The Most Natural Thing in the World                   by: Michelle C.

 

Part One

And so I was caught. I wanted to be caught. Needed to be caught. The stress was getting to be too much, even for an otherwise happy, well cared for 13-year old. A 13-year old whose biggest problem was that he was a boy who dreamed of being, wanted with all his heart to be, needed desperately to be a girl.

I’d been sneaking around for a couple of years by this time, dressing when the rare chance came my way, reveling in experimentation, getting to know Michelle (seemed I’d always been Michelle, it was just my natural name). For the most part, my play was free from guilt. I knew enough to know that guilt and confusion were part of this funny thing, but somehow I was freed from that. Precocious kid that I was, I’d already picked up on the monumental fact that I wasn’t alone in the universe. That there were lots of people like me, and there was nothing wrong with my inner nature. It just was. And if I knew anything, I knew that my inner, true, nature wasn’t going to change.

The day I was caught, a sunny Saturday, started perfectly, in my devious little mind, at least. Dad and Sharon, my sister, were off on some kind of father-daughter thing for the next few days. Annette, our maid, had the weekend off. Mom and I were alone in the house, it was summer, I had nothing much to do (well, I had lots to do, but no one else knew it…yet). Mom made a simple breakfast for us, and hurried upstairs to get dressed while I nervously puttered around the house, waiting, longing, to be alone.

Now, in the grand scheme of things there was only one thing I’d rather do than be with Mom. I could hang out with her forever, shopping, watching videos, just sitting in her bedroom watching her get ready to go out, playing tennis, swimming, helping her get dinner together on the nights she cooked, anything and everything. I always felt warm and comfortable and understood when I was with her. But there was that one thing I’d rather do than be with Mom, and today was my day to do it.

She was going to be gone all day, playing tennis at the Club, having lunch, doing this and that, all of which had been drowned out by the sweet buzz in my head when she’d told me her plans last night. "Yeah, I’ll be fine here by myself. Maybe I’ll just fool around on the computer, take a swim, whatever," I’d said, while thinking seriously about having the whole day to bathe in the joy and relief of being Michelle.

Mom came down the stairs. She wore a little tennis dress, and for the millionth time I felt my little heart race at the sight of her long, strong legs and her beautiful breasts and her red lips and glorious blonde hair. She was the very definition of femininity, the whole package. She made a last check of her purse as she stood in the doorway. "Come on, give Mom a kiss, honey," she said. Shy, not wanting to betray my adoration, I gave her a little peck. "Oh, you can do better than that," she said, taking my head in her strong hands and looking into my eyes. I was, for the millionth time, almost overcome by her presence, standing weak kneed in her aura, breathing in her perfume, wanting to jump into her arms and press against her and lose myself in her. She leaned over and kissed me on the lips. "Don’t be so distant from your mother,"she said. If she only knew, I thought, tasting her lipstick, breathing in her smell like my life depended on it. "I’ll be back around six, sweetie. Be good." And with that she left, leaving me at the doorway, dazed.

I waited motionless until I heard her Porsche rev up and drive away. She loved fine cars, Mom did. She liked fine things of all kinds, and luckily she and Dad had the money to buy them and appreciate them. I was too young to know the ins and outs of our family finances, but I was old enough to know that we were lucky, we were rich. Our house was large, set in a rolling expanse of lawns and even a little forest, private and reachable only by a long drive from a country lane. I was about to revel in that privacy.

When I was sure she was well on her way, I did what I always those magic few times when I was securely alone. Still standing by the doorway, I quickly took off all my boy clothes, jeans, sneakers, socks, t-shirt, and jockeys, and threw them into a corner. I’d pick them up later, much later, but for now I wanted them out of sight and mind.

Naked, trembling just a little, I felt the warmth of the early morning sun streaming through the window in the front door. I began my ritual. I looked down at my feet and told myself: these are girl’s feet, small and dainty. I brought my attention up my legs, still smooth and hairless, long and pretty. Girl’s legs, I thought. I mentally caressed my round little bottom, perfect for a young girl, and continued upward, past my slim hips and waist. My nipples were hard, tingling, and I wondered when I’d begin to grow breasts like Mommy (when, oh when?) I ran my mind up my long neck and smooth girl’s cheeks, and sensed my wet, pouty lips. I imagined, no I became, a pretty young girl, Michelle. "Just this funny little thing between my legs," I thought. "No matter. Just a technicality, really." Today, right now, I was Michelle, with hardly a memory of boyhood, not a care in the world. I raised my hands and puffed out my longish blond hair and got on my tiptoes and arched my back, and threw my arms up and thanked heaven for being a girl.

I tiptoed delicately up the curving central stairway to Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom. Feeling the plush carpet on my little toes, I noticed how my every action had become feminine. My hands loosely bent at the wrist, my steps small, my movements flowing. It was like this every time. I naturally became girly, as if I’d shed my masculine ways and being along with my clothes.

My parent’s bedroom was really a suite, with separate bathrooms and a sitting room giving off to their huge, canopied bed. Golden light streamed in from the room’s bay windows, and their beveled glass cast little rainbows here and there. The bed was still unmade. I hopped up and snuggled into the sheets. It was my imagination, but they still seemed warm from Mommy’s body. I buried my head in her pillow, breathing in her perfume, her very essence. Curled up, my feet unconsciously arched, I shut my eyes and shivered in delight at my closeness to her. I touched my hard nipple, pinching it lightly. I moaned. My hand swept down to my flat little belly and further, lightly stroking the downy blond hair of my girlish mons.

Expertly—I’d been doing this practically every chance I got for years—I lifted my leg and plopped my two little balls up and into their warm hiding place. I always thought they were relieved to go home, in a way, that they nestled there almost gratefully. Like they were really my ovaries, and belonged inside me. Eyes still shut, I sighed dreamily. I grabbed my soft white penis and pulled it back, almost painfully, tucking it snugly between my legs. I leaned back and stretched languidly, glancing down at the beautiful delta between my legs.

Somewhere, I don’t remember where, I’d come across the concept of penis envy (I told you I was precocious. I gobbled up everything I could find about sex and gender on the internet, in books, overheard conversations, anywhere and everywhere. I was a sponge for information. So when I came across this idea of girls envying boys’ genitalia, I had to laugh. I knew I had a raging case of vagina envy.

It seemed natural to me. After all, who in their right mind could prefer a clunky penis and silly testicles to the elegant vagina of a girl? Oh, I already knew hairy manthings had their charms. I couldn’t deny what I felt when I was in the Club’s locker room, feeling like a spy, and the air was thick with growing boy and grown man, and I practically had to sit on my hands to stop myself from reaching out, wanting to play. But aesthetically, there was no question. Boy’s things looked like they were designed by committee. Girls’ things, on the other hand, looked like they were designed by an inspired master artist.

I became conscious of this early one morning when I was about seven. Lonely and strangely excited, I got out of bed, walked down the hallway into my parents’ bedroom and, without a thought, hopped naked into their bed while they were still asleep, or pretending to be. I crawled under the sheets. It was a warm summer that year, and they were sleeping without blankets. By now they were awake, and, hearing their sleepy laughter, I took it as permission to explore a little. Worming my way downward, I made my way between Mommy’s legs, and on an impulse, or a compulsion, I lifted her nightgown. Morning light filtered through the sheets, making everything glow hazily. I remember a warm, musky, exciting smell. I could feel Mommy’s legs on either side of my little body and I looked to where they met, and saw her vagina. She kept it neatly trimmed, I learned later, but then and forevermore, it was the vagina of my dreams. Soft pink outer lips. A fringe of blond hair. Like the inner shrine of a goddess. I was entranced. Scooting up rapidly, I kissed her on those pink lips and felt her early morning wetness and gave a little lick, tasting her and wanting somehow to bathe in that moisture, and taste that taste forever.

"What are you doing, you little devil!" She laughed and pulled me up and snuggled me and pulled on my ear playfully. "I think you love Mommy, don’t you baby?" "Yes," I said, hugging her, loving the feeling of her breasts and her lacey nightgown on my tender arms. "I love you so much, Mommy." "And Daddy, too?" I’d almost forgotten about Daddy, who was stroking my hair with amusement. "Oh, yes, Daddy, I love you, too," I said, and felt his strong body sandwich me. We lay there for long minutes, cuddling. I remember Mommy kissing me on the lips, saying "That’s my sweet baby," and I remember something hard and warm pressing against my little backside and it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now I lay on Mommy and Daddy’s bed again, remembering, wishing some naked little creature would kiss me and taste my moistness like I had kissed and tasted mommy.

I stood up from the bed, keeping my legs tightly together. As I walked across the thick carpet to her bathroom, I felt my virgin boy thing, trapped between my smooth thighs, rubbed and teased by each step. I inhaled deeply as I entered her private sanctum. I picked up the fluffy white towel she’d used after her morning shower and caressed my body with it. Her lacey white nightgown was draped over the counter. I brought it to my face and breathed her into me. Suddenly I needed to pee, and I hurriedly sat on her toilet. Knees close together, I heard the girlish tinkle and when I was empty, wiped myself as I’d seen her do so many times. (As you’ve sensed, we were not a prudish family and I often saw Mommy and Daddy—to my delight—in various stages of dress and undress, doing what came naturally. Sharon was different, though. For some reason she was always very shy about me seeing her in anything less than panties and bra.)

Now—I had a kind of running girl conversation going with myself--what do girls do after their morning pee and shower? They get dressed, silly. So I went to Mommy’s dirty clothes hamper, my own little wardrobe. Lifting the wicker basket’s lid, I smelled her intimately, and, sighing, rummaged around for something to wear. Mommy is a pretty big woman, and at 13 I was too small for her clothes, especially her lingerie. But! Just under a pretty black bra was a pair of panties, simple silk pink ones, I especially liked. I knew she’d worn them last night when we drove to town to have dinner and see a movie. It was another hot summer, and as I drew her panties to my face, I thought I could still detect some moisture in the panty’s cotton lining. I breathed in her glorious smell, sweat and vagina and pure heavenly Mommy. I licked eagerly at a little yellow stain, thinking, for what seemed the millionth time, if I could drink you Mommy, I could be you, Mommy.

But I knew from experience that those pink panties wouldn’t be quite right. Instead I rummaged around some more and came across what I’d hoped for, my treasure of treasures. As I lifted her white panty girdle from the hamper I rubbed my thighs together in excitement, sending little girl-tremors up and down my body. For some reason, this panty girdle was smaller than her normal underwear, and it fit me like a tight glove. Like the panties, it was redolent of her and as I squirmed into it, I had to stop midway, take a deep breath, and let my little thing calm down. It fit my waist perfectly, snugly, giving me a hint of girlish hips. It cupped my bottom and lifted and separated my little butt, giving me a delicious young girl shape. Best of all it held me emphatically between the legs, giving me the smooth girlish delta I was so desperate for. The most natural thing in the world, I thought, as I began moving more quickly. I plumped down on her toilet seat, feeling a delightful fullness back there, a reminder of my girlishness. I grabbed a pair of nude pantyhose, pulled them on, and found a nice bra, deliciously tight around my hairless chest, stuffed it with some panties, and scurried off to my second treasure trove, Sharon’s room.

I felt so liberated, flitting around the upstairs, out of Mommy’s room, down the big open hallway at the top of the stairs, slipping into my sister’s room. How I wished she could have been there, and I could just naturally saunter in and say, "Sis, honey, do you have a blouse I can borrow? All mine are in the wash." Or--I nearly swooned at the thought--"Can I borrow a tampon? I’m all out."

Sharon’s room was typical for an almost-16-year old. A little bigger, maybe, but otherwise filled with normal girly stuff, old dolls, a vanity table, computer, cd player, a few pictures of horses, and, sure enough, ballerinas. Above her queen-size bed was her famous, to me at least, Chippendales poster. Don’t even get started with that, girl, I told myself. Maybe later, but you have more pressing things to do than get all drooly and mushy over a bunch of hunks!

I swept into her walk-in closet. Sharon and I were just about exactly the same size, which was a gift from heaven. She was also quite a little fox when it came to clothes, which was just another gift. I knew what I wanted and found it quickly. Third drawer down, kind of hidden and forgotten (by everyone but me!) was an old pair of stretchy, light blue Capri pants. With a back zip, which was thrillingly, totally girly. I pulled them on carefully, got them around my narrowed hips, and zipped up the back gleefully. Then, second drawer from the top, a little pink spaghetti-strap tee, short enough that my belly button was in full view. It was one of my favorites; scrolled in rhinestones across the chest were the words "100% Girl." How I wanted to wear that top to school, how I wanted to saunter around our little town window shopping with "100% Girl" proudly written on my chest. Well…onward! I slipped my nyloned feet into a pair of pumps with just enough heel to give my hot little pelvis a nice forward thrust.

I turned to face the mirror at the end of her closet. Just a normal checkout. "Sweet shoes," I thought, "they look good with this outfit, and that tee! Dreamy! Hair rather short, but nicely pageboy…maybe curl it down a little under the chin. There, great! And those Capris! Scrumptious! Tight as can be, a little sexy for such a young thing, but…." And best of all, to me, Michelle, standing there in my sister’s closet looking at the mirror, the tightness of those Capris at my middle, and the perfect vee, so tight that a little light from her room could be seen between my thighs and, oh! So sweet! The hint of a vaginal cleft where the pants’ insistent center seam pooched out my little sack, my little pussy lips, on either side. As I turned in a pirouette, I saw with satisfaction the lifting of my fanny and the snugness between my bottom cheeks, separating them just a little. And the faint line of Mommy’s panty girdle just barely visible. Complete. 100% Natural Girl.

I sashayed out of the closet and into Sharon’s bathroom and put on a little makeup, just a touch. My features, to tell the truth, didn’t need much, and I wasn’t very skilled, but a touch of eye shadow and some work on the eyelashes, and a generous application of a pinkish lipstick and I was ready. Just as I turned to walk out, I noticed a familiar blue and white box on her counter. "Oh!" I thought. "Oh. Oh! I almost forgot! Good thing I saw these." I unzipped my Capris, glorying in the girlishness of the back zip, pulled them down, then Mommy’s pantyhose and panty girdle, just down to the globe of my little butt. I leaned over, grabbed one of my sister’s tampons, and carefully wet the plastic cover in my mouth. Using my left hand to spread my cheeks (they were hot to my touch!), I used my right hand to put the tampon into my little rear pussy, matter of factly, like I did this every month, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Giving a little tug on the string (Oh!), I retucked myself, making sure my little boy thing was way back and out of the way, and that my pussy lips poofed out just a little like they should, pulled everything up, zipped up, took a last look in the mirror, and scampered out and down the stairs, through the sun room, and outside in the golden air.

 

Chapter 2

Caught

I spent the next hour wandering our property, feeling like the nymph I was. It was heavenly to be out under the bright sun, feeling free and blessed. I wandered in our little forest and sat on a big rock, loving its cold hard feel on my bottom. I daydreamed.

We should have a horse, I thought. A big stallion like the one in the picture in Sharon’s room. A palomino, with a long white mane. I could ride bareback. We have enough room here for a horse. I could even get him up to a gallop across the big lawn. Charger, that’s his name. A big strong horse who’d only let me ride him. Who would nuzzle me when I came to take him out. Oh! I could ride him naked. Both of us naked, me and Charger, and I could tuck myself up and feel his smooth golden coat between my legs, and his muscles moving under me and I’d grip him tightly with my legs, and lean forward and feel his mane blowing back on my pretty face, and we’d ride until we were both drenched in sweat, and I wouldn’t take a bath all day because I loved to just stay naked and sense and smell the mixture of me and him.

I slid off the rock dreamily, a little shakily, took off my pumps and ran like mad across the lawn, feeling like a tomboy. I ducked into the trees, picked up some rocks and threw them joyfully, feeling the tug of my bra straps and the delicious tightness at my middle. Out of breath, I stopped and took off all my clothes, laying them carefully on the warm ground. I gamboled naked, dancing a private girl dance to the sky. I was in love with this pretty young sprite, slim-hipped, almost hairless, her breasts just beginning to bud (Oh, please, please!) her sweet little pussy framed by long coltish legs.

I slowly dressed again and headed back to the house. As I entered the door off the pool into the sunroom I stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and thought about my next exploration. Sharon had a new pair of cut-offs I was dying to try. Maybe she didn’t take them with her. And I knew she had some pretty, flouncey little skirts just waiting upstairs. And some white knee socks. And then there was Mommy’s room, filled with treasures. As I stood still and a little rigid with excitement I could feel my tampon. "A little feminine hygiene might be in order," I thought, and when I opened my eyes I saw Mommy across the room.

"Oh, now here it is," I thought. "A big, big moment, Michelle. One of the biggest of your life." I was surprised, but thankful, that I seemed to be thinking calmly. I stood stock still, and searched her face for a clue. She looked beautiful, of course, still in her tennis dress, her hair a little mussed. She seemed energized and alert (well, of course!), and I thought I saw a tiny smile on her face.

"Come here, honey," she said. I was determined not to shrink. She and Daddy could send me to every psychiatrist and counselor in the world, they could put me in military school, they could load me up with every known drug, and it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. I was actually relieved as I walked toward her, proudly, as Michelle.

I stood in front of her, trying for once not to fall under her spell. I looked her straight in the eyes. She smiled, and took my face in her hands, as she had that morning before the world changed, and she kissed me lightly on the lips. "Let’s go upstairs, sweetie, it looks like we have a lot to talk about." She took me by the hand and we walked slowly upstairs and into her bedroom.

"Sit on the bed, baby, while I change. No, wait, unzip me first." I hurried to her and gently pulled the zipper down the back of her dress. She was still sweaty and I saw crystal beads of perspiration on her strong back. I wanted to lick her clean. The dress fell to the carpet and I bent to pick it up, almost brushing her white cotton panties with my face. I wanted to bury myself in them. Pretending to fumble with her dress, I breathed her into me. I realized I was almost out of my mind with excitement and an odd, almost sweet anxiety.

She stepped out of the dress as I reluctantly stood up. Still in her tennis shoes and anklet socks, she turned and faced me. I felt like swooning, for about the millionth time. She took my hand again and led me to her bed. We plopped down.

"Mrs. Fitzgerald ran me ragged," she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be sitting on her bed in her bra and panties, talking with --Oh, I hoped she could see me this way!--her pretty girl of a son.

"Little dink shots, all over the court," she said. "But she couldn’t handle my serve. Six-four, six-three and out." She laughed and lay back on the bed, stretching luxuriously. I looked down on her magnificent body, down to her middle. Her panties were moist between her legs. I could see the curls of her pubic hair, and the dark line of her vaginal cleft. I wanted to bury myself in her.

"Help me with my shoes, will you sweetie?"

I jumped up and knelt at her feet. Like I’d been doing it all my life, I slowly untied her laces and slipped her tennis shoes off. My heart was racing and I pressed my knees together, feeling a little starburst of compression in my pussy. I took off one anklet then the other. They were wet. I had a sudden fantasy of wrapping my little boy thing in them and going about my business with Mommy’s wet socks tightly snuggled in my panties. Coming back to what passed for my senses, I looked down at her lovely toes, painted in a shade very similar to the lipstick I was wearing. I couldn’t resist. I bent down and took the big toe of her right foot in my mouth and started sucking. It felt and tasted heavenly. I sucked and licked between her toes, wanting to stay there until I got the job done. I could hear a small moan. Then she seemed to wake up and leaned over and took me by the shoulders and laid me down beside her.

"Still the little devil, aren’t you?" she said.

Resting my head on her shoulder, stretched out beside her, feeling the length of my body pressed against hers, I pressed harder and said, with a little exhalation, "Yes, Mommy."

"Well, baby, now I want you to tell me everything. Tell me how you feel, what you want. Everything. Don’t worry. Just let it all come out. We’ve got all the time in the world." She brushed my hair with her fingers. "It’s just you and me. Tell Mommy."

And I did. I told her about sneaking around to dress up, and how I hated it, and I told her all about Michelle and how totally real she was, and how I didn’t want to hide anymore, and every once in awhile I’d look up at her and see her smiling down at me, and I would forge ahead. Everything. She played with my hair as we talked, and I pressed against her ever more firmly, feeling her strong thighs against my tucked little pussy. I almost unconsciously lifted my left leg over hers and pressed tighter as I continued, telling her about how certain I was about Michelle, and how I loved her clothes and how I loved her and as I prattled on breathlessly I began to rub against her thigh with more urgency. She shifted slightly so she could press back against me, and I started to lose my train of thought and rubbed harder and soon I was lost. "Oh, Mommy, Mommy," I squeaked. She cupped my bottom with her hands and pressed me to her, running her fingers along the seam of my Capris, spreading the cheeks of my little butt. She pressed with her index finger just at the right place, where my tampon was still lodged, and pressed harder.

I wrapped my arms around her neck, kissing and licking her, moaning and mewing, squeezing her thighs with mine. She could tell I was ready.

"Okay, honey, that’s good. That’s right." She pushed me tighter against her and increased the pressure of her finger on my little rosebud, electrifying it even through three layers of clothing. "You know Mommy loves you. Show Mommy, go ahead, show Mommy what a good girl you are."

And when she said that, when she called me a girl, I knew I was safe, I knew I was loved, I knew everything would be okay, and I gasped and shuddered and held on to her with all my strength and felt a glorious series of girl spasms and it seemed to last forever like we were twisting in space and I was her and she was me and I could love her and taste her and drink her forever.

I almost passed out. Time got all jumbled. I don’t know how long I lay there in her arms before I felt things straighten out enough to look at her. I noticed the bright summer sunlight streaming into the room. A little rainbow rested on her cheek. She wasn’t smiling anymore. She looked serious.

"Never, never be afraid," she said, and kissed me on the forehead. "Never." And then she smiled again. I kissed the rainbow on her cheek, and licked at it like a kitten. I could feel a warm wetness between my legs. I thought I’d experienced true girlishness before. But now I knew.

We lay together a little longer, cuddling, basking in the heat of midday, reveling in freedom and naturalness.

"Okay kiddo," she finally said. "We’ve got things to do. Let’s get undressed and I’ll clean you up."

She knew I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her as she stood in the middle of the room and stripped off her bra and panties. She didn’t mind, I could tell by her smile. Gloriously naked, she ran her hands over her body, looking straight into my eyes. She yawned and stretched on her tiptoes and made a satisfied little wiggle.

"You too, sweetheart," she said. "Here, I’ll help."

She lifted my arms and slipped off my tee. "100% Girl," she laughed. "That’s just about 100% right. Oh, and Mommy’s bra, too. I knew it." She helped me out of her bra, turned me around and unzipped my Capris. "Mommy’s panty girdle too. Yep." Then she pulled down the pantyhose, and the wet-bottomed girdle. "I can see Annette is going to have lots more laundry to do around here," she said. I stood before her stark girly naked. My little boy thing hung limp and a little tired, but my other things still nested inside me, I was happy to see as I glanced down. I wanted them to stay in there forever.

"Turn around again," she said. "And what’s that? Have we started our period already?" I’d forgotten about the little white string hanging down from my bottom. I blushed and reached back to pull it out. It was wet. My whole backside was wet and a little sticky. I was still in a dream-state, or something, not really touching ground, and I couldn’t help but run my finger up the cleft of my bottom, luxuriating in the moistness. My hand, with a life of its own, reached up and caressed my right nipple. I had a sudden disjointed fantasy of one of those Chippendales in my sister’s room, and this was his wetness, and I was proud to be his girl and feel him leaking out of me and I was about to lick my fingers for a taste of my wonderful strong fantasy man when Mommy shook me out of my little dream.

"You really are a devil, aren’t you! Here, let Mommy do it."

She leaned me over her dresser. I could see myself in the big mirror. The little makeup I’d put on was smeared. My hair was a fluffy mess. But I was the real natural thing. I smiled at myself and looked at her reflection, standing in back of me, looking at me looking at myself, grinning sweetly. She ran her hands along my back, scratching me lightly with her red nails. She hummed a little tune. I squirmed with pleasure and wiggled my behind, arching back to feel her soft pubic hair on my sensitive little butt. Our eyes locked in the mirror. She grabbed my hips and pulled me back, pressing into me for a heavenly moment. Then she swatted my butt.

"Enough of that for now," she said. "Spread your legs, honey." I did as I was told and she spread my cheeks with one hand and took hold of the string with the other. "Such a wet girl," she said, and gave a little tug. "Oh!" I said. Another tug. "Oh!" She laughed softly and tugged some more until my head was on the cool polished wood of the dresser and my bottom was arched and twitching and then she pulled my tampon out and I spun around and put my arms around her neck and pressed against her and kissed her madly. "Everything, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, everything, everything!" I cooed. I didn’t know what I meant, exactly. Just…everything.

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Michelle C. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.