

Michael watched with growing envy at the tight, loving embrace shared by the woman and by the person he strongly suspected was another of Jane's "boys". When had anyone ever hugged him like that? Another question that did not bear asking, he reminded himself, but the answer still slipped through.

Never.

The two finally separated. "Is this the lad you told me about, Jane?"

Jane took the redhead's hand in her own and led her over to Michael's bed. "Erica, this is Michael. Michael, this is Dr. Davis. He. . .ummm. . She is the one I told you was coming to speak with you."

"Jane?" the light voice suddenly deepened causing her to turn in surprise. "Go for a walk and let us talk. I think we need a little guy-thang time, okay?"

A bubble of laughter escaped from Michael. "Right, like you can hold up your end of that?" he asked sarcastically.

Dr. Davis grinned cheekily at him before shoo-ing Jane out of the bedroom and closing the door. "I see she still has these doors rigged so they can only be locked from the outside. I guess some things just never change, but I don't think we will be disturbed." said the incongruously male voiced female.

He returned to the bed and pulled off the auburn wig to reveal an equally bright, but masculinely trimmed head of hair. From his bag he removed a ragged Chicago Bears T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans and a pair of running shoes. The entire transformation took minutes, but in the end, the person in the room with Michael was obviously a male, albeit with the unusually fine eyebrows of the true redhead.

After carefully laying out his femme clothes, he took the seat Jane had just vacated and looked at Michael. "You see, it does come off, Michael. Eventually. Life goes on, provided one is still alive to live it." He reached down and unsnapped the closest wrist restraint. "Now, why don't you tell me just what the hell went on, okay?"

A Losing Season: Chapter 4: Reflections

Michael was again asleep, this time freed of the restraints. Marie was again watching him as Jane entertained a now masculinely dressed Eric. "Well, changing from Erica to Eric in his presence seemed to help him."

"What happened, Eric? I have never had anything remotely like this happen with any other boy."

The lithe psychologist took a sip of his coffee as he considered his answer. "Part of it is exactly what he said. There is a great deal of research that indicates the private school environment he wants is exactly as he describes it. I think it is unlikely he could manage the transition from your program back to St. Andrews with any degree of success. Another aspect was his desperation at finding himself falling into your feminine world with no way out. His whole world, his entire self image were crumbling around him and there was nothing he could do about that because he was partially responsible. The conspiracy had won, and the Michael he thought he wanted to be was dying, anyway."

"It never affected any of my other students like that. Look at you. You went to Harvard and you did not run into any such problems."

"True, but Harvard is a university renowned for its eccentricities and moreover, I was a psych major. We're supposed to be weird. As Michael was quick to point out when I tried to make the same point, if I slipped up and gave a little swish, most folks wouldn't even notice, and the rest would figure I was just another off-the-wall psychology student. St. Andrews is another story altogether. Its as conservative as Harvard is liberal and Michael wants, or rather, wanted to go into Business Administration."

"Oh." was Jane's defeated response.

"Even showing off pictures of my wife and kids did not satisfy that there is virility after skirts. He is quick, this lad of yours, Jane. He asked me, point blank, if I would want one of my boys going through your program. I am afraid I was caught somewhat off guard and hesitated." he said sheepishly.

A tired grin curved Jane's mobile mouth. "So, I am not good enough for your sons, Eric?" she asked with a touch of her usual caustic tongue.

"What I should have said was that I hoped my boys would grow up with the type of family and support that would make a shock treatment like yours unnecessary. I am afraid Michael is convinced that I would never condemn my poor babies to your evil clutches under any circumstances."

"I don't suppose he'd believe you if you pointed out I am Eric Junior's Godmother?" His rueful grin was all the answer she needed. "Forget I asked." she muttered dejectedly. "You said that was only part of it."

"Well, not knowing all his background, he seems to be . . . I don't know, playing a role. He wants to be tough, to act hard, and yet, he'll ask if "Jane's other victim got away all right." That is really not very consistent."

Jane nodded wearily. "No, actually. That dichotomy is completely consistent with what I was told by his counselors at the prep school and from others. What he said earlier tonight, about the school essentially being an entre into the good old boy network of high finance, that evidently exacerbates his behavior. The school psychologist wrote that, in trying to be one of the gang, he was overdoing the macho act and was actively repressing anything behavior that might be construed as gentle or sensitive in nature."

"Yes, that *does* fit." Eric murmured as much to himself as to the others in the room, then he forced an encouraging smile on his face. "On the bright side, I don't think he is really suicidal anymore. That was his initial rage and desperation talking. The rage is over, and for whatever reason, he no longer considers himself hopelessly trapped in a situation beyond his control. Right now, he is more depressed than anything else, as well as humiliated. That's not a good combination, either, but it is not what almost drove him to take his own life."

"So what do we do? What *can* we do?"

"My recommendation is that his parents come in and take him off someplace quiet and nonthreatening to heal. Get a good therapist in on the program and help him find a new way in his life. I don't think institutionalizing him will help him."

Jane's face contorted in an emotion that might have been sorrow or anger, and was probably both. "I finally reached his Mother in Europe last night." Jane chose her next words with great care. "I do not believe that is an option."

"Well, that does put a different face on it. He can't go back to that school, Jane." Eric said emphatically. He's too raw and wounded. Besides, he's already started responding to your training program. I could see the femme mannerisms for all he tried to control them. Those high born, arrogant little bastards would crucify him inside of two weeks. What he might do to them or to himself in retaliation does not even bear thinking about."

Jane stood and walked to the window. "Hospitalizing him won't help. His Mother isn't a solution. And now you say he won't survive back in the school he supposedly wants to return to more than life. What the hell option does that leave us, Eric?"

"Have him stay here, with us." came a soft voice from the doorway.

Jane spun on her heel to see David entering the room. David, once again in his skirts as Beth. His hair was nowhere as intricate since Sandra had cut much of it off to remove the permanent curls that refused to lay flat. He wore only the barest minimum of makeup, but it *was* Beth.

"What are you doing here, David? I sent you away from here." was Jane's furious demand.

"And I came back. You need me, as does Michael although he doesn't know it and certainly won't admit it, yet."

"We don't even know what to do, yet. We can't proceed as we were before. Even if it might have worked before, he knows too much now. He's met Eric, and he knows I was sending you back to your life as David."

"Jane, I talked with Sandy while she undid my Beth persona this morning. I think another very big part of Michael's problem is that he was starting to *like* parts of the game. Sandy got him aroused and excited, even though she was being absolutely cruel to him the whole morning. Then he got home and started mooning over Michelle's new clothes. He likes it, but he doesn't *want* to like it."

Jane looked to Eric who nodded. "That fits with what I learned, Jane. If that is the case, he is going to have to confront that internal self-conflict between his need to be superman and his enjoyment of being feminine in order to get past this."

"And just *how* do you propose we do that?" she asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Do you really think she is going to just give in and let us put her back in skirts so we can help her confront a problem she refuses to admit even exists? And it is not just me at risk here. Everyone in my little cadre of helpers stand to lose a great deal if she goes off the deep end again. He's already decided that my threat of exposing her as a boy doesn't have any teeth, and not because he knows about what lengths I go to in order to prevent such an occurrence. No, he's decided that it simply doesn't matter to him anymore."

Jane realized she was shouting and took several calming breaths. "And several very good, very nice people stand to lose their reputations and their livelihoods if he decides to run to the nearest social worker. It would be like juggling a time bomb."

Beth looked Jane directly in the eye. "Is sending him away to a mental care facility any safer for any of you. . . errr. . any of us?" Both looked at the slender psychologist.

He shrugged. "No. He needs support he won't get in a hospital. Everything will eventually come out and it may not even help him all that much. Let me talk to him some more when he wakes up. I need to explore what . . .Beth? yes, what Beth just told us. That bears a deeper look. And Jane?" she turned to face him. "Go get some sleep yourself. We'll figure out something."

A Losing Season: Chapter 5. Reflections Two

Michael wandered about the locked bedroom listlessly. The house was cool and he had put on the least offensive things he could find - the terry cloth robe, a pair of white cotton panties and some white socks. That doctor-student of Jane's had made a careful sweep of the room, and had removed several things that might be used as a weapon before removing the restraints. They'd even turned off the water to his bathroom so he could not try and drown himself.

The second interview had been much more uncomfortable for Michael than had the first. He'd been at least partially in control during that exchange. This time, however, Dr. Davis had a clear idea of what he wanted to talk about and it was something that Michael preferred not to discuss.

He did not even want to *face* those questions. Did he really like dressing up and pretending to be a girl? Even though he knew it was wrong? Even though he knew it was dangerous, if not fatal to all of his future plans? Here, in the dimly lit room, alone with his own thoughts, he could admit that parts of it were . . . . well, not *too* bad. But he could never admit that to anyone else in a million years, and he had tried very hard not to let that on to Jane's psychologist.

He opened the door to his closet and found all the dresses and shoes were also gone. He wondered why but decided that a high heeled shoe or a coat hanger could be made into nicely lethal little weapons. Of course, there was one weapon that no one thought about because it was so obvious. Michael hefted one of the books they had given him to read. It was heavy and would do the job just fine, he mused. He could be dead before they got the door unlocked.

It just did not seem that important now.

Nothing seemed all that important now.

A Losing Season: Chapter 6. Options

"Well, Beth and Sandy were right." Eric reported later to Jane, Marie and Beth. "He tried to con me in the interview, but a part of him is fascinated with the masquerade, even though it is diametrically opposed to his public, super-masculine persona. It's not so much that he hates it as he hates *not* hating it." Then the young man grinned faintly. "On top of that, he's also competitive as hell, and there is a part of him that, if he is going to do it at all, wants to be able to do it very well. Your little digs really bugged him, Jane, because he thought he was trying as hard as he could."

"He was, actually, I just felt I needed to press my advantage when I had one to press. So where does that leave us? What do we do?" Jane asked.

"Convince him to stay, somehow, and give him into a less trying version of the program." Eric started to say something, but hesitated. Jane caught it and gave him a "give it to me straight" motion of her hands. "We talked at length about what he has been through here, Jane. I have to tell you that I think you may have pushed too hard, too quickly with this one. With his over emphasis on being perceived as a 'man's man', you did not give him enough time or distance to allow him to deal with what your program was making him feel."

"It was the timing of it all, Eric. Unlike boys like you and like David/Beth who came to me knowing there was no time limit on your stay, he thought he'd be leaving after only staying for a relatively short period of time. I felt I had to get him broken down quickly so that he would stop thinking of escape, so that he would feel that escape was not possible. He had to believe I would carry through with my threat to expose him or to abandon him still in his skirts. If he did not believe my threat, he would have been gone in the first two weeks, and damn the consequences." Jane shrugged. "Water over the dam, I guess. Do you have any ideas how to get him to stay and how to structure a program for him?"

Eric shook his head and then yawned. "Not just now, but then, I don't think there has been a whole lot of basic research on the behavioral advantages of forcing recalcitrant young males to cross dress. Lets go to bed and get some sleep. We are all shagged and we will think better in the morning." He rose and gave both Jane and a surprised Beth a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Rest well, you two."

Beth looked at Jane after Eric had gone up to bed. "Has Michael had his dinner?"

Exhausted from the stress of the past thirty six hours, Jane seemed to wilt under the weight of one more task. "No." she said resignedly.

"I'll take care of it, Jane. You are feeding him those diet bars, sliced fruits and juice, right?"

Relief flashed across Jane's worn features. "Yes, and use the unbreakable plastic cup for the beverage."

"Get some sleep, Jane." Beth said with gentle affection.

Beth got a second surprise when Jane pulled her into a tight embrace, kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "Thank you for coming back." Thoroughly bemused by the unprecedented show of affection, Beth wondered what, if anything, she could or should say. She was saved by the timely chime of Jane's private phone.

Jane answered the phone, and sighed. Beth wasn't sure if it was in relief or resignation, and momentarily hesitated to see if Jane might need her. Jane noticed and waved her out the door. "Beth, please close the door behind you." she said, holding her hand against the phone's mouthpiece.

A Losing Season. Chapter 7. Confrontation - First Contact.

Michael was back on the bed reading one of the books Marie had brought him. Conan-Doyle's Sherlock Holmes was not his usual choice in reading material, but it wasn't a teenage fashion magazine and it wasn't a romance novel. Still, he was immediately alert to the first scratch of a key being inserted into the door lock.

"Hello, Michael." was the oddly familiar, yet unfamiliar voice.

The face was the same, but the hair and the voice were oddly different. "Beth?!?"

A smile lit the feminine face as Beth carried a tray into the room and set it on the night stand. She saw him staring at her, and grinned broadly. "It's a wig. My own hair was too short to pass muster after Sandy finished with me earlier." She swept a hand down to show off the smart knit skirt and sweater combination. "The color is not quite right but it is the only hair piece Marie had available on such short notice."

"But. . .but why??"

Beth's voice dropped back into the more familiar, more feminine range as she laughed softly. "Why what, Michael? Why am I here? Because I told Jane I would bring you your dinner. You are hungry, aren't you?" Beth teased.

"No, I mean, yes, I am hungry." and Michael matched deed to word by snatching up one of the candy-like diet bars, the cup of orange juice and then stuffing the bar into his mouth. "But why are you here, dressed in those. . . those damned clothes?" he choked out as soon as his mouth was able to form the words around the food. "Jane told me she'd set you free and sent you away as . . .as David? For God's sake, David, why aren't you as far away from here and from *her* as you could get?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full. It is impolite." Beth chided primly before smiling at herself. "Well, given where you sit right now, I can see how that might surprise you. I am here because I want to be here. However this comes out, Jane is going to need someone and I have discovered that I care about her."

At Michael's look of stunned disbelief, Beth became very earnest. "Whether you personally like her or not, Miche " and here Beth started to call him 'Michelle' "I mean, Michael, the simple fact is that she stood up for me and gave me a chance when no one else would. Without her, I would be in prison for what was a stupid juvenile mistake made when the law said I was too old to be treated as a juvenile. Okay, so maybe her methods and her lessons were tough, even harsh - especially with you - but they helped *me*. I have learned self control and I have gotten myself sober. As for why am I dressed like this? Well, that is because I am Beth here, and this is how Beth dresses." and then her voice became very soft. "And also, because I have discovered that I enjoy it."

Michael nearly choked on the chunk of the apple he'd just bitten off. "You *like* being forced to dress like a girl? Being a sissy? Putting up with all of Jane's sadistic little games? What is wrong with you? You are a man. You were out of here, away from *her*."

Beth picked up the napkin from the tray and handed it to Michael. "I am not being forced now, Michael. In fact, I have discovered that I really enjoy having that special secret inside my panties and fooling everyone from horny teenage boys to starchy old ladies with my disguise. More than that, I really like the way women's clothes feel. The silky underwear against my skin, the sleek tight grip of the hosiery, the taste of lipstick and the smell of perfume - they are pleasurable to me in ways that I never experienced before coming here to live and learn with Jane."

"I don't understand. You are giving up being a guy?"

A hearty male chuckle answered him. "No, stupid. For one thing, I like girls and have no interest in boys, apart from teasing the hell out of them from time to time. I am David, but I am Beth, too. Both are part of who *I* am, and I will find a way to live my life so I can have and be both. As for Jane, I am past being bothered by her games. I'll let you in on a secret, Michael. She can't expose us without exposing herself and her friends. If she is exposed, she won't be able to do it anymore. She might even get arrested. Besides, no one will ever believe her girls aren't guys after that and she'd lose the fear factor that forces us to try to learn her little lessons. Not to mention the world of hurt it would bring down on folks like Mrs. Franson, Caro and Sandy. She needs the anonymity as much as we do. Her threats are and always were empty."

"You *really* like it? You're not just saying that because Jane ordered you to? Like when you set me up those times?" Michael asked again, feeling stupid.

"Don't *you* like it, Michael?" the boy-girl responded in Beth's voice. "Really, down deep in your heart, don't you feel special when you are all dolled up and pretty?"

Open mouthed, Michael could only shake his head from side to side in denial. Beth shrugged, a funny little frown on the delicate features of her face, and then stood. "Well, only you can answer that question, my friend. I think you really do, but what do I know? I just hope you are not letting the biases of other people - small minded people at that - influence you. Dressing like this hurts no one and if it is something you enjoy, why shouldn't you do it?"

Then she picked up empty tray and walked to the door. She knocked twice and left him alone when it opened.

The key turning in the lock was the last sound he heard for the rest of the night, but it was a very, very long time before his racing mind calmed enough to permit sleep to take him.

A Losing Season: Chapter 8. Abandonment.

Marie had just taken away his breakfast dishes, more of the funny, dry bars and a cup of chocolate flavored something. She had remained rigidly formal with him, and had refused any overtures he made at conversation. The only remotely personal thing she had done was check him over to see that his injuries were healing and were not infected. Her fingers did linger on the bruise that stained his mid drift, shaped like her foot. A very sad look crossed her eyes as she ran gentle fingers across the blue black mark, but she had said nothing.

Alone again, he'd picked up the discarded detective novel and tried to pretend he had not already figured out the ending when the key scratched the door again. This time the door opened to admit Jane. She was carrying a telephone which she placed on the bedside table and hooked into the wall socket. She then pressed a button on it and spoke into the speaker on the phone. "Barbara, are you still there?"

Michael went instantly alert. Barbara was his Mother's name. "Yes, Jane." came the sound of his Mother's voice, made somewhat tinny by the distance of the overseas call. The utter lack of interest those toneless words conveyed was her responsibility alone.

"Barb, I have Michael here. Would you please repeat what you just told me?" Michael heard and then saw the barely restrained emotion rippling beneath Jane's reserved and autocratic facade.

"Oh, very well, but you could have told him." was the bored reply. "We are late for the opera. "Michael, Jane has told me that you have not responded properly to her treatment. I don't want you to end up like your father, a hard-driving bastard who died of apoplexy while furiously bullying an overworked underling for some trivial error. I have told her to do as she feels she must. Put you in a hospital, send you to a military school, whatever. If you have any brains at all, you will do what Jane says. She knows what's best."

Michael's face became a mask of pain as his Mother's voice became cold. "This time, you have gone too far and endangered the family name. I will pay for whatever Jane deems necessary since you cannot possibly go back to St. Andrews now - not in your current condition. But you won't see another cent from me beyond that, Michael. Your trust fund won't be released until you reach twenty one. I suggest you get your head screwed on and stop making a nuisance of yourself." She paused a moment for effect. "Jane, is that all? I really am frightfully late."

Jane's control snapped and she slammed both hands down hard on the night table, causing the phone to bounce. "No, God dammit, it is NOT enough. Don't you want to hear *your* son's side of this? Don't you think you owe it to him to hear what he has to say?"

Michael merely rose and walked away from the phone, and stared out the window. The response to Jane's query was "Jane, I am late and I have no time to deal with this. If you don't want to be involved, you know what to do. Good bye."

The phone clicked, and for a long time, Jane could do nothing but stare at the buzzing speaker. When the phone began to chirp "If . . you . . wish . . to . . make . . a . . call. .", she finally pressed the disconnect button and turned to look at her ward. He had not moved a muscle since leaving his seat.

Jane quietly moved over to stand behind him. "I am sorry about that, Michael. As badly as things have gone between us, I did not think you would believe me if I told you that." she paused momentarily trying to gauge his response. "And . . I had hopes that talking to you might remind her that you are her son and that maybe you are more important to her than hearing Luciano Pavarotti at the Vienna Opera."

He gave a bark of humorless laughter followed by what might have been a sob before flinging himself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Why should she change now? She almost got her fondest wish - no son. She hasn't been interested in me since my father died. It's as if she looks for reasons not to be with me."

Stiffly, Jane returned to the chair, apparently uncertain what to do next. Turning back to face his guardian, Michael noted her worried expression and smiled darkly at her before saying softly. "I won't try to kill myself over this, Jane. I will live if only to deny her what she really wants."

"Eric assures me there is nothing in here you could harm yourself with, anyway, Michael."

Michael reached for the heavy volume of the complete works of Conan-Doyle and hefted it. "He's wrong, Jane." and tossed the book at her.

She caught it awkwardly and examined it closely before tossing it back to him. "Doesn't seem very deadly to me." she said with a forced lightness.

"No, but those windows are old glass, as old as this house. Old glass shatters really easily and that book is heavy. I could heave it through one of those windows and impale myself on one of the shards before any of you could have stopped me."

Jane paled at the thought, but forced herself to ask. "When did you figure that out?"

"Last night, after Dr. Davis left the second time." he said diffidently. "I don't think anything could ever make me that stupidly angry again. Now, I have to figure out how to deal with what is left of my life." He thought for a moment more and then looked at Jane. "I guess that means starting with you since my maternal parent abandoned her parental responsibility to you, just as she has always abandoned me."

"Maternal parent?" Jane asked with a bubble of semi-hysterical laughter.

"She sure as hell hasn't been a Mom to me in years." Jane had to agree with that, but held her silence. "And something else before you decide, Jane. I won't turn the cops and the press loose on you, regardless your decision. I don't think you have any more reason to trust me than you said I have to trust you, but you have my word of honor on that score. I don't want to hurt Beth, or any of those other men you have. . . treated?" He could not bring himself to say 'helped'.

". .yes, *treated* over the years. I wouldn't cry if something nasty happened to Sandy, but I can't get at her without possibly hurting others."

"Or me." Jane added.

"Or you." Michael added with grim finality. "So, do you have contacts in some nice concentration camp style military school? Or am I going to become a ward of the state as a patient at one of the mental hospitals?"

Jane thought she heard a touch of dread hiding behind the bravado, and so she took her time answering. "I really don't know, Michael. The Doctor said a home environment would be best for you, but obviously," she said, looking pointedly at the now silent phone. "Your Mother won't be providing that for you any time soon."

A knock interrupted their conversation and Dr. Davis stuck his head in the door. "May I come in?" he asked. When Michael shrugged, the slim doctor glided in. The graceful, almost feminine walk reminded Michael of his first glimpse of the man, rigged out in his Erica outfit. He'd been striking in that severely tailored, forest green skirt power suit that had perfectly complimented the flashing auburn tresses and lightly freckled complection. Striking, if not precisely pretty - and certainly not as pretty as Beth, or even as Michelle, he thought smugly. Then he realized just where that line of thought was heading and almost groaned.

"Michael," Jane's firm voice called him back from that shocking thought. "Eric does not want me to say this, but I have decided I will tell you anyway. He is here right now because I had him listening in on that phone conversation with your mother. ."

"Maternal parent." Michael corrected angrily.

"Ummmm. . . yes. Well, he was listening in on what *Barbara* had to say to you. He's here because we felt you might want to talk to someone who understood what you've been through here. . . what *I've* put you through here, and who is otherwise a disinterested party."

Michael considered that for a moment. Obviously, the Doc lived, how did Beth put it, with both identities as part of his life. And he was a psychologist. He nodded. "Thank you." he said tiredly.

Jane rose. "Then I will leave you two to do just that." she said a tad too brightly, and then hurried out the door.

Michael looked up at Eric and offered him the chair. The words were out before he realized he was going to say them. "Do you really dress up still? By your own free choice?? With a wife and kids?!?"

A Losing Season: Chapter 9. The Plan.

"It has the advantage, Jane, of killing two birds with one stone." Eric offered earnestly.

"Please, don't use that metaphor, Eric."

"Sorry." he grinned. "But seriously, Jane, of the three options open to us, it is the only one that would get him to confront his festering inner conflicts about cross dressing. Also, given his intensely competitive nature, being very good at it would give him a goal to focus on."

"But what can we possibly use to motivate him to choose that course of action? Even though he has promised not to go to the authorities, I cannot take the chance of trying to force him back into skirts against his will. Not again, by God. I won't endanger my friends like that again."

The young psychologist grew very serious. "No, I agree that it must be his own choice. Well, as I said earlier, he is very intelligent. Maybe he would buy into the resolving his internal conflicts as a motivator." At Jane's disbelieving glare, Eric shrugged."I didn't say it would be easy, only that it was the best solution to all of his problems."

"I agree with you that he needs to accept his more sensitive self and get rid of that macho-chip he carries around on his shoulder. But how do we get him to recognize that?" Jane complained. "When he has already nearly killed himself because of his experience in skirts?"

"It is not at all the same thing, Jane. It wasn't only the cross dressing that did him in, it was realization that the life he had been planning on wasn't possible for him anymore." The psychologist thought for a few moments. "The only other thing that is nearly as critical to his emotional and mental makeup is his utter ambivalence toward his Mother. Not too surprising after her little performance on the phone. Maybe you could find a way to make that work to your advantage."

"What? Tell him getting into skirts will help him get back at his Mother? For heavens sake, Eric. She *sent* him here, and he knows she is fully aware of what I do to my young men."

"Its just a possibility. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of time to pull this off."

"I think it will work, too, Jane." Beth added quietly. "You can be very persuasive when you care about something. Michael will respond to that. I think he is looking for something, some*one* to fill some very big holes in his life."

Jane scanned the small circle gathered in her study. "All right. We can only try. Marie?" she looked at her long time friend and co-conspirator. "Go upstairs and get him a complete, skin out set of his male clothes including shoes and underwear. I want him to make this choice on his own, fully understanding what he will be giving up as well as what he might be gaining if we proceed down this path. He will eat with us at dinner and we will discuss his future afterwards in the music room."

"Jane?" Beth asked as they rose to leave the room. "What will you do if he doesn't make the choice you want him to make?"

The older woman sighed. "Exactly what he chooses, Beth. I don't see how we can chance trying to trick him, or changing our minds about what we will do with him. No, I will scrupulously abide by whatever decision he makes."

A Losing Season: Chapter 10. Choices

After three days of finger foods, Michael found the simple pleasure of feeding himself with such civilized implements as fork, spoon *and* knife deeply satisfying. Marie's food wasn't bad, either, and included just about every dish she'd seen him particularly enjoy during his stay with them. It made for an odd meal, but if anyone thought it curious to have Marie's authentic fajitas served alongside her spicy Chinese stir-fried vegetables and candied sweet potatoes, no one commented on it. Beth did give him a very sly grin and a wink when the german chocolate cake was served for desert.

All of this was made all the more special because he was eating the meal in the dining room wearing his own *male* clothes again. Earlier that afternoon, shortly after Eric had left him, Marie had arrived to tell him his bathroom water had been turned back on. She'd offered to try and do something with what was left of his hair, but the damage done was beyond even her ability to repair. In the end, she'd shaved him bald.

Michael privately thought he looked like a young Yul Brenner. Beth, however, disagreed and had called him Uncle Fester when she'd checked to see if he needed anything before dinner. When he'd finished his shower, he'd found his clothes laid out on the bed - an open collared sport shirt, slacks, shoes and real men's jockey shorts - complete with a *fly*.

For a brief moment, he wondered what the catch was, but in the end decided that there was not much else they could do to him and had put on the clothes. Precisely at six, Jane had arrived to escort him to dinner.

Now that the meal was over, Michael wondered if he had slipped into one of those classic Rod Serling Twilight Zone episodes. Had aliens from another time and place kidnaped Aunt Jane and taken her place. My God, he thought grimly, she'd actually been pleasant to him. She'd even *smiled* at him, more than once, without looking like a hungry shark ready to pounce.

So it was with more than a bit of trepidation that he now walked with the rest of the "family", including Marie who had been told to leave the dishes, to the music room. Was this where the other shoe fell on his innocent head? Had he just been fattened up for the slaughter?

Inside the classically decorated room, a coffee service had already been laid out. Jane walked over to the small sideboard that served as a bar and offered after dinner drinks to Marie and to Eric. Then she turned to Michael and Beth. "Would either of you care for something? Some wine, perhaps, or something stronger?"

Beth accepted the wine, but Michael, already nervous, decided that he should try to keep what wits he still had. "No, thank you, Aunt Jane. Some coffee would be fine, though." He must have been mistaken, he thought. Was that actually approval he saw in her eyes?

The drinks were passed out and then Jane had every one settle on the various couches and chairs, but she was particularly careful to seat Michael and herself directly opposite of each other.

Thoroughly spooked now, Michael's mouth engaged. "Is this the time, the walrus said, to speak of many things?"

Everyone chuckled, but Jane's brow went up in that frightening way she had. "Am I to assume that you think I look like a walrus, Michael?" Then she laughed at his comical, open mouthed look of terror. "Oh, calm down. Yes, we have to talk, but nothing will happen tonight or as a result of tonight that you do not agree to enter freely and of your own will."

Now she quotes Bram Stoker to me. Is she Vlad the Impaler, or Van Helsing?

"We have to make some decisions about your future, Michael. You have some choices to make. First, let me say that I cannot, in good conscience, let you return to St. Andrews. At least not now. Maybe in a year or so, if you still want to return there, that can be arranged, however, Dr. Davis feels that is not a good situation for you just now."

Michael made a noncommital shrug, but said nothing.

"I have also, again with Eric's concurrence, decided that you are not going to be sent to a hospital or to another boarding school. What you need is stability and people who want to help *you*. We are afraid that you won't get either as just another patient or just another student. The best solution would have been for your Moth. . . that is, for Barbara to take you away to a nice private home and let you deal with this in a supportive family setting, which simply isn't going to happen." Jane let her voice become icy-cold. "If she even thought about it now, I would contest her revocation of guardianship in court to keep her away from you."

Michael was astounded to see the anger in Jane's eyes, and more, to see that it was directed at his Mother, not at him. "So, here are the options you have, Michael. First, Eric has said that you can live with him and his wife in Chicago. His wife is familiar with my program and although she is a supporter of my methods, she understands you have had a particularly bad experience. While you are there, you will be free to live as Michael. More importantly, Eric will be there to help you deal with whatever you need to resolve in order to get on with your life."

Jane took a sip from her wine glass. "Your second option is to stay here with me, living as Michael. I would enroll you in the local school system this fall instead waiting until after Christmas as your Mother and I had originally planned. For your part, you will allow me to act in loco parentis. I will expect you to agree to follow my rules and regulations, *which*," she said firmly with a hand raised to forestall Michael making a comment, "I promise will be neither out of the ordinary nor unfairly enforced. In return for this agreement, I will promise to defer any future . . .er. . .special students" and here her eyes fell on the elegantly dressed Beth, "until you reach your majority and can move out on your own."

"Your third option is also to stay with me, but living as Michelle." At the shocked look in his eyes and the coiling of his legs to bolt, Jane held up a restraining hand, and Eric caught him by the elbow, effectively keeping him in his seat. "Hear me out, Michael, please."

The soft entreaty in her voice did more to stay him than anything she had ever threatened him with. "First of all, Eric and I both think the experience would be good for you from the perspective of personal growth. Thanks to your . . . to Barbara's sending you to all those male-only, all year boarding schools, you have had an almost complete lack of the feminine influence and outlooks in your life. Michelle might give you some balance in your perceptions."

Michael could keep silent no longer. "But that would mean taking the chance I will be exposed publically as a sissy. And the probability of that happening sometime in the next four years has to be nearly one hundred percent." He shot an angry glare at Beth. "You said she couldn't, wouldn't do that." he accused hotly.

Intervening, Jane resumed. "I know what Beth told you, and she is correct, as far as that goes. All my little ploys and lessons are *always* aimed at protecting my girls from real discovery all the while making them feel as vulnerable and as threatened as possible. However, experiences such as that would not *our* objective for you. *Our* goal would be to make you, while dressed anyway, indistinguishable from any other young woman your age. To make you into a *lady*, not a sissy."

Michael was no longer able to contain his fury and disgust. "Little ploys and lessons? *Little* PLOYS? Is that what you call what you do to people? What you did to me? And just what the hell good do you think that cockamamie idea would do for me, anyway? Besides, the very last thing I want in my life is to give you that kind of power over me again, to suffer your sadistic "little ploys" again." raw anger spewed from him, and furious tears ran down his cheeks. "Do you think I am crazy? Or just stupid?"

Jane quietly struggled to keep control of herself. When she finally spoke, Michael could see the pain apparent in her face. "You are neither of those things, Michael. Just someone with a far more resistant masculine self image than I anticipated, someone I pushed much too hard, someone I did not read correctly, someone I hurt very badly. A great deal of what happened to you must be laid at my door, and I am suffering from my errors in judgement, my failures. That is part of the reason that I am willing to foreswear any new students during the term of your stay with me - I, too, must deal with this before I can once more take on the responsibility of tearing down a personality in order to build him back up again."

She paused to take a shaky sip of her wine. The interview was going much as she expected with Michael not willing to give an inch. She'd give him his pound of flesh if that is what it took to get him to stay here and let her help him. It was time to try another tack. "Michael, those failures are my share of what ultimately has brought us to this point, but another important piece of the puzzle is inside you. You know that your reaction was completely beyond anything in my experiences with the nearly fifty other young men who have come to me over the last twenty years I have been . . . treating them."

"I still don't see where this is going, Aunt Jane." Michael snapped, impatience dripping from each clipped word.

"Simply this. If you decide to try living as Michelle, I will in turn promise to forego my "little ploys" and, as I said earlier, to teach you how to be a real lady, not a sissy."

"Michael," Eric gently broke in, taking the pressure momentarily off Jane. "You have some deep seated issues that Jane's humiliation games and her program of enforced femininity ignited. You have to deal with those problems or this episode will haunt you for years to come. What this option will do for you is to permit you to deal with part of the problem, your mixed feelings about feminine dress without the humiliation aspect of all this."

"Mixed feelings, Eric?" Michael asked, turning to glare at the older man. "And just *what* is that supposed to mean?"

"Simply that a part of you really does like the dressing, the masquerade, and another part of you is afraid, and maybe ashamed to like it. Be honest with yourself right now, Michael, as you were with Sandy that morning. You knew that you were accepting Jane's training, and in part, because you were enjoying some of it."

Michael did not want to admit his own misgivings on that subject. Damn Eric for confusing him with his infernal questions. "And you think dressing as a female for Jane will help me deal with those "mixed feelings"?" Michael asked skeptically.

"We shrinks call it "confrontation", Michael. Make a reasoned decision to face, on *your* terms, whatever it is that frightens you. Understand it so that you can, in turn, understand why it frightens you . . .so that you begin to desensitize yourself to that fear."

"That sounds kind of fishy to me, Eric." And then his eyes became very suspicious. "Does she still have something on you? Are you supporting her because you have to? Just like Beth supported her against me before?"

Green eyes burned furiously. "Michael, you may choose not to believe me, but do not *ever* insult my personal and professional ethics. You are my *patient*, and I would *never* recommend something that was against my patient's best interests. Not for *any* reason. If you feel that this option is too much for you," and here Eric's voice became subtly challenging, "Then don't do it. Take either of the other options Jane has offered you."

Michael was stung by the anger in the therapist's tones, and sat back both to think and to gain some distance. Finally, he asked, "If I go with Eric, will he be my guardian?"

Jane shook her head. "No, your Mother signed your custody over to me. I do not have the authority to transfer it to Eric, and I don't suspect your Mother will oblige us. However, for whatever good you consider my word, I *promise* not to force myself into your life if you go to Eric."

Not knowing what to say or think, Michael took a sip from his rapidly cooling coffee. He really wanted to be away from Jane, away from here, but he did not really know Eric all that well and he did not know his wife at all. Except that Jane said the woman approved of Jane's methods of treating problem boys.

"But suppose I agree to that third option, Jane, and discover that I really do hate it. That, even with you not playing your games with me, that it simply makes me miserable? What am I agreeing to, time wise, in that option? You gave it to me separately from the one where I live with you as Michael until I reach my majority and gain access to my trust fund. Is it all or nothing? Do I live out the remainder of my teenage years as a female with no option for parole?"

Jane did not know quite how to answer that question. If Michael became Michelle, she did not want a time limit other than staying with the program until Michael got better. However, she knew that response would make Michael reject the third option, which she was absolutely convinced was the best for him. Still, he *was* asking, and not rejecting the Michelle option out of hand.

"If you are going to be Michelle, it would be best to commit to being her. Particularly if you are going to overcome your private demons on this score. If you are going to do it, I think you need to make a commitment so that I can coach, and yes, correct you without fear of you changing your mind on me every day."

Michael obviously did not like that answer and was on the verge of refusing to try that route when Beth spoke up for the first time. "How about a trial period, Jane? Suppose Michael commits to a specified period of time, regardless how he feels about the masquerade. During that time, he would promise to do his very best to be the best Michelle he can be. At the end of the trial period, you sit down, discuss the situation, and he makes a decision whether to continue as Michelle or to revert to being Michael without consequences."

"How long?" Michael and Jane asked almost in unison, and then both answered. "One month!" "One year!"

Giggling at the two of them, Beth again intervened. "Jane, if you aren't going to send Michael back to school until after Christmas, you have time in hand for a reasonable trial period. It is early July. Why don't you agree to three months. That way, you will have time for Michael to completely undo Michelle, like growing back eyebrows, working the curls out of his hair and relearning all his male gestures and speech patterns. If he decides to stay with Michelle, that will give you time to figure out what to do to get her into school somewhere."

The responses were predictable - from Michael's "Three *whole* months?!?" to Jane's "*Only* three months?!?" Beth gave a dainty shrug and let the two antagonists try to stare each other down.

A piercing whistle made both jump back in their seats and turn their glares on the cause. Eric simply laughed and made a 'time out' signal with his hands. "Why don't you sleep on it, the pair of you. Michael has not even agreed to be Michelle yet. Heck, he might even decide to live with me, although. . ." and he batted his eyes at the young man, "It *would* be nice to have company for Erica at times." Michael's blank look set Eric off again. "Just kidding, Michael. Trust me, if you come live with me, you can set up a "no-dress" zone around yourself if that is what you need. Go to bed and think about it, okay?"

Michael was still struggling with Jane's obvious preference. "Suppose I goof up, Aunt Jane - get unmasked as a sissy boy in girl's clothing?" He knew he'd never be able to hold up under the humiliation of such a calamity.

Something of the old, hard Jane came back into her eyes. "So don't goof up." she ordered caustically. "Besides, you've already told me that such an exposure no longer threatened you. Right?" She said silkily as she cocked her brow at him in challenge. Let him remember *that* statement, she thought. Then she gentled her tones. "And I will say this just once more, Michael. You won't *be* a sissy, subject to and molded by my carefully orchestrated lessons in humiliation. I will teach you to be a *real* lady who will pass muster anywhere, in any company and under any circumstances."

Before Michael could find the wit to respond to that, Jane's stern look incongruously softened, and then, wonder upon wonder to Michael, Jane *actually* blushed and stammered. "Well, maybe not quite *all* circumstances. You will still be. . . ummmmmm. . . entire, as dog breeders speak of their fully male animals."

Michael quickly understood precisely which circumstance Jane could not guarantee his disguise would pass muster, and blushed furiously himself. Well, he was NOT going to go to bed with a guy. Nor was he going to become . . not entire, either.

No one spoke for several moments, and just sat quietly, warily watching the emotions flit across Michael's face. Finally, he shook his head. It was just too much to absorb all in one sitting. "All right. Maybe Eric has the right of it. This has been an awful lot to take in and I am bushed. May I be excused, Aunt Jane?" She nodded and he rose to leave.

"Michael?" It was Aunt Jane's voice. He turned around just in time to catch a large brass key that nearly clipped him on the nose. "That is the only key to your door. Make sure you don't lock yourself in tonight. We'd have to take the door apart to get you back out."

Michael clutched the key in his hand, its implications running wildly through his head. No more locked doors. And he had his male clothes again. There was nothing to keep him here anymore. He was, for all intents and purposes, free. Dazed, he looked back to his Aunt Jane. "Go to bed, Michael. We will talk in the morning."

He left the room quickly as the others quietly watched his retreat. "About as well as we could have expected, Jane." Eric said softly.

"But suppose he doesn't choose Michelle, Eric, what then?"

"You already answered that question, Jane. We will keep our promises, and try our best to help him within those limitations. We knew coming into this that his tough-guy, "man's man" persona was going to resist strongly what his more sensitive side might prefer to try. And I think Beth's idea of a trial period is a good one. It will give you a chance to get him into skirts and gentle him for a bit. It will also give a chance to just enjoy the feeling of wearing nice feeling clothes and being pretty without worrying about your "little ploys". I think that, if he takes that option, by the end of three months he will be likely to choose Michelle for the long term."

A Losing Season: Chapter 11. Deliberations in the Night.

In fact, sleep was a long time coming to Michael. Any thought of sleep had been squashed when he'd gone to his closet to hang up his precious male clothing. Inside he found all of his male outfits hung out and arranged . . . side by side with what was left of his Michelle-clothes after his rampage. Even his suitcases were there.

The message was not very subtle. He could leave, or stay - and if he did stay, he could be either Michael or Michelle. The choice was purely his.

Therefore, he was more than a little bit surprised to realize he did not know which choice to make.

Michael spent several unproductive moments trying to resolve his confused thinking, but to no result. He finally resorted to writing down the pros and cons of his options on paper. Certainly, the easiest way out was to stay Michael. Live with Jane or Eric until he got control of his trust fund and then go live his life as he chose to live it from then on. He could work or not, travel or stay in one place, whatever best pleased him. His trust fund represented more money than he could spend in four lifetimes.

Of those two options, Eric's wife was the unknown. He did not like the unknown very much anymore, and he certainly did not *trust* the unknown - especially since that "unknown" named Jane Thompson had met him at the train station.

Would Eric's lady really let him be Michael, or would she, as a believer in Jane's methods, try to push him back into living as Michelle? At least Jane was the devil he knew. Besides that, for some odd reason, Michael felt he could trust Jane's word, *if* it was given to him and not to his Mother.

That left the third option, and God only knew why he was even considering it at all. Probably because he had come to trust Eric and because the doctor really seemed to think it was the best way for him to go. Still, that did not seem to be a very strong reason to put himself back in Jane's clutches *and* back into skirts. God, how his Mother would laugh at that.

Or would she? A random thought wound its way through his fatigued, overactive mind. Obviously she did not want a son. She had not shown him a whit of attention or affection since his father died. Was that why she had sent him to Jane? Was it a daughter his Mother *really* wanted? It would really show her, Michael mused, if he gave her what she seemed to think she wanted. He could do, for all intents and purposes, what he'd tried to do after that abominable day at the mall. "Kill" her son, and replace him with a daughter instead of a ghost. Maybe *then* she'd pay attention to him. . . err. . .her. Maybe *then* she'd find out what she had been missing out on all these damnably lonely years.

For this to work, though, he'd have to be *very* good at being Michelle. Moreover, Michelle would have to be completely convincing and utterly beautiful. Refined, too - can't forget manners and deportment. Could Michelle regain the love and attention Michael had lost, if he ever had really had it? Did he want his Mother's love that much?

The answer was probably yes. He'd have to show her, then, and when she saw Michelle, maybe, just maybe, she'd regret the loss of Michael.

Still, he sighed to himself, the price was probably more than he could bear to pay. Once it came out what he'd done (and it would come out if he knew his Mother), he would never be able to show his face in society again. Not only that, in order to accomplish this goal, he'd have to let Jane put him back in girl-clothes again. *And* give her the authority to, how did she put it? Oh yeah, correct him. He'd had just about enough of her corrections for one lifetime. Particularly if he was going to give her almost four years, until he turned twenty one, to "correct" him . . . only it would have become correcting *her* by then. There would be, very probably, damned little left of *Michael* after all that time living as Michelle.

On the other hand, he'd never been out in society anyway - he'd always been at one all male boarding school or another. What would he really be losing if his Mother's society cronies snubbed and shunned him? Nothing he'd ever really had.

And hadn't he already taken Jane's worst? If nothing else, she had promised him that she'd leave all her nasty tricks in her bag. He would need her help to pull this off, and besides, hadn't she promised to be fair? Or was that promise only if he chose to be Michael and not Michelle?

Which leads to another question, he thought. What about *real* girls, as in potential *lovers*? Based on what Beth had told him about Caro and her husband and what Eric told him about his wife, there were women out there who found Jane's students attractive. Like David and Beth, Michael and Michelle were both committed girl lovers, and he wanted to enjoy being a man with a lovely woman. Caro was gorgeous, and could have had just about any man she wanted, so she must really love her husband to have chosen him. And what about a family of his own?

God, he was so tired, and no closer to an answer.

"Michael?" he looked up to see Jane standing in his doorway. "Can't you sleep?"

"No. Too much to think about."

"Any conclusions?" Michael looked down at the pages of scribbled notes he'd spent the last few hours writing and could only shake his head. "Then let it rest for now."

With that, she closed the door and left him alone and even more confused. She had said nothing one way or the other about his choice. No little attempts to influence his decision? No barbed words to shame him into making the choice he knew she favored? Jane?

A Losing Season: Chapter 12. Decisions

Michael slept late the next morning, and it was almost lunchtime when he made his way downstairs. The house was quiet, but he knew his guardian's habits and made his way to her study. The door was open and he slipped in without announcing himself.

Jane was there, seated at the desk where she had planned so many torments, so many tests and humiliations, asleep with her head resting on her forearms. The chair that Michael had come to think of as "his chair" was still in front of that desk. He repressed a shudder as he took his seat in that chair, remembering each painful session of "instruction" received from Jane while sitting there.

A random sound broke the silence and Jane jerked awake. Momentarily confused, she did not immediately realize she was no longer alone. Then she saw her guest for the first time. "M. . . Michael?" she asked, still sleep dazed.

"Michelle, Aunt Jane." he answered in the soft inflection so painfully learned at this woman's decree. Jane looked across the desk and saw her ward decked out in one of the skirt and blouse sets that were still intact, and wearing a skull-hugging, close-cropped auburn wig. He'd obviously borrowed that from Eric. With or without his permission, she wondered.

"So you've decided?" she asked, unable to keep a quaver of hope from her voice. When, she wondered amazed, had his decision - this particular decision - had become so very important to her?

"Yes and no, Jane. If we can agree on a couple of items, I am going to go with the three month trial period as Michelle option."

"Things, Michelle?" Jane prompted and then gestured for Michelle to continue.

"I don't think I can do this, all or nothing - Michael only or Michelle only." He frowned as he realized what he'd just admitted. Michelle evidently *had* become a part of him, just a Beth was part of David, or Erica a part of Eric.

He pushed that realization back and pressed on "I will do the three month trial as Michelle, living the entire period only as Michelle provided that, regardless of my final choice, I can still have both in my life if that is my choice. How we do that may take some planning, but perhaps if I choose Michelle, we could plan some short vacations where I could be Michael. Or the other way around."

"All right. I can understand and agree to that stipulation. May I ask why you have decided to try out Michelle again?"

"Because I think I am going to go after my Mother as Michelle." was the calm reply.

"What did you say?" Jane asked in a hoarse whisper. "Go after your Mother? As Michelle?"

"If she wanted Michelle badly enough to send me to you, then I am going to kill her son by becoming Michelle. I will show her precisely what she seems to want, become what she seems to want. Maybe Michelle can have the Mother that Michael was denied. At least, maybe it will show her what she has missed and will be losing."

"And you want me to train you to that end? She is my friend, Michelle. Don't you think that is just a little cruel?"

"I have more than a passing acquaintance with cruelty of late, Jane." he answered with heavy irony leaving no doubt as to who had made that introduction. "*Cruel* would be if I publically unmasked myself and let her social circle know what she'd done to me. She'd never be able to hold her head up in society again and that would matter to her." the boy-girl frowned pensively for a moment. "I don't think I want to go that far, but it is an option."

Michelle seemed to steel herself and looked Jane squarely in the eye. "In any case, Jane, you said you would teach me to be a lady. What I do with what knowledge you impart to me should not concern you. Or will you withdraw your offer now that you know why I want choose Michelle? In that case, I will go to Chicago with Eric as Michael."

Jane sat quietly, watching the feminine creature seated opposite her. She knew that the boy resented his Mother, almost hated her with a fervor that led Jane to think he had once loved her almost as much. She'd just never considered him wanting to Michelle in quite that way or for such a purpose.

"Suppose your plan does not succeed, Michael? Suppose she doesn't react the way you hope? Suppose Michelle doesn't make a difference to her?"

"Then I won't have lost anything, Jane, because I have nothing of her as Michael. Maybe it will show her what she's lost, maybe not. Right now, this seems the only option that will let me reach her at all, and I am still angry enough, and hurt enough that I need to take that opportunity. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

"I won't withdraw my offer, Michelle, even though I find your stated goal demeaning to both of us. However, you do realize that your commitment in all of this is even greater than it would have been if you had simply decided to live with me as Michelle? You want to be beautiful enough, feminine enough and refined enough to carry off this masquerade under very demanding circumstances. You have to understand how difficult, how demanding achieving and sustaining that level of perfection will be for you, Michael." she said using the masculine name intentionally.

"I understand completely, Jane. I will do, with one exception, whatever it takes, short of actual surgical or hormonal modification, to become what I need to be."

"And what is the exception, Michelle?"

The finely featured face went crimson. "While I know that this is a huge commitment that will require my full attention and best effort, I still want some things as Michael, too. Like a family. I'd like to meet girls as a guy from time to time. And while I don't think you'd have too much trouble with Michael trotting out Michelle from time to time, I am concerned about how you would react the other way around."

That was a fair evaluation, Jane thought. Above and beyond the program she laid out to humble then mellow each new student, she liked having her boys in skirts. She could see herself resisting Michelle wanting to be Michael from time to time. "How about one weekend a month and a whole week during major school holidays. We can go somewhere Michelle is not known, but you must recognize that if you do, in fact, give this project your best effort, you will go on these holidays as a very effeminate young man."

Michael nodded. "Understood, Jane. I'll just have to find a girl like Caro or Eric's wife who like men like that." He paused before continuing. "College is the other thing. How would Michelle go to school? I don't want to spend the next four years vegetating."

"I have contacts who can help, depending on where you want to go and what you want to study."

"I'd like to stay locally, and live here so I can continue my studies with you. As for the course of study, I have begun to think about pre-med with an eye towards maybe becoming a research psychiatrist."

Ah, Eric has been more a role model than we had originally thought, Jane mused to herself. "The local university has a good program, and I know several women in the administration who should be able to help. Is that all? If I agree to these issues, do I get Michelle back?"

She could practically see *him* become instantly more feminine, see him become *her*. "We do, Aunt Jane."

Jane was out of her chair in an instant and Michelle was suddenly enveloped in the first maternal hug he or she could ever remember since the death of Michael's father. "Welcome home, Michelle." then Jane pulled back to look down at her ward. "And your first lessons will be on how to select your own natural colors. Trust me, darling. You were not meant to be a redhead."

A Losing Season: Chapter 13. First Challenge.

Michelle sat in Jane's library mesmerized by the telephone as if it were a snake waiting to strike. Jane had already assigned to him his first girl task, and he was struggling to find the will to get on with it. Truth to tell, *she* was a little overwhelmed at the response that *her* (Jane had told him to start working very hard at thinking in the feminine whenever dressed - it wasn't easy) decision elicited from the other members of Jane's household. Demure, feminine Beth gave her a thoroughly *guy-thing* thump on the shoulder and a high five, nearly knocking Michelle off her still-not-quite-steady high heeled feet.

Eric, on the other hand, talked to him that confident, quietly supportive way of his. He wanted to make sure Michael understood the full ramifications of that choice, but he also wanted to assure Michelle that *Michael* would always have a safe place to turn to with his family in Chicago.

Marie had surprised everyone, including Michelle, by breaking down into tears and nearly crushing the young boy/girl in a fierce hug, all the while apologizing in at least two languages. Not for her part in the original cross dressing treatment which she told him had been absolutely necessary, but for having to kick him so hard to subdue him. Marie was distraught over the size and tenacity of the bruise across Michelle's midriff. Michelle, although looking quite female on the outside, still was a young male on the inside. He'd been helpless in the face of Marie's tears, but Jane just chuckled and shook her head as he begged for help with his eyes.

Michelle shook herself slightly to refocus her mind on the task at hand. It would not get any easier if she waited. She picked up the phone, took a deep, cleansing breath, and punched out the number Jane had made her look up.

The phone was picked up on the third ring, dashing Michelle's hopes that they had already gone for the day. "Marisha Chalet, Carolyn speaking."

Fighting the incipient tremble of fear that threatened to make her voice crack, she responded, "Hello, Carolyn, this is Michelle Nash."

"Mi. Mi. . miCHELLE???" There was surprise, uncertainty and perhaps even a touch of fear in that stuttered response. Michelle stifled a grin of pleasure at the thought, but it *did* give her back a feeling of self control. She gave the affirmative. "Ummmmm. . .well.. .this is a surprise. Wh. . What can I . . we do for you, Mi. . you did say this was *Michelle*?"

This time Michelle did allow a slight laugh to bubble through, but it was not malicious. "Yes, Carolyn, I have decided to stay with Aunt Jane for the foreseeable future."

"Oh!" The relief in that one syllable was almost palpable across the phone line. "Well, then, what can we do for you, Michelle?" There was considerably more confidence in the voice now.

"Well, you are aware that my recent . . .illness . .resulted in the temporary loss of most of my hair, including my brows and nails?"

Carolyn had not seen the boy, but Sandy had and her vivid descriptions of what he'd done to himself, after *she* had been so rough on him at her shop, had made Carolyn physically ill. She swallowed loudly enough for Michelle to hear it over the phone. "Yes, dear. Sandy told me."

"I can't very well walk around looking like "Aunt Fester", Carolyn, and Aunt Jane doesn't have any wigs suitable for my coloring. I was wondering if you might have something appropriate, and if I could come in and have you show me how to wear it and care for it. Maybe we could fix my nails and you could show me how to hide my lack of brows until they grow back?"

"I have a couple of nice wigs that should work for you, Michelle. When would you like to come in?"

"I'd like to come as soon as I can, Carolyn, but if its possible, could I come in very first thing, so that your other customers don't have to see my hairless head? I'd really like to be under a dryer or off in the corner before anyone else can see me." she paused. "Aunt Jane said that was okay with her." Michelle injected a hopeful note.

Carolyn consulted her appointment book. In the past, she might have toyed with one of Jane's students. She might even had someone who could be trusted there at the shop when Jane's student arrived, but that was before a boy had tried to kill himself after a session in her shop. "Michelle, unfortunately, I am booked every morning this week right at opening time." She heard the sigh of disappointment in her ear. "Tell you what. I will open an hour early tomorrow, to work with you so that the worst of it will be over when my other girls and customers arrive. Be here at 8:00 A.M. and we will go from there, okay?"

"Thank you, Carolyn. Very much. Oh, can I bring Beth? She needs a little help, too."

A chuckle answered her. "Sure, tell her to come, too. I'll tell Sandy to get up early and be here. See you then."

As the two hung up, both feminine creatures felt greatly relieved - one for having survived a difficult first test, the other for having been granted a reprieve.

A Losing Season: Chapter 14. Facing an Old Nightmare

Carolyn and Sandy were surprised when the Jane's girls showed up the next morning without Jane. "Where's Jane, girls?" had been Sandy's question as Beth and Michelle both exited the taxicab.

"Oh, she told us to just come and have a good time, Sandy." had been Beth's smiling response. "We're big girls, now." she teased.

"But. . but. . .but how will we know what to do to you without Jane here? Unless," and she turned to face her partner. "Did Jane call you with orders for these two, Caro?"

Carolyn's and Michelle's "No." came out in unison. Both shop owners returned their eyes to face the two young women at their door. "What you will do *for* us, Sandy, is what you would do *for* any other regular paying customer." Michelle said with only a hint of smug arrogance. "That is, what we ask you to do and what will make us look our best."

"Jane agreed to that?" the disappointed Sandy asked. She'd hoped that Michelle's return to the fold meant that everything was back to normal. Of the two partners, she'd always enjoyed her little games with the helpless boys far more than Caro who felt like she was dispensing bad tasting, but necessary medicine.

Both Beth and Michelle nodded, smiles splitting their lips.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

16 July - Day 1

Dear Diary

God, I don't think I am ever going to get used to writing that, but Aunt Jane says it is part of the drill. I have never been much of a journal keeper, so this may be a bit spotty. Eric says that good psychological research starts with good self reflection and that journals are a useful way to do that. Jane says I might want a record for the future, so I can remember more clearly and more objectively what happened in this oddball period of my life. I also think Eric wants some sort of reference as to what was happened if I trip off the deep end again. Anyway, I promised to try.

Well, I am sitting here, rigged out in one of two new blond wigs. The one I am wearing is the shorter of the two, falling only a bit below my shoulders. It is long enough for dress up and short enough that I can be active and athletic in it. The other one is almost waist length and is suitable for braiding, or for as Sandy said in one of the evil teases she still can't quite resist, for "big hair". She looked much too pleased with that idea. I don't think I want more than an intellectual acquaintance with "big hair".

My nails are and will continue to be a problem for some time to come. I did such a number on the last ones that a couple of them may not have enough real nail for the acrylic to bond to. Caro thinks I may have to come back soon for another treatment. And they are shorter than last time. Still longer than Michael ever wore, but not so long and sharp that I might have to register them with the police as lethal weapons. But, they still catch on EVERYTHING. I have ruined two sets of nylons since returning home to Jane's today.

Tomorrow, Jane is taking me back to Mrs. Franson's place to replace the clothes that I, or rather, Michael destroyed. This time, however, I will be treated like a customer, and not like an impromptu lingerie model. Jane already has that set up since she needed to pick a time when the girls who helped us last time won't be working. Hard to explain two such blowout shopping trips in less than two weeks.

Eric is looking for a dressing-friendly psychologist in the area for me. Not to deal with dressing aspects of this since he thinks I will respond well on my own to whatever decision is right for me. No, he's worried about the fallout from Michael's breakdown, and helping me to learn to deal with such anger before ever it gets to that point again.

Well that's about it for tonight, I guess. Except to say that this thinking of myself in the feminine tense is a bitch. . . oops. . .pardon me. This feminine self perspective is highly unnatural and I am having a great deal of difficulty with that dictum of Aunt Jane's at this time. Sigh. . .she also told me I needed to "feminine up", as in clean up, my language. She is going to keep track and assign demerits for each failure to speak in "a pleasing feminine voice and with feminine sophistication" 100 demerits and yours truly gets 10 minutes sucking on a soap bar and I won't be able to rinse for the remainder of the 100 minutes. I tasted Aunt Jane's soap tonight, just as a precaution.

It is not an insignificant threat on her part. Unfortunately, I figure it won't be the last time I taste the vile stuff. I have lived in all male environments far too long, dammit. Ooops, I mean, Golly!!

Somehow, "golly" lacks for something in expressing my feelings. This going to REALLY hard.

Michelle Nash.

A Losing Season: Chapter 15. Fond Farewells

Eric stayed on for a couple of more days after the second great shopping expedition and his quiet good humor helped to ease the transition for both Michelle and for Jane.

Michelle was upset by his imminent departure when she, Jane and Beth accompanied him to the airport, but Eric promised to visit. "I will even bring Sylvia, my wife, the next time. I've told her about you and she is very anxious to meet you." then he gave that quirky grin of his. "Although, if you want to meet her as Michael, you'll have to come to Chicago to visit us, but bring some Michelle clothes if you do, please? Erica's stuff is too mature for you, dammit, and the coloring is all wrong."

The comment bothered the girl, he saw. For all her strength of will and commitment to the goal of becoming Michelle, of going beyond a mere masquerade, *this* Michelle was still essentially Michael in skirts. He had a long way to go before *he* became the *she* that he needed to become, and Eric did not want to make these first days any more difficult than they needed to be for her. "Michael," he said very softly, "My wife *will* welcome you as Michael, and she won't press, but she *would* truly like to meet Michelle. But that is and will remain your choice. No one will try to pressure you one way or the other, nor will you be made to feel guilty about whatever decision you make. Sylvia is not the Aunt Jane you had to deal with your first few weeks here, okay?"

"Okay, Eric." Michelle responded, unwilling to make any more commitments so soon after the one that had him back in skirts and wondering about his sanity. "I will miss you."

The young psychologist reached into his wallet and pulled out a calling card. "My home, work and emergency phone numbers are on that card. So is my email address, although you don't have a computer here."

"Jane said she'd get one since I will be going to school for real and will need one for school work." Michelle giggled at the memory. "I think she is a bit cyber-phobic. Jane turned a lovely color of puce at the mere thought of having such a technical monstrosity invade her lovely Victorian home." They both glanced over at Jane, who did look just a little ill at that. Michelle dropped her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper "I promised to hide it in my room and to keep it covered in a pretty chintz throw when it's not in use."

"See how well you are progressing, Michelle? How many boys would even know there *was* a color called puce or a material called chintz, let alone know what either one actually looked like?" teased Eric.

She did a fairly good job of blushing that color herself. Eric stood and pulled the resisting boy/girl into a hug. He just held her against her instinctive reaction to pull away, surprising her with his strength. "You are going to have to get used to things like this, if you are going to pull off the grand plan, Michelle." he whispered softly. "It's just a hug between friends. Now, kiss me on the cheek like a good girl and wave good bye as I board the plane."

He wondered, as Michelle pulled back and stared at him in wide eyed disbelief, if he had pushed just a little too hard. Then she scrunched up her face, closed her eyes, leaned over and planted a very brief, very prim peck on Eric's cheek. Because her eyes were still tightly shut, she couldn't dodge when Eric returned the compliment. "Be well, Michael-Michelle, and be sure to call me if you need to or even if you just want to."

Jane and her two wards waved as Eric entered the jetway and boarded his flight. When she turned to look over at Michelle, she saw a single track of mascara, marking a dark rivulet down her flushed cheek. She nodded, pleased with the response, and handed her ward a tissue.

"Thank you, Aunt Jane." she whispered as they turned back toward the main terminal.

As they walked down the corridor, Jane spied a sign, thought for just a moment, and decided that an opportunity not taken was an opportunity lost. "Beth." she said aloud, thinking that the first such lesson should not be *too* daunting. "Take Michelle into the ladies room so that she can fix her face. She looks two-toned where the mascara streaked across her blusher."

The look of abject horror on Michelle's face was only slightly more terror-stricken than the matching one on Beth's. She grinned, thinking that this was a lesson she had never really dared pull on her students before, but this was a special case and Michelle would need to learn her way around what Jane thought of as the "Secret Society of the Powder Room."

They made no motion toward the open door, so Jane gave them both "the look" she'd used to such effect in her days as a petticoat disciplinarian. Shoulders drooping, the unhappy pair slowly turned. Jane caught Michelle's arm and put her lips to the girl's ear. "Now, just fix your face, dear. Don't let that crude boy Michael try and peak at any of the ladies who might be, shall we say, en dishabille in there? It is so crowded here today, there might not be enough stalls for all the women who want to get out of their travel clothes."

She almost laughed at the color that flamed her ward's face, but the little jab did the trick as Michelle started moving more resolutely toward the ladies room. Jane only smiled, and hoped that there was at least one reasonably attractive lady changing where her girls could see her. They'd be so disappointed otherwise.

When the twosome exited the restroom, Jane thought they might be walking just a bit funny, as if something was making it difficult for their upper legs to move quite as freely as normal. Well, one took lessons and rewards for jobs well done where one found them.

A Losing Season: Chapter 16. First Discipline

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

21 July - Day 5

Dear Diary

Less than one week into the trial period and I have already achieved my first 100 demerits for unladylike discourse and language. Seems like every time I turn around, there is Jane with that blasted green pocket notebook, noting down some indiscretion or miss-speech, (perhaps that should be mister-speech on my part). Today, she caught me cursing when I ran yet another set of hosiery with these damned, err. . . darned fingernails. So tonight, after dinner, I will present myself in her master suite, wearing my nightgown, for correction.

As far as the rest of it, the new clothes are okay. Beth is absolutely jealous about one of the new dresses, or at least she says she is since for the most part she is still wearing the stuff that Jane bought during the punishment phase of her stay. I tried loaning it to her, but she is just enough different in size and coloring from me that it does not work for her.

Its odd, but I am beginning to recognize when something, like a dress or a make-up job, are wrong, but I have trouble visualizing ahead of time what would be right. I wonder if the other women in Jane's little circle would work with me, too. Sandy would, if only to get her clutches on me, again. Caro is a little more reserved, but I think she'd let me into her Wednesday group once I know enough not to mess up with those other real girls around. Maybe I can be her make up dummy again, just to get in with the other girls. OMIGOD. . . did I just say *other* girls? Oh my.

Mrs. Franson is another story altogether, and one of those frightening unknowns that I have learned to approach very cautiously. She is still very reserved around me - did not say even a single unnecessary word to me the entire time Jane and I were there. Guess she was afraid I would shatter all over her shop if she teased me in the slightest.

Another downer, for me at least, is that Jane gave Beth, or rather David his acceptance letter today. Evidently, she had been holding it until the last moment. He is going off to college at a university in Illinois in the fall semester. I am going to miss my big sister, and I am more than a little nervous about being the only sissy in the house. Jane has promised to tone down her games, but what if she starts feeling deprived? Oh, well, I will have about a month and a half without David before I have to make the final decision after Michelle's trial period.

I am also getting antsy. It's summer and I really feel the need to go out and get some exercise, to run and go play some tennis or something. Most of these early lessons in the feminine mysteries have been pretty sedentary, unless you count high heeled endurance walking as exercise. It hurts like exercise, especially in my arches and in my shins, but I don't think it does much for my cardiovascular fitness. Guess I need to talk to Jane about this. God. . .err, goodness knows what she will come up with this time.

Michelle Nash

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

21 July - Day 5

Dear Diary

SHIT! GODDAMN HER! BITCH!! SLIME GODDESS OF THE WESTERN WORLD!!

There.

All the things I wanted to scream at Jane but did not deem wise given the circumstances of our meeting.

The god damned soap was in the shape of a man's cock! And it was HUGE - half again as long as Michael's and almost twice as thick! I could barely get my mouth around the thing. Jane was at her very best at being her very worst, too. Telling me how this particular discipline was also practice for when I started going out with boys. "A girl who can't let a boy in her panties needs other skills, dear. Now see how deep you can get *him* before you gag too much."

She even made me touch up my lipstick before she started the punishment, telling me that I would always be properly made up and coiffed for correction. "To emphasize and affirm our goals, dear even in your times of greatest stress."

Right.

And it had absolutely *nothing* to do with the fact that she took a picture of me with that damn thing in my mouth with her instant camera, either.

Did I mention that the thing tasted absolutely vile? Even worse than the bar soap? The ninety minute wait was awful. I must have used a half a bottle of mouth wash and most of a tube of toothpaste getting the taste *almost* out of my mouth.

When I told Beth, the little bitch *laughed*. She nearly fell off her chair and when she finally stopped laughing for a few seconds, she actually had the gall to ask if she could see the picture. I have only one thing to say to that, which of course, I did not say to her.

Pay backs are hell, sister.

As for the root cause of my problem, I am going to start keeping track of my own little curses, just as a reminder to myself not to do them. Also, to make sure that Jane isn't padding the count. I think she enjoyed my little trial just a bit too much tonight. Its not that I don't trust her, but I guess I don't trust her. Not when she is plotting her little tests, I don't.

I am going to brush my teeth again and go to bed. It has been a long day and a longer evening.

Michelle Nash

A Losing Season: Chapter 17. First Confrontation

As if the previous night's punishment had not been humiliating enough, Michelle awoke to find her panties soaked from a very heavy nocturnal emission. Not wanting that fact known by Marie, which was the same as telling Jane directly, she hurried into her bathroom and carefully rinsed the sodden mass free of the thick, viscous fluid. Michelle decided that, if asked, she'd claim she'd had an "accident" during the night. It had the advantage of almost being the truth - she certainly hadn't done that intentionally - but hopefully anyone hearing it would assume she'd gotten urine on them.

"A fine thing when you'd rather folks think you pissed your pants than know the truth, Nash." she said with a touch of humor.

What was worse for the boy/girl, was the dream she'd been having that precipitated the involuntary climax. Aunt Jane had been "correcting" him again, only this time with a real penis - a real penis that had been connected to Aunt Jane. A real penis that had been *part* of Aunt Jane. Throughout the dream, he'd felt again the strain of keeping his jaws open to admit the phallus, and had heard again the ringing taunts of his Aunt. But *this* time, he'd been excited, and the onset of Jane's orgasm had triggered his own.

Michael had still been a virgin on his arrival at Jane's home over a month ago. Young men at all male boarding schools do not get much opportunity to deal with young girls except in very tightly controlled situations. And unlike his peers, Michael did not have real vacations in which he could have dealt with them in anything remotely resembling uncontrolled situations. Oh, he'd learned to masturbate, and he'd had a fairly active relationship with "Merry Hand and her five sisters" since he'd turned thirteen. He also understood the mechanics and the societal expectations of sex. But Aunt Jane with a penis? And in the dream Michelle had enjoyed it? That was scary.

Did that mean Michelle *wanted* to be a girl, or at least, to assume the feminine role in the sex act? Did that mean she wanted to be with another guy? Michael, and here it definitely *was* Michael thinking, did not think he could handle that. Maybe this was one of those times he should call and talk to Eric. He decided to wait until later, when Eric would be home. This call might take a while.

Michelle spent the rest of the day in isolated, melancholy thought, often frowning, looking disturbed. After a couple of attempts to involve her in conversation, Beth had finally given up and had gone off without her. Jane kept an wary eye on her ward for several hours and finally decided she needed to do something.

She caught up with Michelle in the English Country Garden where the girl was sitting on a bench under the arbor, staring at a rose bush. "Do you want me to apologize?" Jane asked.

Michelle started at the unexpected voice and then gazed up at her aunt in surprise. "Whatever for, Aunt Jane?"

"For the way the correction went last night, of course. I realize now that I may have gone too far with that particular soap toy. So, do I owe you an apology?"

She watched as Michelle seemed to consider that, before she shrugged. "Probably not. I wasn't expecting it, but I suspect that the experience will help me clean up my language all the quicker for it."

"Then what is bothering you, girl?" Aunt Jane asked in some exasperation. "We agreed that we would be honest with each other throughout this trial period so that no unexpected or unintended slights would fester to affect your final decision. If that wasn't the problem, what is?"

"It's not that, Aunt Jane." Michelle answered with a deep sigh. "Well, maybe part of it, but not the whole of it."

Jane thought about what Marie had told her earlier, and suddenly put it all together. "Does this have anything to do with the stains that Marie found on your bed sheets this morning, Michelle?" The girl's eyes went wide with dismay and then she turned away, her face flushing with heat. "So, you came in your panties last night after we finished." Jane said with certainty. She got her answer when the girl's complexion took on an even darker shade of red and then tried to leave. Jane caught her and eased her back down. "Do I have it all, now? C'mon, now, give me the whole of it, girl. Don't let this fester."

Still, Michelle could not bring herself to say anything.

"Please."

That was the most shocking word Jane had yet spoken to her, and it opened the floodgates. Slowly, haltingly, Michelle began to speak. She told of the dream, of the hermaphroditic Jane and of Michelle's willing compliance and Michael's orgasm. She spoke of her fears about her sexuality and how this little play might affect it in the future.

Understanding now, Jane nodded, swallowing just a little bit hard herself. The child did have some . . . very interesting dreams. "All right. I am calling a trial period time out. Michael and I need to talk, Michelle. Be in my study in thirty minutes. If Michael wishes to be dressed in male clothes for this, he has my permission to do so without penalty." With that, she turned on her heel and walked back to the house.

A Losing Season: Chapter 18. Interlude - Jane and Michael

Unsure what Jane had in mind, Michael took her hint about male clothes, up to a point. He did not really feel like going through struggling back into all his girl clothes again, particularly that instrument from hell, the body shaper. So he merely stripped off his skirt and blouse, pulled on a Nike exercise suit over his lingerie before pulling on white socks and sneakers over his stockings. He barely remembered to remove his wig, and saw he still had cosmetics on when he went to straighten the fuzz that had started to grow back on his skull. For a moment, he considered not cleaning that off, either, but in the end, decided to wash it all off. Besides, it didn't take him all that long to do up Michelle's face from scratch in any case.

Jane was waiting in the study with a pot of tea and some cakes. She was not behind her imposing desk, either. Rather, she had set the tea up at the little conversation grouping. near the fire place. He would not be seated in "the chair" looking at her across her desk of power.

Jane personally poured the tea, and Michael wondered if she'd done that was because he was Michael and not Michelle. She'd always made Michelle pour, and expected her to know exactly how each of her guests took their tea, so it came as a further surprise when, without asking, Jane added his preferred amount of honey and lemon before offering him his cup. Jane knew something so inconsequential about him? He'd have sworn she never paid any attention to him, or rather Michelle, during these little tea ceremonies.

His face must have conveyed that because Jane chuckled softly. "I make you remember how those you pour for take their tea, Michael. Do you think me less genteel in my decorum than what I demand of my girls? Of course I know the proper way to serve tea. I *am*, first and foremost, a *lady*."

She sat back and sipped her own tea. "I have never done this before with one of my boys, Michael. Pulled them out of their feminine finery for a few minutes in order to speak with them without the barriers of the masquerade on their part, and without the persona of the harsh taskmistress on my part to inhibit the free exchange between my student and me."

"So why is this different with me?"

"Because this whole situation is different, Michael - very different, and I don't want to mess it up before we even get started. First of all, I want you to understand that Marie was not intentionally invading your privacy when she found the semen stains on your bedding. Checking the sheets for such things is something we have always done with our little girls. That is the reason we never made you make your own beds."

"Why?" the incredulous tone in Michael's voice made her smile.

"Michael, silk, satins, fine lingerie, all those pampering little feminine rituals are really very sensual experiences. They look nice, and more importantly, they feel nice. My young men are, like you, young *men*. Virile, potent, and excitable. One of the key signs that I am finally starting to reach inside the heads of my students is when the sensuality begins to overwhelm their reticence and repugnance. Young men being what they are, they need relief from such pressures, either by . . . ummm, taking things in hand, or by having wet dreams. In the past, I have always needed to know when that happens so that I could adjust what I am doing. Ergo, Marie made the beds."

"And in my case, she just did it because she always does?"

"Yes, because it has become a habit." Then that wicked grin returned and Michael felt a cold chill run up his spine. "In your case, I already knew Michelle had been reached because Sandy told me about you ejaculating spontaneously at the beauty shop." She became serious again. "But that is not what happened last night, is it? The dream you had? It was just as you described it?" He nodded. "And now, you are worried about your sexual orientation? That your experience in skirts might make you want boys and not girls? Because you dreamed of having me force you to suck a penis and you had an orgasm because of it?" Michael nodded, again, his eyes firmly focused on the floor.

Jane stood and walked over to her window before turning to face Michael again. "Are you a virgin, Michael?"

She had her answer in an instant, but held back, hoping he would speak first. "When would I ever have gotten the opportunity, Jane? Dad is gone. Mom keeps me imprisoned in all boy schools and camps. The closest I have been to more than one girl my own age in the past year was at Caro's, during the make up lesson, and then I was *one* of the girls."

"Not much you could do to plight your troth in that situation, was there?" she said cheerfully. "Michael, I don't think you need to worry. You reacted to a highly charged, highly sexual situation that I forced on you last night. Now, if you'd dreamed about a guy in your mouth, well, even that wouldn't mean anything, but you dreamed about me, a woman, doing it. That I had a penis was probably just a reaction to what I had done to you. If I had stuck a soap carving of a woman's vulva into your mouth, you probably would have dreamed of me in a more realistic form, but just as dominant over you." She considered for a moment if she really wanted to take this any further, and decided it was necessary. She'd promised honesty to him, just as he had to her. "Have you ever heard of bondage and discipline? Sadomasochism?"

Michael surprised her by nodding almost immediately. "At school. One of the guys had a father who sent him bootleg copies of Penthouse and Playboy. The readers letters sections were full of that stuff."

"Liked those magazines, did you? Well, in their milder forms, those variations can be a very exciting way of having sex, or if you prefer, of making love. As long as the participants really care for one another, there is really nothing very wrong with acting out those games, and certainly nothing wrong with having fantasies about them. Instead, if they excite you and your partner, you should try to enjoy them as you would any other mutually pleasurable games. If it doesn't hurt anyone, why not?"

She saw him mulling that over and decided to continue. "Michael, last night, I probably went too far. My original goal, as you surmised, was to make the correction so embarrassing that you'd work all the harder to avoid a recurrence. Unfortunately, my darker nature got the better of me and I said and did some things that were over the line. For that, I am sorry."

"Thank you, Jane, for that. I am okay with that. The dream did bother me, and I spent a great deal of time today trying to come to grips with that dream and what it meant. What it implied about me. I am still not sure I do understand all of that, but one thing I am surer of today than ever before. Even in skirts, I still like girls. I still *want* girls."

"Well, if you spend four years as Michelle, you may find that many little feminine touches are creeping into your mind set. I expect that you will continue to like and want girls, but you can expect to be in the company of men as a very attractive female on a fairly regular basis, and they will respond to you as they would any pretty girl. Don't be surprised if you start responding back. It is neither wrong nor evil, okay?"

Michael considered that and then shrugged. "I am going to have to do a lot more thinking about that, Jane. At this point, I cannot even imagine being physically attracted to another man."

Jane smiled, a strangely gentle smile that Michael had never seen before. "I know, but then, many of the things you will face and do are going to require and impose major changes in your thinking. Just keep your mind open and keep on thinking." That earned her a smile and nod. Jane wanted to cheer, but contented herself with a little smile of her own. "Now, anymore questions?"

"Just a couple. You did say that the soapy vulva thing would have been more realistic? I mean, you . . . ummmm. . . aren't like Michelle? You, yourself, I mean." and this was Michelle asking, and in such an sweetly curious voice that Jane was momentarily speechless.

Then she burst out laughing. "You . . . you . . ." words momentarily failed her. "That was the bitchiest, cattiest thing I have heard in weeks." Then she fought to regain control. "Well done! And if you *must* know," she said in measured, aristocratic tones, "The only way a penis is ever inside *my* panties is when one is attached to a male I *choose* to invite into them. Does that answer your impertinent question, Miss Nosy-britches?"

"Yes, Aunt Jane." was the prim response. "Thank you *very* much. I am sure I won't have *that* bad dream again."

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

22 July - Day 6

Dear Diary

The time-out thing worked well. It helped to meet with Jane as near equals. She even apologized to me for going to far last night. Oddly, after the dream last night and the talk with Jane today, it doesn't seem all that bad. Actually, thinking about it causes certain male parts of my anatomy stand up and be noticed. A very uncomfortable experience in this too-small all-in-one body shaper. Erect cocks are not meant to be bent that way.

Still, I am glad Aunt Jane saw the problem and cared enough to try to fix it. Almost makes me believe she meant what she said about really wanting to help. And it gives me a whole new perspective on what she calls her "dark side". Aunt Jane is a very attractive lady, in a mature sort of way. Kind of like that woman, Joan something or other who was a star on that old late night soap opera. What was it called? Destiny? Dynasty? Can't remember. The dorm senior would turn off the TV whenever we tried to watch it back in seventh grade.

What was it she said? As long as it feels good and doesn't hurt anyone, eh? Well, I suspect that Aunt Jane is going to play a role in the dreams of the part of me that remains Michael for quite a while to come.

On another issue, she understood my need for some exercise, and will look into it. Her concern is that I not build up too much muscle mass, so that I can continue to look slim, elegant and feminine. We are not trying for Cory Everson here. I hope we can do something. She says she has a friend who is a dietitian and a fitness instructor who might be able to help and who knows about Aunt Jane's . . .hobby.

I am tired, and I am going to go to bed. Who knows? I might dream again. Just in case, tonight I won't wear the bottoms of my sleep set. The stains from this morning don't seem to want to come out of the gusset of the ones I tried to clean.

Oh well.

Michelle Nash.

A Losing Season: Chapter 19.

Not much happened for the next few days. Michelle and Beth spent a great deal of time together with Beth helping impart what she'd learned over her time with Jane to her friend. Of course, she'd tried to do that before, but the key difference was that this time, Michelle had become a willing student.

Neither Jane nor Michelle brought up their 'time out' discussions. Perhaps just as well, Michelle mused, since parts of that had been as embarrassing as anything Jane had done to her in their earlier dealings. Still, she *really* wanted to burn off this excess energy. Walking back and forth, up and down the long front hall, wearing progressively higher heeled shoes (she was up to two and half inches), while balancing Conan-Doyle on her head was NOT enough exercise.

It still came as something of a surprise when, at dinner two weeks after Michelle's commitment to the trial period, Jane said that they had an appointment the next day. "She is a certified nutritionist and personal trainer, Michelle. Nora, that is, Nurse Bedford, found her for me. This lady works with gender dysphoric men who are considering sex reassignment surgery . . you know what that is?" she asked.

"Is that what they do to guys who want to become women, Aunt Jane?" Michelle had asked wide eyed with anxiety.

"Close enough for our purposes, Michelle. Anyway, this woman helps them with diet and exercise programs designed to help them sculpt their figures and still keep healthy. Evidently many such people do really stupid things, like starve themselves to fit into their idealized concept of womanhood. The result is that they become very ill, lose bone mass, and sometimes need medical care."

"What will she do to . . .I mean . .for me, Aunt Jane?" was the somewhat quavering question.

"She will look you over, Michelle, and come up with an initial program of diet and exercise for you. She will also evaluate you physically. Whatever we do in this, Michelle - and I am telling you this as Michael, too - I *insist* that we not damage your health in the process. If we can't make you over into the drop-dead gorgeous creature that you wish to present to your Mother in lieu of her son, well, that is something you need to know so that you can make an informed decision at the end of our trial period."

Michelle considered that and finally nodded. "What will we tell her? About me, I mean?"

"Excellent question, Michelle." Jane said approvingly. "Keep thinking like that, dear. I think we will play this by ear for now. I think she will probably believe without being told, that you are another man thinking about SRS. If she doesn't ask, we won't tell. If she does ask, I will try and lead her to the conclusion that you wish to live as femininely as possible, but won't be making any other permanent changes in the near future. Later, when we know more about her, perhaps we will bring her in on the scheme. All right?" she asked, watching her charge very closely and smiled inwardly as Michelle finally sighed, and nodded agreement.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

31 July - Day 15

Dear Diary

Well, I met Sonja Bjornson today. Only one word adequately describes the impact of this woman on the unsuspecting.

Wow.

This is one very big lady. Not unattractive, but BIG. . . and TALL! Everywhere. VERY big. Overwhelming, even. I am not used to looking up at ladies, even one as lovely as this Viking warrior princess. Not that much, anyway. She was wearing heels, which my now-trained eyes put at about three inches tall, but then, my own heels were that high, too. She still topped my own relatively-short-for-a-guy-5 feet 5 inches by a good five or six inches.

And every part of her is just as big. Not fat, god no - she is shapely and has a very nice smile to go with long, almost white-blond hair and stunningly blue eyes. Still, I bet she is pushing two hundred pounds and is not a tenth of a percent over the minimum recommended percent body fat for women.

She was very nice and very professional. The first part of the consultation involved me having to strip.

Naked.

In front of Brunhilda, queen of the Valkyries.

I resisted - she insisted. I still resisted - she still insisted and finally, Jane ordered it.

I sort of embarrassed myself during the examination because I had one of what Jane refers to as an "uncontrollable male physiological response". Sonja's only comment to that was to say to Jane, "Well, you weren't lying when you said she was not on hormones, were you?" That made us all laugh and that helped ease the tension a bit, if not my physiological response.

She proceeded to measure me all over, in places I have never been measured before. She took callipers and pinched skin on my arms, belly, thighs, calves, buttocks and my back. She asked me what type of physical activity I was used to and I told her long distance running, tennis and swimming. She asked when I had gone through puberty and I told her almost six years ago.

Her only response to that was that I wouldn't need to worry about a growth spurt so long after the onset of puberty.

Great!

Then she let me dress before she began the interview phase. She asked what types of things I ate and what I liked to eat. She approved, mostly, of the diet that Jane had me on, but was appalled by my preference for that fine French cuisine, burgers de junk a la Macdonald's. Whereupon, I was told, quite firmly, that there were sacrifices that must be made to be beautiful. Jane was listening, too, dammit.

Anyway, Marie is now clucking over the new diet plan, and I have been given the go ahead for an exercise program that will not prevent me from accomplishing my goal. It involves some swimming (breast stroke preferred so as to not build up the pectorals) power walking to build up the pelvis, a very special kind of crunch that will tighten the tummy and help give me a figure, and dance - both aerobic for cardiovascular fitness and modern dance - for flexibility and grace.

She also recommended that. . "Since she is still. . . excitable around other women, Ms. Thompson, you might want to invest in a gaff for her?"

Jane laughed aloud at that, and it was NOT one of her nice laughs either. I tried to get her to tell me what a gaff was all the way home, but she'd just start laughing again before telling me that I'd find out soon enough. That, and the fact it has something to do with my "male physiological reaction" does NOT make me happy.

Tomorrow, we go shopping for exercise clothes and bathing suits. Since I cannot wear the body shaper in a bikini, I suspect that means one-piece suits. That is fine with me. One of those women's racing suits that goes up to the throat is even more better!

Michelle Nash.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

1 August - Day 16

Dear Diary

I know what a gaff is now - the jockstrap from hell, only its purpose is not to protect me from injury as to protect me from discovery. It is designed, as Jane so succinctly put it, is "To give you a nice smooth feminine profile, dear. After all, you can't very well exercise in petticoats."

My immediate response to *that* was "Thank God!", which brought out Jane's damned green book. However, now that she and Marie (it took BOTH of them) have shoe-horned me into this >ahem< unique item of apparel, I'm not quite so sure if I want to thank ANYONE.

Basically, it is a belt affair, that forces my dick and balls between my legs and then pulls them up, hard. My balls have retreated into the cavity from whence they came, and that HURT when it happened. Jane assures me they will come back down where they belong. Eventually.

There is no way I am going to get hard wearing this thing.

Gotta run. Time to go shopping. Oh Joy.

Right.

Michelle Nash.

A Losing Season: Chapter 20. Pain is Good, Coach

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

1 August - Day 16

Dear Diary

I am back from shopping, and if there is any part of this masquerade that is going to send me screaming into the night, it is too many more of these "little shopping trips" of Jane's.

We went to Ms. Franson's place for the swimsuits and we bought two one piece suits, both with relatively high necklines so that I can wear the breast inserts I use with regular clothes (good thing they are plastic and therefore water proof). I am almost embarrassed to say that even the A-cup bikini tops bagged on me - so much for bikinis. Jane has that martial look in her eyes, however, so I don't think the bikini has faded into the sunset just yet.

That was the easy part. Work out clothes are as much a pain in the rear as regular clothes. I cannot believe how many different outfits Jane insisted were absolutely necessary. I even asked her to come into the dressing room with me and swear to me that this was not another of her evil little games and she gave me her word that every single item was required.

I now have six or seven different outfits for aerobics (they remind me of my old wrestling singlet from junior high school, only they are even tighter and much more brightly colored)as well as four or five running outfits - all with matching hair ribbons. I swear there are even different types of shoes for different types of aerobics. Finding room for all this stuff is going to be difficult. I guess some of Michael's stuff goes back into the attic. Sigh.

It sure was easier for Michael, though . . . pull on a pair of shorts, the oldest t-shirt he could find, a ratty old pair of running shoes and then hit the gym. Just getting ready for my first aerobics class tomorrow is probably going to take at least three quarters of an hour. Jane said I even need to put on make up so I will look my best with all the other women. Which reminds me, we also bought some special cosmetics designed for working out. It is not supposed to run when I break into a good sweat. . oops, I mean when I begin to gently glow.

What was it Linus used to say in Peanuts? Oh yeah.

AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!

Michelle Nash

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

1 August - Day 16

Dear Diary

Small postscript here. I just reread the previous entry and I realized that I talked about Michael in the second person throughout. Does that mean I am getting closer to thinking as Michelle and in the feminine tense? I wonder what that will mean for me in October if I decide that I can't or don't want to proceed with the plan? Will I have to work just as hard to be Michael again? I certainly HOPE not, but neither am I willing to bet the ranch that I won't.

Michelle Nash

A Losing Season: Chapter 21. Exercise Aftermath

Jane entered her home by way of the garden door at the side of the house. She'd been meditating in her favorite spot of the garden, beneath the grape arbor, overlooking the small pond garden. It was about time for Michelle to return from her first aerobics class, and Jane wanted to be there in case anything had gone wrong. She'd really wanted to go along but both Sonja and Michelle had rejected that idea. A non-participant watching over one particular student simply drew too much attention. And, unlike Michelle, Jane had *no* interest in participating in such an exercise in masochism as a step aerobics class.

The first thing she heard was laughter, then an outraged voice raised in furious, if somewhat breathless denial. She located the sound as coming from the front parlor and slipped quietly to the room door.

"Dammit Beth!" came the out-of-breath voice. "It is not funny!"

The answering chuckle Jane heard was much more "David" than "Beth". Actually that was a good sign. David was sensitive enough to the situation and to its dangers that he would not be reacting this way if Michelle's problem was truly serious. In that case, she thought, I'll just listen in for a bit. She pulled out her little green book, carefully documented the "Dammit", and then settled down for a little productive eavesdropping.

"That woman Sonja is a sadist, I tell you. She damn near killed me in the first half hour and that was only the warmup. I thought I was in shape, but I guess all of this time spent being dainty for Jane must have done me in."

Another peal of laughter. "And what did you call it? Jiggling? Tell me, Michelle, did you get to enjoy watching the other women jiggle?"

A different laugh answered that. Jane was pleased to note that Michelle had still managed to laugh in her feminine voice. She'd forgive the "damn near" as a reward. "Heck, Beth, after the first fifteen minutes, it was all I could do to keep up without tripping over my own feet."

"Damn, I wish I could have seen that." Beth laughed heartily.

"Well, sweetie," and Jane heard that sly, catty voice that Michelle had picked up somewhere and held her breath. "Jane did buy me two gaffs, and I do have so many outfits, I am *sure* that at least one of them could fit you. I would be more than happy to take you with me tomorrow, then you could see it all, first hand. Besides, darling, it would do you good - a girl does need to keep her figure."

"Bite me, Michelle." was Beth's sharp retort.

"No need to be crude, darling. But in that case, I'll just eat your desert tonight, so you won't be tempted."

Deciding enough was enough, Jane walked into the room. Michelle was sprawled over the fainting couch looking very much like she *had* fainted. The pastel patterned workout suit was dark with perspiration, and the ponytail she had worked her wig into was looking very frazzled.

"Aunt Jane!" she yelped as she jumped into a more lady like position.

"Michelle, Beth." she calmly acknowledged the pair. "And what, pray tell, was the cause of all that unseemly laughter?"

Beth swallowed, and looked sheepishly at Michelle who just shrugged. "Beth was just teasing me a little about the aerobics class, Aunt Jane."

"Did it go well?"

"Not as well as I had hoped; not as badly as it could have gone. You did not tell me that Sonja herself taught that class. She is an animal!"

"I believe I heard you use the word 'sadist' earlier." Michelle flushed bright red at being caught. "Too tough for you, Michelle?" she challenged deliberately.

She fought a grin as the girl/boy's spine snapped straight, her shoulders went back and her stomach sucked in. "No, Aunt Jane, she's not. Besides, if she leads the class, she knows I am in it and I expect she will tell me when an exercise is not appropriate for me."

"I am glad you realize that, Michelle. In fact, as I understand it from Sonja, there are at least four more of her special students in that class. She told me about that one because she tailors it for men who are working at maintaining feminine figures through exercise."

Michelle thought about that bit of news, and recalled one particular woman at the class - a tall, slender redhead - who kept looking over at her throughout the class. At the time, Michelle had thought it was just because she was new to the class, but now. . . Well, if that redhead was a male, he was very, very good at the role. Maybe Michelle should make a point of watching her a bit more closely next time. She must might learn something useful.

"Beth?" Jane's voice broke into Michelle's revery. "Please go out and weed the flower beds around the grape arbor before dinner."

"All right, Jane. See you at dinner, Michelle. If you aren't too stiff to make it back down the stairs."

Michelle threw a pillow at Beth's retreating back, for which she earned a scowl from Jane. "Michelle, I was listening in on your conversation with Beth before I entered the room." Michelle's face fell as she recalled a few curses that would now have to go into her diary. Jane smiled her dangerous smile that still chilled Michelle's blood. "Calm down." she ordered. "For the most part, you did quite well. David broke character, but you did not. Yes, I heard the "Dammit's", but you kept your feminine tones throughout. Now, why do you think I am bringing this up?"

Michelle thought about it for a long moment and then sighed. "Because there is never going to be a time when I am not on stage?"

Nodding her approval, Jane continued. "As long as you are dressed, you need to stay in role. You never know who is going to be coming around the corner, or who will be listening just outside of your field of vision. If you are going to pull this off, you must *be* Michelle whenever you are *dressed* as Michelle. A slip up like Beth just made, in the wrong place or at the wrong time, and it is all over. When you were here for my regular program, I very carefully selected where you were seen and who was in a position to see you if your cover was broken."

Jane paused to let that sink in. "But I can no longer do that for you, Michelle, because you are going to have to live a normal life, at least normal for a young woman, and go places that are not preselected for your safety in the event you slip up. You will have to do all that, my dear, and the only way you can hope to pull it off without being discovered is not to let Michael slip past Michelle's guard. You cannot let down, even here at home because if you get sloppy here, with Beth for instance, you might forget and get sloppy at the mall in response to the same type of stimuli from Beth. Do you understand?"

She watched as the girl mentally chewed on that before nodding slowly. "Yes, Aunt Jane, I do understand. It is going to be very difficult, though. I am just beginning to understand how difficult."

"Still game, kid?" Jane asked cockily.

"Yes, Aunt Jane. I am still game." Michelle answered demurely. "And thank you for this lesson. I had not considered things quite that way."

Slowly, painfully the girl rose to her feet to leave. Her obvious discomfort made Jane wince in empathy for her. "Please excuse me, Aunt Jane. I am going to go soak in a hot tub so that I don't get any stiffer. No way am I going to let Beth have the last laugh on this."

Jane managed to hold her own laughter until she heard Michelle's bedroom door close behind her.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

5 August - Day 20

Dear Diary

Jane has asked me if I would consider working with her circle of confederates on this project. As Jane pointed out, Caro, Sandy and Mrs. Franson are really the experts in their part of the game, and Jane has always relied on them for the complex stuff. Marie is pretty good at the day to day makeup and dress up, but when Jane wants something special, like when she wants a boy to pass in close quarters, she gets out the big guns.

She went so far as to hint, and not very darned subtly, that since she is not going to be taking on any of her "special students" while she is supervising me, the least I could do was let her "dear friends in on the fun."

Yeah, Right! Like being nice to that pack of . . . .I don't even want to think of a word for them because it might slip out. I am just a too close to the magic 100 curses again. Anyway, to state it elegantly and with proper feminine restraint, I do not believe that the pleasure of those upstanding members of Jane's acquaintance stands very highly on my list of personal priorities.

On the other hand, I guess I will probably need the big guns to help pull this off. Which means I am eventually going to agree to this proposal of Jane's, but I can't say I much like the idea.

I wonder how they will really feel about working with me, now that I think about it. Since the start of the trial period, my relations with them all have been a bit strained. Mrs. Franson was very reserved with me the two times I have been in her store. As for Caro and Sandy, I just don't know. Sandy was just so evil to me before and she was still pretty rough the other day when I went in for my first voluntary treatment. Caro was better, but she was very wary around me, like she was afraid something was going to go badly wrong any second.

That is probably it. They are afraid because of the suicide attempt. They don't want to be around if I lose it again. Heck, they might even be feeling somewhat responsible and guilty about it. Plus, they have to be worrying for themselves about the potential repercussions for them and their shops if word got out about: A. what they were doing and B. that one of the boys attempted to kill himself after one of their sessions.

Its odd that I am writing about that . . .event now. Odder still, it *feels* like I am writing about someone else or writing ancient history. I can't even imagine doing what I most assuredly tried to do. I can't seem to remember what I was feeling or what I was thinking then, either. All I can see in my minds eye is like something out of a dream - out of focus and indistinct.

I am seeing a therapist in Providence now, twice a week. Eric referred me to her. She, like Sonja, works with a lot of gender dysphoric people. I don't think that is what I am. I am not confused about who and what I am. I am a male who is working to perfect a disguise as a female to achieve a distinct and specific purpose.

Still, Dr. Spinelli understands the conflicts I feel, and she seems to be able to get to the heart of things that bother me a whole lot quicker than I can on my own. She hasn't been at all judgmental about my reasons for doing this, either. She sure does ask a lot of questions, though. Problem is, I don't much care for a lot of the answers. Well, if what I do with my Mother is wrong and a mistake, I am just going to have to learn to live with it.

Well, I guess I will go tell Jane to bring on the Committee on the Feminine Arts. Of course, if Sandy gets too nasty, we can always get into a cat fight now that I am not quite so terrified of Jane. Heck, if we get into a hair pulling contest, I will win that one hands down. Mine's still too short to pull and the wig will just come off in her hands.

Michelle Nash.

A Losing Season: Chapter 22. The Committee

"More tea, Carolyn, or perhaps another cake?" Michelle asked as she reached for the elegant Limoges tea pot on the tray in front of her. She was in the front parlor of Jane's house, seated in an antique, straight backed chair. She was under the microscope, knew it, and strangely enough, was beginning to enjoy it.

"No, thank you, Michelle. I am fine for now." said Carolyn. She, along with Sandy, Jane and Brenda Franson were seated across from Michelle on the large sofa and love seat. Michelle had spent the last thirty minutes acting as hostess for this small tea party, as Jane explained the purpose of the meeting and what she proposed for them to do for her ward.

Brenda set down her cup and looked first at Jane, and then at Michelle. "Well, that is a remarkable story, Jane. As to what you want us to do, well, I am not sure about that. I have some concerns about this undertaking and I think I need to talk to you privately about those."

Before Jane could respond, Michelle interposed herself into the conversation. "You are worried, Ms. Franson, about me . . .about the fact that I tried to kill myself." she said flatly. It was not really a question, but Michelle got her answer when the woman went white and looked away. "It is something I am trying to face myself. In all honesty, I don't know what to tell you, except that I am getting professional help in that arena, and that my therapist does not think I am at risk. If you like, I will call her and tell her to discuss my case with you openly, the same as she does with Aunt Jane."

Brenda stared at the person her mind told her was a seventeen year old boy, but whom every sense told her was a beautiful, elegantly turned out and poised young lady. Finally, she spoke. "If you don't mind, Michelle, I would still like to talk to your Aunt, but I will say that your offer has relieved me somewhat."

Michelle nodded, smiling her understanding.

"Well, I for one, don't see the big deal, Jane. Aside from playing such a dirty trick on another woman, getting this one to pass that way shouldn't be any trouble at all as long as she doesn't hit a growth spurt. I told you I thought she was the prettiest, most passable sissy you ever brought in to the shop."

"*Not* a sissy, Sandra." was Jane's quelling response. "We are going far beyond the simple disguises that were enough when the goal was to tease and torment an overblown adolescent male ego. Michelle is going to become a female impersonator who can pass in any company, any situation."

A lascivious smile crossed Sandy's lips and she slanted a thoroughly mean look at Michelle. "*Any* situation, Jane? I know some guys who. ."

"Sandra!" Jane snapped. "If you cannot or will not help with this then you may leave. We are here to help. I asked you here because you are the best at what you do, and because we might have gone too far and contributed to what Michelle went through that night. Do you want to help or not?"

Sandy looked disappointed at the no-nonsense tone of Jane's rebuff, but finally agreed. "Although I cannot promise not to forget and slip in a little jab every now and then. I'm gonna know who you are under all the satin and lace, and my teasing is just something I've always done." She sighed.

Michelle thought about that and nodded. "I can handle that, Sandy."

Jane spoke up. "As long as they *are* only slip ups and only every now and then, Sandra. Too many, too often and we will have to reconsider the project. Now, can Michelle count on you?"

"All right, count me in. Just smack me along side my head if I get out line, Chellie."

Eyebrows lifting in surprise at the nickname, Michelle grinned. "Why I would absolutely *love* to, Sandy." and then her voice slipped in the sly tones she had learned by mimicking Jane at her sweetest and most insincere. "Almost makes me wish you do slip up every now and then."

All of the women gawked at the femininely garbed young man. Caro almost choked on a swallow of hot tea. Sandy, however, burst out laughing. "Well, I guess that shows me, girl. I think I will be even more careful around you now than I would have after Jane's threats."

"Oh, don't bother to go to any trouble on my account, Sandy." Michelle responded sweetly.

"Well." Caro interjected, trying to regain her composure. "I am in, too. And I have a suggestion. I think Michelle should become a regular at my Wednesday classes for the local girls on grooming and cosmetics." Michelle's frown as she recalled her last experience with that little gathering. Regardless of the fact that she herself had been thinking this might be a good idea, returning to a situation that had been so. . . frightening was more than a bit daunting. Still, she settled herself to listen with an open mind and said nothing. She just kept her full attention focused on Carolyn.

"Well, I think it would have several positive effects. First of all, although you have learned that last lesson very well, that particular style is not always appropriate. You need to know how to tone it down for looking professionally competent, or how to lay it on without looking cheap when you are going out on a date or to a party."

Now it was Michelle's turn to gawk. "Date?" her voice rose an octave. "Party? Who said anything about dating and parties?!?"

"Males are a very big part of any near-adult female's life, Michelle. If you avoid them, that will be noticed. You won't be cloistered in Jane's house any more; taken out only on specific excursions that are carefully planned to help you remain undetected as a cross dressed male. You will, as I understand it, be learning to be a lady, a woman. That means functioning on your own, among other people who are not in on the game. And people *will* notice you. As Sandy tried to say, you make a very attractive girl and I suspect you will be beautiful before we are done. If you don't seem to do the things that girls your age do, it will start gossip. The kindest of which would be that you are repressed and frigid. They might even decide that you and Jane have a same sex relationship and that could make life very difficult, particularly if someone calls in social services since you are still a minor."

Jane nodded. "Girls do tend to make friends with other girls, and girls date boys, Michelle. Men are something you need to learn to deal with if you are going to present yourself to your Mother. When David leaves, we can have him come back as himself by times to give you an "older man" boyfriend so that you don't have to get *too* intimate with the boys you date. You can always claim you are in a committed relationship.

Caro nodded. "That works. One thing we need to deal with is why our young miss is not in school when we get into the fall."

"I have been thinking about that, Carolyn." Michelle said quietly. "I have an idea that should explain both that as well as why I wear wigs, in case I am ever seen without one until my hair grows back. Suppose I was ill before I came here. I don't know, some type of parasite that required a treatment like the chemotherapy they use for cancer. Right now, I am on a carefully managed program of diet and exercise to help slowly get my stamina back, but it looks like I will return to school after Christmas. That way, it can be Michelle leaving for boarding school so Michael can come back, or Michelle going to school here."

"That will work." Jane said, a touch of admiration in her voice. "And I can make the cover story even better. I know a couple of doctors and someone in social services who will help us with such documentation. I have had to do something like this in the past to keep my girls out of the truant officer's clutches. And since I am a certified teacher, we can home school you during the remainder of your "recovery"."

Everyone seemed pleased with that solution, although Michelle remained a little dubious about the dating-boys thing. Still, she had to agree with Caro's and Jane's rationale, as much as she would have liked to be able to punch holes in their arguments.

Defeated, Michelle shrugged and forced a smile on to her face. "Guess I will see you Wednesday afternoon, Caro."

A Losing Season: Chapter 23. Making Up with Caro and Sandy

Michelle hesitated outside the door to Marisha Chalet. The odors of shampoo, hair coloring and hair dressing assailed her nostrils. It was not a pleasant smell and it brought back even less pleasant memories.

Michael really wondered if he really wanted to try to pass in the company of a gaggle of real girls. Michelle cursed softly under her breath. This was the first time in weeks that she had slipped up, even in her mind, and thought of herself as Michael, or in the masculine tense. It probably had a lot to do with knowing that all the girls in there have been girls since birth, while Michelle had not. Unconsciously, she was comparing herself to them and finding herself lacking in some way - hence the backslide in self imaging. He'd. . . .dammit, *she'd* have to watch that in the future - particularly here.

And she had decided it *was* important to come here, although her reasons were not precisely those given by Jane and Caro. Michelle needed to observe girls her own age so that she could learn to act more them. On careful reflection, she'd come to the conclusion that her Michelle persona might be too mature for her age, given that Jane was her principal feminine role model. That was certainly all right for tea parties and formal events, but not for being out and about in less structured situations.

A gentle hand came down on Michelle's shoulder making her jump away, ready to scream. "Easy, Michelle." came the quiet voice of Carolyn. "I saw you standing outside as I was returning from my lunch." She guided the girl away from the door and walked her down the street a few blocks. "Having second thoughts?" she asked kindly.

"Try third, fourth and fifth, Carolyn." Michelle answered with a self deprecating laugh. "I did not think it would be so hard, but I keep thinking that if anyone is going to see through my masquerade, it is likely to be another girl."

"That's probably true, but I think I can help there. Last time I put you in the spotlight. Of course, before I did that to you, I made very sure you were looking very feminine *and* feeling very submissive. You were so terrified and circumspect that was never any real threat of exposure. I won't be putting in the spotlight today."

"Thank god!"

Carolyn laughed. "I will have to tell Jane about that little outburst for your green book, darling. Now, what we'll do is let you just be in the class, around the edges. You won't have their attention focused on you. You'll be able to get used to them and they will get used to thinking of you as a girl. Once they've accepted that mental image of you, you will be able to take a more active role . . . . . again." she added with a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

Shaking her head, Michelle refused to rise to the bait. "Sounds like a plan, Caro." she answered with a relieved sigh.

"Ready, now?" the kindness was back in Caro's voice and that was what decided Michelle as much or more than her other arguments. She nodded, her eyes closed, making Carolyn chuckle. "Okay, c'mon. They really are a good bunch."

Michelle fervently hoped so as she let the older woman lead her into the shop.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

August 19 - Day 34

Dear Diary

Well, I have survived my first *voluntary* class on feminine grooming at the Chalet. It was . . . okay. I guess. Actually, what it was . . . was damned uncomfortable. For a variety of reasons.

The first is the most obvious. Regardless of Caro's help and comments to the contrary, I was still certain that I'd be unmasked at some point during the afternoon. That does not tend to make one feel very serene.

The second reason is that Caro was not quite square with me when she talked me into the shop. You see, while she did in fact let me sit in the background during the demonstration phase, she neglected to tell me that she had added a practice session. So I got to make up another girl after she made me up. Which means that I spent the better part of an hour in very close quarters with Anna, a very striking girl of Italian descent. And the lovely Anna was looking at me, practically through a microscope, trying to find the slightest of imperfections. I suspect that since she was concentrating so closely at my face, she did not notice the *key* imperfection.

Which is the third reason. These are all very pretty girls, and the part of Michelle that is definitely Michael wants to date (among other less gentlemanly behaviors) them.

sigh. . .I guess this means wearing a gaff to Wednesday make up class. Ouch.

Still, on the bright side, once we got to the show-and-tell portion of Caro's session, Anna and Michelle and the rest of the group had all become friends. We got to laugh with each other as Caro pointed out our little failures and helped us fix them. The other girls loosened up when they saw Anna take to me. I think that, up until then, they thought I was more than a bit snooty because of the way I did not chat or stick around after that first time when Caro used me for a demonstration dummy.

Actually, I did quite well on Anna. Caro only pointed out a couple of minor things that needed to be fixed. I don't think that it will be quite that easy to put on myself, however. But I will practice and I will master this, too.

I wonder, though, if that was the truth or if Carolyn had another motivation.

You are sounding suspicious and paranoid, again, Ms. Nash.

Yup. I am.

Michelle Nash

~------------~

"You're kidding me, Carolyn. Tell me you did not really do that." Jane said into the phone, a gleeful smile on her face.

"I most assuredly did, Jane. There was absolutely no way she was going to be read in this group, so I decided to help her get past this shyness around other girls. Thought the poor dear was going to jump out of her panties or make a mad dash to the door when I told them to split up into twosomes and practice this style on each other."

"I don't doubt it for a minute. How did you keep Michelle from bolting?"

A smug chuckle came across the line. "Paired her off with the prettiest girl in the class. Michelle was quite enamored of her, too. I think she got uncomfortably excited by having Anna so close and fussing over her."

"Any ramifications? Did she give you hell afterwards?"

"No, not really. I think she was still too smitten by Anna to be very angry or upset with me. And she did hang around the shop for a few minutes after everyone else had left. Personally, I think she was dealing with some unsightly swelling and had to wait for it to go down."

"Poor Michelle." Jane chuckled. "So, besides your little victory over her shy reticence, how did Michelle do in the class?"

"Very well. Surprisingly well, in fact. She has a knack for being able to physically reproduce precisely almost any technique once she has seen it done, so she got the basics down quickly. She also has an unusually good eye for color and made some substitutions more suitable to Anna's skin tones than the ones I had used on the girl I demonstrated on. And she did not even ask if she should."

"A natural, eh?"

"Well, I don't think we will have to show her how to do anything more than once. Jane, I have to run. See you later, okay?"

"Bye, Carolyn, and thanks."

~--------------~

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

August 21 - Day 36

Dear Diary

I just get my pulse rate back to normal after Caro's little stunt of putting me nose to nose with the lovely Anna, and now this.

Anna just called. Seems she is having a party tomorrow night at her parents house, and she wanted to know if I could come on such short notice. Sort of a last fling before school reopens. She even tried to entice me by promising that some of the best looking guys in the area would be attending.

Joy, oh Joy.

I didn't think I could say no, but I did dutifully ask Aunt Jane hoping for assistance from that corner. Of course, she let me down and told me to have a "wonderful time".

Joy, oh Joy, again.

Well, fortunately, Anna's parents will be home, which means that things should not get out of hand. Ought to be a safe first introduction.

Oh, and this reminded Jane that I was supposed to be getting dance lessons. So next week, I am enrolled at a dance studio downtown to learn ballroom style dancing. Cripes, I don't know how to dance like a guy leading the girl, and now I am supposed to learn to dance the female part.

This has not been one of my better days. The one bright side is that I don't need to go shopping. I already have a very nice party dress that will work just fine.

I wish I had thought to ask if Beth could come, but it is too late now. Besides, she probably would not want to go anymore than I do, and Jane would side with her on this. Jane has really eased up on Beth since the incident and the acceptance letter. I am not looking forward to being here alone with Jane, either.

Darn.

Michelle Nash

~------------~

Jane stood in the front foyer, all but tapping her toe in impatience. Where *was* the girl, she fumed silently. They were going to be late getting her to this party.

And Jane was determined that Michelle was going to attend. She needed interaction with people her own age. More than that, she needed to learn how to deal with young men her own age if they had any prayer of achieving their aims. It would not be a much of a problem except for one small point. As Sandy had said, Michelle was the prettiest student she had ever had. Although she might wish to deny it, the girl was, quite literally, a head turner, and she was going to attract boys. This party, particularly since it was going to be tightly chaperoned (Jane had called to check), was a relatively safe first step.

Another check at her watch and Jane was striding up the stairs. She came to Michelle's room and was about to knock when she noticed the door was open. Upon entering, she saw no sign of her ward, other than the fact that the light summer weight party dress was still hanging on the door of the armoire. A quick check of the hallway revealed a light peaking out from under the bathroom door. As Jane approached the door, she heard a gagging, retching noise coming from the bathroom.

Jane had learned early in her career of reforming young men that locks on the doors of her students' rooms and bathrooms were a nuisance. Particularly when one of the little dears would lock themselves inside and refuse to come out after or before one of Jane's little scenarios. She could always get in, of course, but that often required tools and time. The easiest solution had been to reverse the doorknobs, so that the rooms locked from the outside, but not from the inside. This had the additional benefit of keeping a recalcitrant sissy where Jane put him until Jane was ready to deal with him.

Although Jane had given Michelle back the privacy of her own room, she had neglected to do the same with the bathroom she shared with Beth. Another bout of retching noises had Jane opening the door and rushing in. There was Michelle, outfitted in her party lingerie, kneeling in front of the toilet trying to vomit. "Trying" being the operative word because it was patently obvious her stomach was empty and she was suffering from a bad case of dry heaves.

 

The spasms passed and Michelle's body relaxed. She sat back on her heels and then realized she was not alone. "Oh, no!" she moaned. "On top of everything else, I have to deal with knowing you saw me like this."

Without responding, Jane filled a glass with water and handed it to her. Michelle started to rise, but Jane stopped her. "Stay there a minute. Rinse your mouth and then sip the water slowly. Even if it doesn't stay down, it will give your poor stomach something to send up."

Cautiously, Michelle did as Jane had bid and tried to rinse the foul taste out of her mouth. It took almost half the glass before she was willing to try a tentative sip. "Thank you, Aunt Jane." she said after that first sip had made it all the way to her stomach without bouncing.

Jane settled on the edge of the bathtub and reached out a hand to gently stroke her ward's hair. The girl had not even gotten her wig on yet, Jane mused. It must be worse than I thought. Michelle sighed and leaned into the soothing caress.

"Nerves, dear?" Jane asked finally. "Butterflies in your tummy?"

"More like B2 Stealth Bombers, Aunt Jane, only they're not being very stealthy."

Grinning at that, Jane tousled the soft fuzz on Michelle's head. "Well, if you can make a joke, you are feeling a bit better. Time for another little time out, Michelle. Meet me in your room as soon as you collect yourself."

Her ward arrived moments after Jane had seated herself on the bedroom chair. She motioned her over to the bed. "All right, Michael." Jane began. "Is it the party itself, the danger of discovery, or the danger that you might not be discovered and have to deal with horny teenaged males as a lovely teenaged female that has you trying to heave your intestines into my toilet bowl?"

"All three, Aunt Jane, but mostly the third. This is very different than anything I have done since I came here. There won't be anyone there to help me. I will be alone at that party. Heck, even at the makeup class the other day, Caro was there to make sure I didn't foul up too badly. As for the last two reasons, well, those are pretty obvious. I just don't know what I'd do if some guy got fresh with me. My inclinations are to knock his head off, but that would be out of character for Michelle."

As she had thought, Jane mused, but it was obviously much worse than she had thought it would be. Maybe it was too much, too quickly. How long had Michael actually been giving his best effort towards being Michelle. . . Just over a month, actually. Of course she'd be a bit anxious. "All right, Michael. We can do a couple of things. The first is that you don't go to the party. I will call Anna's mother and tell her that you are ill - unable to keep anything down - and I am keeping you home. That has the advantage of almost being the truth."

"Okay," Michelle murmured, "What is my other option?"

"You go to the party, of course." Michelle started looking a little green again, so Jane hurried on. "Look, you don't have to do anything at the party other than make a little small talk. If you don't want to dance, beg off. Act shy and uncertain. Tell Anna you are having cramps and don't want to dance. That will be a non-confrontational way to avoid that aspect of the party. Make sure you are always with several other people so no boy can get to you one on one. Go home early. I can be back there at eleven. Blame me. Tell them I have you on a curfew because I don't want to be out driving late."

She watched Michael consider all these things. "Okay, obviously you want me to go. What would I gain if I went and avoided the guys the way you say?"

"I did not say avoid them, dear. I said avoid being alone, one on one, with any of them. As to what you'd gain? Maybe some friends. And you could watch the other girls there deal with the boys. Maybe find some strategies that you could borrow to help you deal with them. So, Michael, what do you want to do?"

"I want to pull the covers over my head and make it all go away, Jane." came the reply in Michael's voice. "But," and now it was Michelle speaking, "what I am *going* to do is get dressed and go to the party."

Smiling, Jane rose as Michelle did. "Good girl. I will wait for you downstairs." and then her face became stern. "And *don't* dawdle. We are already late."

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

August 22 - Day 37

Dear Diary

Well, I don't feel like singing "I could have danced all night" like that woman in the musical, but I have survived my first party as a girl.

Anna was all solicitude when I hinted that I was in a very feminine condition and did not know if it was wise to go bouncing around on the dance floor. I don't know what she said, but that was sufficient to keep all but the densest of the male set from pestering me for dances.

Actually, once I had been there for about an hour, I figured out that no one was going to see me as anything other than "one of the girls". After that, I was able to relax and even began to enjoy myself. I liked chatting with the girls I had met Wednesday at Caro's. Most of them are pretty nice people although a couple of them seemed to want my blood. I didn't know what I had done, so I asked Anna. Turns out neither of them currently have a steady guy, but saw the guys they wanted giving me the eye. God, I never even noticed, but Anna thought that the boys had been pretty obvious in their attentions.

I think that is one of the things I learned tonight. Girls are much more sensitive to what is happening in the periphery about them. Guys are more direct and focused, and tend to see what is directly in front of their faces. Whereas women, or at least these women, just soak up information from all around them. I don't know if I can learn to do that effectively as the real girls do, but I am going to make an effort to see more than just what is right in front of me.

As Jane had suggested, I watched the other girls handle the guys. Most of it I have been on the receiving end of, but never recognized before. The half smiling, gentle retreating brush off, the "aren't we friends?" deflection all the way up to the "looking down my nose at something yucky stuck to the sole of my shoe" disdainful departure. I saw them done to great effect, but somehow, I don't think doing them myself will be quite as easy as a couple of the girls made them seem.

I also met a guy - his name is Dennis. He's about six feet tall, and athletically built with black hair and grey eyes. Yeah, I know what I said to Jane, and I meant it. Its just that this guy sort of snuck up on me. He never pressed, and he always let me move off when the group we were in dwindled to the pair of us. It did not help at all that he was funny and was able to make me laugh. Before the night was out, I was happily chatting with him and never even realized we were alone on the couch.

When it came time to go home, he asked if he could call on me at Aunt Jane's, which caught me completely by surprise. What the heck could I say? In a short lived burst of rationality, I told him I would need Aunt Jane's permission and he should call me first, so I could ask her. He *promised* that I'd hear from him.

Then, he took my hand in his and *kissed* it. I got all flustered and basically *ran* out to where Jane had the car waiting for me.

Dammit, I promised myself that I'd be honest in this damn fool diary if nowhere else in this crazy life of mine, so . . . .

My hand tingled when he kissed it. Hell, *I* tingled - I even started getting hard, for heavens sake. I *don't* like this. Not one little bit do I like this.

And to make matters worse, Anna called me today to congratulate me on hooking the guy most of the other girls wanted for themselves. Evidently, good ole Denny has not been very easy to land, but he is very good at nibbling at the bait without getting caught on the hook.

Great. Just what I need - a guy, that every other girl wants. Maybe I need to practice those "make the guy go away" maneuvers I saw last night? Wonder what Anna will say if I just toss him back into the sea, or just cut the line and let him swim off?

Michelle Nash

 

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

August 25 - Day 40

Dear Diary

Well, Jane was as good as her word. Dance classes started today - two evenings a week - Tuesdays and Thursdays.

And guess who else is in my class? You got it - Dennis. He's also my practice partner, although I cannot figure out quite how he managed that. So now, I spend about 2 hours twice a week up close and personal to him.

Fortunately, when you are simultaneously trying to count and remember where to put your feet without falling down, you can ignore other things. What will happen if I ever actually start getting good at this stuff is another matter.

He kissed my hand again at the end of class. Same reactions as when he did it to me at the party. I had hoped that first time had only been a one time thing because the sensations was completely new to me and because he'd caught me unawares.

Nope. Definitely not one time only.

And I am scared to death.

Michelle Nash

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

August 26 - Day 41

Dear Diary

I went to make up class today and saw Anna. While we were chatting, she asked how things were going with Dennis. I shrugged and told her that I wasn't trying to push anything, but had been surprised when he'd been in the same dance class as me.

Anna had burst out laughing at that. It took me several minutes to calm her down enough to find out what was so funny. Then she told me that Denny's mother *owns* that dance studio, and the last thing he needs is dancing lessons.

It does not feel quite that funny to me. In fact, while I am not sure quite what I feel, it definitely is not amusement.

I am all jumbled up inside. Oddly, a part of me is rather flattered that he would pursue me quite like that. Another, larger part, however, feels something like what the fox must feel like during the bugler sounds assembly for the hunters and hounds.

What next?

Michelle Nash.

 

A Losing Season: Chapter 24. Fond Farewell

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

August 28 - Day 43

Dear Diary

Well, tomorrow we drive to Providence to put David on the plane for Illinois. God only knows why, but he's decided he wants to go to the University of Illinois at Urbana. I know this is right for Beth/David, but I am going to miss him.

Sandy just left. She undid most of David's "beth-i-ness" - at least everything that can be undone. It was easier and more effective *this* time since Jane hasn't made him get a permanent since before. . .well, since before he left that earlier time. Anyway, most of the curl came out when Sandy cut his hair this time. It seemed very strange looking across the dining table and seeing this male stranger with the shadow of Beth's face. My first instinct is to call him Beth, and I know that I have to school myself to stop that. Particularly anytime in the future if and when we are around anyone who knows or knew Beth.

Since David does not have any family to speak of, he's asked if he can come visit here at Jane's home for holidays and such. Jane said that since she wasn't taking in any new students for the foreseeable future, she'd love to have him come visit. Then she added that, perhaps, I could use David as my "away at college boyfriend" for after the New Year when I go back to school, assuming that I do that as Michelle. Having a college age boy friend may help deflect a lot of the unwanted male interest.

Unfortunately, I don't think that ploy is going to discourage Dennis. He hugged me today before he kissed my hand again.

I *don't* want to think about that now. I am too busy being sad about losing Beth.

Before he goes, there is something I have to do, something I should have done a long time ago.

Michelle Nash

~-------------~

No one in the house slept well that night. David was excited about starting his new life and going to school. Jane, Michelle and Marie contemplated the loss of someone who had become to Jane and Marie more than just another student, and to Michelle the sister neither she nor Michael ever had.

They were all up before dawn since David's flight departed Providence at seven am. Breakfast was a somber affair with none of them having very much to say. The sun's first weak rays were peaking over the horizon as they got into the Lincoln for the trip to the airport.

The paperwork at the check-in desk went without problem, and soon they were in the waiting area of David's departure gate.

"Damn, David, but I am going to miss you." Michelle said when the call came for his flight to board.

"I am going to miss you, too. You have my new address, Michelle, and I will call you just as soon as I have a phone number so you can reach me that way, too."

Michelle reached out to take his right hand in hers. "David?" she said, her voice rough and shaky.

"Yes, Michelle?"

"Thank you for saving my life all those weeks ago." Michelle's grip on his hand tightened spasmodically. "I know I'd be dead if you had not come in there and fought me for my life. And thank you for coming back when you had every reason to run as far from me as you could get."

"I'm . . I'm glad I was there in time, Michelle." David choked out against the emotions welling up in him.

The two young people stood transfixed, their hands together, their eyes locked. This moment would almost have been funny, Jane thought, if it wasn't so sad. If they had both been here as males, they could have shaken hands, thumped each other heartily on the back, perhaps even hugged. If they had both been here as females, they would have hugged, and maybe shared a kiss on the cheek. But this situation was neither of those, and they did not seem to know how to get past the gender roles they were both fighting against.

Suddenly, Michelle shuddered. "Oh, Hell!" she growled and moved in to wrap her arms around David and hug him fiercely. David's arms came around Michelle and the two friends held one another until Jane had to intervene.

"David," she said, putting a hand on each young person. "They're almost done loading the plane." Reluctantly, David and Michelle broke apart. David turned and went into Jane's arms for a hug and a quick, awkward kiss. For all the progress they had made in the past month and a half, Jane still had trouble showing affection to one of her students, and just now, she deeply regretted that.

"Thank you, Jane, for everything. I love you." David said through his tears. Embarrassed, he turned to the gate, only to almost run over Michelle.

Michelle went up on her toes to whisper in her friend's ear. "Be safe, David/Beth. I will miss you, big sister." and then planted a kiss of her own on his cheek.

"I have to go." was all David could get out.

Michelle and Jane watched in silence until the plane with David disappeared into the western skies. "Ready to leave, now?" Jane asked.

Michelle dug about in her purse and pulled out a pair of tissues. She handed one to Jane. "I guess, Aunt Jane, although if I look as raccoon-eyed as you do, I think we both need to make a quick trip to the ladies room.

Jane nodded and then led the way. She paused just before entering, and turned to Michelle. "By the way, remind me to add two more demerits to the green book, dear."

"Two?!?!?" she sputtered, before beginning to laugh softly. "Yes, Aunt Jane. I promise to remind you."

"Always on stage, pet." Jane reminded gently. Michelle nodded and then moved past Jane into the restroom.

 

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

August 29 - Day 44

Dear Diary

David just called to let us know he got there safely. I am glad he's safe, and happy for him that he has made it through Jane's program. As I understand it, the Judge will now seal all of the records and it will be as if he had been tried as a juvenile, effectively giving him a clean slate. He deserves it. He is a wonderful guy and Beth was a wonderful sister.

I've even forgiven her for helping Jane to set me up all those weeks ago. Before the incident, that is. It is not like Jane gave David/Beth any choice in the matter.

Dinner was strange. Must have been a half a dozen times one of us turned towards Beth's chair to say something to her. Heck, Marie even forgot and set a place for her, just like always.

I don't know what possessed me today, to hug him like that and then to plant one on his cheek. It just happened. It was like that I simply *needed* to express the depth of what I was feeling for him and those were the only things that came close to expressing that.

As I said, I don't know why I did those things, but I am glad that I did. I know now that I would always have regretted not doing them.

It is going to be hard without Beth. I am still afraid about developing really close friendships with any of the girls at Caro's, and Denny is making me increasingly nervous. I feel more isolated and more alone than I have in all the days since I left St. Andrews.

Another downer is the two demerits Jane assessed me at the airport. By my count, that puts me somewhere over the magic hundred, so I guess I'm a little surprised Jane did not tell me to report for my well earned mouthful of soap tonight. Maybe she has just decided today has been bad enough and is letting it go until tomorrow.

At least I lasted longer this time than last time.

Yuck.

Michelle Nash.

 

A Losing Season: Chapter 25. Just Showin' Off

Michelle had hung back after the other girls had all rushed out of the Marisha Chalet following Caro's class. She really needed to talk to someone and after a great deal of thought, had decided that Carolyn might be the best person to start with. She could have tried Jane, but it was just so embarrassing and Michelle still remembered her times with Jane before her thankfully unsuccessful suicide entirely too well to completely trust the other woman with something so personal and so potentially humiliating.

Having finished collecting her cosmetics and cleaning up after a dozen girls, Caro looked up and noticed Michelle was still in the shop for the first time. They had been working on eyes today, complete with false eyelashes. The girl's eyes looked huge, haunting - it was just incredible. She had to stifle a momentary spurt of envy, and wished that such sexy eyes had not been wasted on a boy. She sighed and began arranging the tubes, bottles and boxes on their storage shelf. "You waiting for Jane, 'Chell?" Caro asked, using the nickname both she and Sandy had taken to using.

For her own part, Michelle could not decide whether she liked the nickname or not, but now was not the time to quibble about something as minor as that. "Not until I call. . . ummmm, . . Carolyn, could I talk to you for a few moments . . . out back?" Out back was the private room behind the main salon. Out back was where Sandy and Carolyn worked their evil magic on Jane's boys, at least until the lads became sufficiently lady-like to pass the scrutiny of the outer salon.

Surprised by the request, Carolyn nonetheless agreed since she had no appointments the rest of the afternoon. Once they were behind closed doors, Caro asked, "What's up? Problems? One of the girls looking at you too closely?"

"No. . .nothing like that. Caro. . . your husband,. . . ummm, he was one of Jane's students, wasn't he?"

"No harm in telling you that. Yes, he was. And since I knew him before Jane and loathed him as a real jerk, that is one of the reasons I elected to help Jane."

Michelle nodded. That was what Beth had said. "Carolyn, forgive me for asking this, and don't answer if it offends you, but I don't know who else to ask. Did your husband ever mention. . . feeling really feminine. . " and here the girl's face went scarlet under her new makeup job. "Ummm feminine, around guys." it all came out in a rush.

Momentarily taken aback by both the question and the manner, Carolyn could only stare at Michelle for several agonizingly long moments. Then she cleared her throat. "Not that he ever mentioned to me, dear. Am I to infer from this that you are feeling . . .or have felt feminine that way?" There was no mockery or sarcasm in Carolyn's voice - only concern.

"Last night. . . after dance class. Jane was a little late and Dennis walked me to the door. When Jane wasn't there, he . . well, he pulled me into a corner, away from the front window. . and . . .and" tears started to form little black rivulets down her cheek.

Fear clutched at Caro's throat, afraid of what she might learn. "What did he do, Michael?" she asked firmly, hoping the use of his male name would bolster him.

"He kissed me. . . with his tongue, Caro. . . and I *let* him. How could I just let him do that? I mean, I am a guy, too. Aren't I?"

The relief that it had not been worse washed over Carolyn and she was hard pressed not to laugh. "I take it that the experience was not unpleasant?"

"No." was the soft response. "I actually got . . .well, excited."

"As in you became erect?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Michelle nodded again. "Okay, luv. Look, we need to talk to Jane about this, and probably to that psychologist you are working with. I don't know if my darling hubby ever felt that way, but then, Jane never allowed him to be in uncontrolled situations where something like that could happen. Until you, Jane was always scrupulously careful to protect her girls from things like boys and sex. Even when it didn't seem that she was."

"I am so scared, Caro. It is all . . . so outside of anything I have ever had to deal with before."

"I expect that it would be, dear, but then, isn't *everything* you've experienced with Jane outside of anything you've ever had to deal with before?"

"Well, yes., but. . "

"But, nothing. Look at yourself. You are totally immersed in an intensely feminine experience. I don't think it is unrealistic to expect that you might respond to many situations the same as a born female would." At the darkening of Michelle's face, Carolyn held up a hand in restraint. "Let me ask you something, dear. What does Michael think of Anna?"

The answer was immediate. "She's the prettiest, nicest girl I have ever met."

"And what would *Michael* like to do with her?"

The smooth forehead above the finely shaped brows wrinkled in concentration. "I'd really like to get to know her better. . .maybe go out together. . .that sort of stuff."

"What does Michael think about maybe kissing Anna."

She almost laughed when a look of sheer masculine anticipation flitted across the very feminine face. "Oh, yeah." he breathed, and it was definitely Michael who'd responded.

They sat there quietly for a few minutes as Carolyn gave Michelle/Michael some room to deal with these new and uncomfortable ideas and emotions.

"So, this is part of being - really being Michelle?"

"Maybe it is part of *you* being Michelle, dear. I don't think you have to worry about it, dear. Just talk about it with Jane and the doctor, okay?" and she reached over to help the girl to her feet and begin walking to the door.

"Okay, Caro. Thank you. You have helped. A great deal." and she stopped and planted a soft kiss on the older woman's cheek. "Thank you very much." she said again.

"My pleasure." she replied, showing Michelle back into the main salon. A chiming bell caught their attention and they turned to see the shop's outer door opening to admit Brenda Franson - a very harried looking Brenda Franson.

"Caro. . . are any of your girls from your Wednesday class still here? One of the models for tonight's fashion show is ill, and there are just too many outfits for the others to handle in the scheduled time. I need someone else."

"Only Michelle, Brenda. The others were out the door like my place *was* school and not a beauty salon."

The other woman's face fell. "I don't know what to do. This is a very important show. Several of the Newport matrons are bringing the daughters to see gowns for the fall Harvest Ball."

"Well, then, how about Michelle?" Caro offered. Both Michelle and Brenda just gaped at her. "Well, she is the prettiest of the lot, you know." she added defensively.

"But she is not very tall, and besides. . .*she* is not really a she." Miss Franson protested.

"And how would I change, Caro. . .all the other women would see that I am wearing falsies, and I couldn't take off my panties. . .they'd see the gaff."

"That's no problem. . . we could say you are very shy, and since you agreed to help at the very last minute, Brenda is going to let you change in her office. We'd have to pick outfits that are not cut too low in the bodice, or that are designed not to show a lot of cleavage, but I don't think Brenda would be showing too many outfits like this to the royal mamas anyway. Would you, Brenda?"

The other woman's eyes became pensive as she weighed the options and considered the possible consequences. "How are you in heels, Michelle?"

"Okay in anything three inches or less, but who said I would do it?" Michelle asked indignantly.

"Would you? Please?" Brenda asked softly. "I really am in a bind, and it would be a great favor."

Having this woman owe her a favor appealed to Michelle. "I could use your office to change in?" she negotiated. Brenda nodded immediately. Then Michelle turned her eye on Caro. "And since *you* got me into this mess, it is only fair that you come with me and make sure that my makeup, hair and disguise are all perfect, don't you think, Carolyn of Marisha Chalet?"

"I'd give your shop a plug during the show." Brenda added quickly to the other woman. "All those women with all that money to spend on their darling daughters." she cajoled. "You could even come out and take a bow afterwards."

"Okay, okay." Caro laughed. "Let me get my tools and we'll be there in a few minutes, Brenda. Meanwhile, you select the right dresses for the second coming of Miss Christy Brinkley here and get them into your office."

Michelle was shocked speechless when the formerly cold Brenda Franson pulled her into a tight hug, saying "Thank you, Michelle, I really appreciate this." She just stood there, staring, as the dress shop owner hustled back to her store to do as Carolyn had directed.

"Oh my god. What have I gotten myself into now?"

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary

September 2- Day 48

Dear Diary

My feet are *killing* me. Unfortunately, when I said I would help Brenda Franson at her store tonight, I didn't know that I would have to choose between only two sizes of shoe. Too large and too small. And since I probably would have walked right out of the larger ones, we had to use the too small pairs. They were only a half size too small, but when they are high heels, that half size is quite a bit. And oh by the way, I measured the heel on those darn things after the show. Four inches, easily. Every frippin' one of them.

Still, it actually turned out to be a lot of fun. I got quite a bit of teasing from the professional models, over my "shyness". I mean, they just rush into the main room, pulling stuff off as they run to where the next outfit has been laid out for them. Since they did not know my "shyness" is spelled p. .e. . n. . i. .s, they did not realize what kind of show they were putting on in the dressing room. Good thing I have been wearing that damned gaff to Caro's classes. It *hurt* like a . . .. well, you get the idea.

And the dresses were neat. Having Caro come to help was inspired on my part, even if my initial motivation had more to do with fear than with a desire for success. Caro made getting into each outfit a lot easier and her skill with makeup gave me a whole lot more confidence than I would have had if I'd had to do up my face all by myself.

Brenda let me miss the first rotation and just watch what the professional models did when they strutted down the walkway in front of the assembly. When that first set of dress showings was about half done, I went back into the dressing room and tried to mimic some of their movements and gestures while having Caro critique me. Moving like that is NOT easy. I think the too small shoes may have helped, though. It is practically impossible to over stride when your toes are screaming.

Caro literally had to push me out onto the stage that first time. God, I was as scared then as I ever can remember being. The funny thing is that I was not really afraid of being unmasked. Somehow, I knew I was beautiful and all anyone was going to see was a pretty girl in a lovely dress. No, I was just afraid of messing up. Like tripping over my feet in those infernal heels and ending up in the lap of some society matron.

Finally, Caro whispered at me to "MOVE!" and I moved. I am still surprised my legs did not give out on me during that first pass down and back. All I could think of was keeping my head erect and steady so I would not drop Conan-Dolye on my toes. I was shaking all over, but once I made it back to the top of the runway, I started feeling a little better.

By the finale, I thought I was actually doing a rather good job of it. I was certainly moving more freely, more confidently, and so what if my hand movements and presentations were not quite as practiced as those of the professionals. Caro said I was the perfect little exhibitionist. I don't know about that, but it sure was fun struttin' my stuff and showing off - frantic, but fun.

In fact, after the show, Caro said she'd overheard one of the audience tell Brenda that the "little blond one was perfect. Now I know just what my daughter will look like in that dress and won't have to worry that what I liked was the professional model and not the dress." Made me feel pretty good inside.

What made me feel even better was having Brenda come running into the office and practically squeeze the stuffing out of me after the show was over. She had gotten several immediate orders from the show's attendees, and three of them were for dresses I had modeled. She *even* offered to pay me - and then was offended when I told her she did not need to because I already owed her for her help on the Committee.

She finally told me that was okay, but the next time, she was paying me at the going rate for models.

The *next* time? Well, I guess there will be one. . . maybe more. Brenda is thinking of having the girls from the Wednesday afternoon class take over a lot of her modeling work. Particularly if it involves teenage fashions. I sure would have liked to see Anna in that low cut, off the shoulder blue satin sheath one of the models wore.

I have also talked to Jane about Dennis. She said she'd speak to his Mother if I thought that might help, but she felt that my feelings about being kissed were natural and not a problem. Like Caro, she pointed out that I still was aroused by girls. I am relieved, but it is as much for that almost hard-on through the gaff when those models went down to bare skin in front of me as for anything else. Hard physical evidence, don't you think?

I am beat.

Michelle Nash

Jane sat in her garden, enjoying the silence of the warm September night. Brenda had called to ask Jane to thank Michelle again for stepping in and helping her, and to see if Jane could not convince the child to accept at least a modest payment. Jane wondered idly if Michelle fully understood what she had done this day. Probably not. She was probably glowing over the compliments and the attention, and pleased that she had managed to pull off the deception under those conditions.

First, the girl had begun to learn real poise under pressure today. Carolyn had said that it was like you could see the girl's confidence in her personal power growing with each new dress and with each trek down and back on the runway. That confidence would pay real dividends in a month or so when her girl had to decide which path she would take - Michael's or Michelle's.

But it was the second aspect of today's rite of passage that pleased Jane the most. Even as afraid of being quite so publically under the microscope as Jane knew she was, her girl had been willing to help Brenda. The old Michael, the troublemaking instigator of St. Andrews Academy, would not have been so willing. He certainly would not have turned down payment for his help afterwards. Hell, he would have held her up for every cent he could squeeze out of her, even though he had absolutely no need for the money. No, she had simply decided to help a person that she had reason to hold a grudge against, and had not given the matter another thought after making the decision.

That made Jane very proud of her Michelle.

 

 

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