A Losing Season

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

Archiving and reposting of this story unchanged is permitted provided that no fee be charged, either directly or indirectly (this includes so-called "adult checks") and provided that this disclaimer and attribution to the original author are maintained.

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

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Joel_Lawrence

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 at:

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Tigger/

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 concurrance 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 undiscipline 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 (Maria) and several business women including the owners of a beauty salon (Carolyn and Sandra) and the proprietor of a combination dress and lingerie shop (Mrs. 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 Mrs. 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

Chapter 1. Escape Attempt.

Jane relaxed in her favorite chair, sipping a celebratory brandy as Beth daintily nibbled at the low tea Maria 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'd 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!!! MARIA!!! 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 Maria 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 Maria leapt to Beth's assistance, Jane grabbing Michael's other wrist and Maria trying to restrain his flailing feet. The furious boy/girl's surprising strength was almost a match for other three until Maria reared back and slammed a spinning heel 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 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 Maria. "Get some towels, hot water, bandages and antiseptic, Maria. 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 around those damnable photos 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 planed 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 Maria 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. Maria 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 Maria 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 Maria'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 Maria 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 Maria 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 Maria, 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 Maria 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. Maria 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, Maria 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 Maria 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 Maria 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.

Maria 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, someone to fill some very big holes in his life."

Jane scanned the small circle gathered in her study. "All right. We can only try. Maria?" 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. Maria'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 Maria'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, Maria 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 Maria 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 Maria 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 may 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.

Maria 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. Maria 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 Maria'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 Maria, 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 Maria had told her earlier, and suddenly put it all together. "Does this have anything to do with the stains that Maria 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 Maria 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, Maria 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, Maria 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 Maria (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. Maria 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 Maria contemplated the loss of someone who had become to Jane and Maria 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, Maria 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." Mrs. 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.

A Losing Season: Chapter 26: Just Deserts

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary September 30- Day 76

Dear Diary

Well, it is less than a week until yours truly must make a decision - whether to stay Michelle and proceed with my plans vis a vis my Mother. Or to let go of that anger and hurt, revert to Michael, and simply get on with my life.

I'd rather expected this to be an easier choice, but that is not the case. I feel very at odds with myself over this.

For starters, one thing that I thought would push me towards abandoning this charade was living as Michelle. I figured it might be difficult and humiliating. With the exception of my three bouts of soap in the mouth syndrome, my life as Michelle has been neither of those things. I guess I have a talent for the role, because I seem to have picked up on most things pretty easily.

And of course, I must admit that confronting my Mother with the loss of her son as Michelle still holds a great deal of appeal. I am not so sure I particularly like that little home truth about myself, but it remains a fact that I want to do . . . something to her. What Jane and I have planned seems somehow less malicious than showing her up in front of her friends.

On the downside, if I stay as Michelle, I am going to have to do something about good old Dennis. The guy will simply not give up. I have tried everything, short of endangering his ability to father future generations, to discourage him, but he just keeps coming on to me. Even when I showed him the "pre-engagement ring" Jane gave to wear, saying it was from David, he still tried to kiss me in the dark corners at his Mother's studio. When I told him that was not very honorable, making a move on another man's girl when he was not around to protect what was his, he just laughed. Said that David was a fool, and a pre-engagement ring is not an engagement ring, so I was still "fair game".

Makes me sound like a damned rabbit trying to scurry away and into my rabbit hole.

Part of the problem is that I really do like him. He makes me really laugh, and I enjoy laughing. Never did much of it before I came here - not real laughing, that is. Mostly at St. Andrews, the laughter was at someone else's expense, and that cheapened the pleasure of it, although I did not know it then. Now I do know, and that is in part due to Dennis.

He calls me on the days we don't have dance class. We just talk about stuff, and before I quite know it, we've been at it for almost an hour. It makes Jane smile - one of those smiles that makes the hair on my neck stand on end.

For the past few days, he has been bugging me to go with him to his school's Harvest Festival Dance. The dance is in October, a few days after Jane and I are scheduled to be back from Nevada on my "end of trial" holiday as Michael. The scariest part of all this is that my first inclination is to say yes.

If I went back to being Michael, none of this would be my problem anymore. Michelle would go back to her "home" and Michael would come to stay with his Aunt Jane. Or maybe it would be safer to stay with Eric. Michael is going to look a lot like Michelle for several weeks, and I suspect that my new friends, particularly the Wednesday makeup class, will see through Michael to Michelle instantly.

Well, I have again filled pages arguing with myself, and still have come to no conclusion. If this keeps up, I may just stay Michelle because I don't know what else to do. Not a very good reason for a life altering decision, is it?

On another issue, by my count, I should have been eating a soap bar days ago. Now, my numbers are usually a bit higher than Aunt Jane's , since I count all my verbal foul ups and she counts only the ones she hears. Still, she should have hit one hundred over a week ago.

When Aunt Jane does not hold true to form, that usually means she is up to something. And that always makes me very nervous. VERY nervous.

Michelle Nash

Jane sat at her study desk, and stared at the calendar on her desk. October third was circled in wide red marker - the day when Michelle's trial period closed. Only two more days before she found out if she was going to have a niece or a nephew staying with her for the foreseeable future.

Jane wasn't sure she knew what she wanted the choice to be, any more than her ward knew. On one hand, it was probably best for the child to see this thing through to the very end, no matter how painful its consequences might be for everyone concerned. And for herself, Jane admitted, she liked having this Michelle around the place. She liked Michelle.

Conversely, Michelle would be showing a great deal of maturity if she abandoned her spiteful quest against her Mother. If she abandoned it because she had decided that she no longer wanted or needed to get even.

Jane's fear was that Michelle might decide to abandon the game because of the continued attentions of Dennis. She had to hand it to that young man, he certainly was tenacious. It was a good thing he lived locally or Jane's monthly phone bills would be whoppers given all the time the two teens spent talking with each other on the phone. Jane's little Michelle had developed quite a crush on that lad, only she was afraid of what she felt for Dennis and therefore refused to admit or acknowledge her feelings. She might just become Michael again to end that fear. And that would be the worst possible reason.

Jane had already made preliminary inquiries on a scheme she had developed to help Michelle and Michael get some needed emotional distance and balance. Unfortunately, they needed to be on their vacation for her plan to work, and again unfortunately, that came after Michelle's decision date.

"Aunt Jane?" The quiet voice shook Jane out of her reveries, and she looked up to see Michelle peaking around the cracked open study door. "May I come in?"

Jane beckoned her in, and then was somewhat surprised to see that Michelle was wearing one of Michael's exercise warm up suits. "Aunt Jane, I'd like to call one our timeouts, please." her ward said in the deeper tones of Michael's speaking voice.

Jane did not want to grant this request because she was afraid she knew what he wanted to say. Still, she motioned him to one of the easy chairs and came over to join him. "All right, Michael. What is it you wish to discuss?"

Michael opened a book that Jane recognized as the diary she had given Michelle at the beginning of their trial. "Aunt Jane, according to my figures, which have been running only a few counts ahead of yours until now, you are overdue in calling Michelle to accounts for unfeminine language and behaviors."

Momentarily speechless, Jane could only stare at her ward. "You. . .you want to be disciplined? You want me to wash your mouth out with soap like a naughty bad mouthed little child?"

"Hel. . . I mean, heck no, Aunt Jane. I hate that, but it was part of the deal we made, and a reminder I have decided I need if I am going to learn to overcome Michelle's bad case of potty mouth."

"Why should you care, Michael? Two more days and you can take off the skirts without breaking your word, and then it does not matter, beyond basic courtesy, what you say."

Michael sat very still at that moment, his grey-green eyes locked on Jane's. After a few moments of this, Jane found she had to consciously refrain from fidgeting under her ward's intense gaze. "So that's why." he finally said in a very soft undertone. "You aren't doing it because you don't want my mouth filled with soap bubbles at the moment I have to open it to tell you my decision."

Jane broke eye contact with Michael and looked away. "Isn't that the reason, Aunt Jane?" Michael pressed.

Finally, she sighed deeply, and then nodded. "You might still have demons, Michael, that only Michelle can help you exorcize. I did not want you making a poor decision because you were reacting angrily to one of my disciplines. Whatever decision you make, I want it to be made rationally, not emotionally."

"I understand now." Michael looked down at the book and Jane thought he might be reading some passage in the book. She wished she knew what it said and what he was thinking at that moment. "Suppose, Aunt Jane, I told you that I have already made my decision - that I am absolutely certain what I am going to do. What would you say to that?"

His aunt gave him a resigned smile. "I would say that it is completely in character for someone with the iron will I have seen in both you and Michelle. Knowing you both, I expect that there is no way your mind is going to change?" Michael only shook his head, his eyes firm. "Well, why don't we just end the trial here and now, then. I don't think there's any sense delaying for another two days. If you want to discard your skirts, I will have Maria go up and move all the fripperies out this afternoon."

"You mean that, don't you?" he asked wonderingly.

"I gave you my word, dear. I don't see much point in continuing another two days just to keep you as Michelle for that length of time. I am going to miss having her around, but I look forward to getting to know my nephew, too."

"Well, that is a shame." Michael muttered. "Because I am going to stay as Michelle. I haven't finished what I set out to do three months ago, and I am not ready to give up on that goal just yet. I am not so sure of what I am going to do as I was back then, but one thing I do know - only Michelle can do what must needs be done."

Jane rose and went back over to stand by her desk. "I see. You are sure?" Michael nodded. "Very well, Michael. We will continue as we have, then. Are we finished with this timeout, then?" she asked.

"Yes, Aunt Jane, thank you." and this time the voice that responded was Michelle. She rose and turned to leave the study.

"Oh, Michelle?" Jane called as her ward reached the door. Michelle half turned back to her aunt, a single brow lifted in silent inquiry. Jane lifted a familiar notebook and glanced at the pages. "You have accumulated sufficient demerits since your last discipline for two sessions. I will expect you in my room at 9:30 tonight for the first session. We will take care of the second one tomorrow evening at the same time."

She watched, amused as first surprise, then anger and finally resignation flitted across Michelle's mobile features. "We still do need to smooth out your rough edges, dear." Jane said softly, but without a hint of apology.

"Nine thirty. I will be there, Aunt Jane." she turned away only to stop one last time. "And thank you." She left before Jane could even frame a response.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary October 3- Day 79

Dear Diary

I am sitting here, my mouth full of suds, waiting for the final minutes to tick by so that I can go rinse the soap out of my mouth. Aunt Jane told me she trusted my sense of honor to follow the rules and not to cleanse my palette before my sentence is completely served. So now I am the instrument of my own punishment. And all I need to do in order to get relief is to break my promise. Sometimes, honor stinks - or as in tonight's case, leaves a very bad taste in your mouth.

sigh.

In the end, I made the decision to stay Michelle because it is the only choice that leaves my options open. Frankly, I cannot decide what I want to do. Once I reach that decision, I will know what path to take. All I know is that changing back to Michael permanently ends the plan. I cannot quit and then go back and say, I want to do it again - let me be Michelle again. That is not fair to Jane. Besides, if I am going to do this thing, I need all the practice, all the learning that I can get. And if I finally decide that I no longer want to show my Mother the error of ignoring Michael and then creating Michelle, then having lived another few months as Michelle, or even a few years as Michelle will not have hurt anyone. The only one who loses anything by that decision is Michael and he. . .that is, I don't mind being Michelle all that much any more.

I mean, I have more friends as Michelle, in the girls at Caro's, and especially Anna, then Michael could have laid claim to in his entire life B.J.T. (Before Jane Thompson). Real people who like me and not the size of my father's fortune. And it is not as if I cannot go to school as Michelle, because Jane assures me that I can - We just have to find a way around the School Nurse and physical education. Both of which Jane has promised me are not really obstacles.

I am relieved to have that decision done and over with. Now if I could just figure out what I am going to do about Dennis and that infernal school dance.

I guess this is where I play Scarlet O'Hara and say I will worry about it tomorrow. Or more correctly, after I get back from Tahoe. I really need the break!

Michelle Nash

A Losing Season: Chapter 27. Vacation in the Mountains

Michael and Jane slipped out of the house before dawn for the trip to Providence where they would catch their flight. Jane had decided on the early morning departure primarily to ensure that her ward was not seen by any of the locals as Michael now that he was well known as Michelle. The return flight was also chosen to have them arriving back home well after dark for the same reason. She also wanted to arrive in Reno in time to rent a car and still arrive at their rented cabin on Lake Tahoe during daylight. Jane had been in the desert mountains at night and did not relish doing it again.

As she maneuvered her Lincoln up US Route 1 towards the interstate, she considered her passenger critically. He was, as they had both anticipated, somewhat effeminate in both manner and bearing. Although Caro had worked on his face, hiding the finely arched brows and shadowing the smooth soft skin, other things were more difficult to disguise.

Michael had to consciously remind himself to swing his arms and not his hips when he walked. After all his recent experiences wearing mostly high heeled shoes, he also tended to walk toe to heel instead of heel to toe. His body language, which was even harder to control, was extremely feminine and Jane knew she'd have to keep a close eye on him so that he would not give too much away when they were out in public. Additionally, he had a tendency to slip into Michelle's voice whenever he forgot that he was supposed to be Michael on this trip.

All things considered, it was just as well that they were going to be almost three thousand miles from home in a relatively rural area during the off season. October was not Tahoe's best season. Too soon for the skiers, and too cold for the campers and boaters. That, along with one other aspect of their vacation location, made the place perfect for Jane's purposes. Michael would be able to relax and let down his guard without the danger of being recognized, and hopefully, he'd learn some important lessons that would stand him in good stead later on in his life.

They arrived at the airport at just the right time. They were able to go directly to their loading gate without having to wait outside the security area. The less time spent in open parts of the airport where someone might recognize her and come over to chat, the better.

The loading onto the airplane, the flight and the arrival in Reno went off without incident. Shortly after ten in the morning, local time, Michael was happily behind the wheel of the four wheel drive sports utility vehicle that Jane had reserved. Driving was a pleasure that he could not afford to do as Michelle because for all Jane's many judge contacts, getting a driver's license for her ward in his feminine persona had been impossible. And Michelle could not take the chance of being stopped by a police officer. Even a routine safety stop by the police would require Michelle to present her license, which showed a young man, not a young woman.

They arrived in Tahoe around two pm and went immediately to the realtor who managed the rental cabin in which they'd would be spending the next week. After obtaining the key and directions to the cabin, they stopped at a supermarket for supplies.

Jane carefully watched the people who came in contact with Michael. He slipped up in his masculine behaviors several times, but no one seemed to take much notice. She expected that vacation escapees from San Francisco had inured the locals to differently behaved people.

The cabin was beautiful, and the surrounding vistas were even better. Located up a mountainside, they only had a short walk through a forest of mountain trees to be able to see the lake. The only drawback was the temperature, which was topping out at fifty degrees F during the day, and dropping into the thirties and twenties at night. They would not be doing any swimming on this trip, which was actually all to the best. Michelle's bathing suit tan had not yet faded from Michael's torso.

Night comes early and dark in the mountains, but both travelers were exhausted from the travel and from the eighteen hour day they'd had in two time zones. Nine p.m. local time saw them both in their beds, sound asleep.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary October 5 - Day 81

Dear Diary

It feels strange to be writing in this thing and not be dressed in Michelle's finery. Still, I think I am going to keep up with these entries. Mostly because if I ever do become a research psychiatrist, these observations, untrained though they are, might be of value some how.

The second reason is kind of funny, really. It has become a habit to write things down in here. Little victories and little defeats. Things that make me feel good or happy, and things that make me feel low or sad. I actually picked it up to start writing without even thinking about it.

Come to think of it . . .I don't remember packing it. I wonder if I did, or if Maria did it for me? No matter. I am glad it is here.

Wonder if I should lead off entries with something other than "dear diary". The sounds awfully "Michelle-ish" for Michael to be doing. What would I call it - a journal? Ahhh, what's the point? Surely I am too far along to feel threatened by how I write in my diary.

Sure feels almost uncomfortable to be wearing cotton jockey shorts instead of Michelle's dainties. As for my other clothes, well, let's just say the Sonja has had the desired effect. I have lost about 10 pounds and have tightened up what's left. And on my small frame and height, that is a significant amount of weight. I had to punch extra holes in one of my belts just to keep my jeans from falling off me. A fashion plate or a candidate for a GQ cover I am definitely NOT.

That's probably all right, since I keep slipping up and putting on Michelle without even thinking about it. Sometimes I caught myself; sometimes Jane pointed out my little femme habits. At least if no one particularly notices me, they won't look at me long enough to realize that my movement, body language and attitudes can shift to those of my female persona. Of course, I saw several folks at the market who were far more gaudy and swishy than I.

It is just a little annoying that now that I do not have to worry about being on stage as Michelle, it is Michael that is becoming the role that requires conscious thought to pull off.

I am beat. Gonna go to bed.

Michael Nash.

Jane set down the phone well pleased with her arrangements. They'd been in Tahoe for three days, and it was time for the other part of her plan. She'd waited this long because she wanted Michael to become just a little more natural in his male role. Now the arrangements had been made for tomorrow morning. Actually, it had gone better than she had hoped.

In the kitchen, she could hear Michael humming to himself as he prepared their evening meal. One thing was certain, if Michael was to be Michelle for any length of time, Jane would have to insist that she take Home Ec when she returned to school. It was all right for Jane not to be able to cook, but Michelle needed to learn. Especially if she was going to feed Jane.

After their meal, Jane helped with the cleaning up and then motioned Michael into the small living room. "Michael, tomorrow I have planned a surprise for you. We need to be on the road bright and early, so you might want to get to bed early tonight."

"A surprise, Aunt Jane?" the young man wheedled. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise, silly. One you will find out about when we get to where we are going. Now, go to bed."

Michael's grousing was good humored, and he surprised Jane by planting a small kiss on her cheek before he went up to his bed in the cabin's loft.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary October 8 - Day 84

Dear Diary

So Aunt Jane is planning a surprise for me. A few months ago, the mere hint of an "Aunt Jane's surprise" would have terrified me. Now, I'm looking forward to it with pleasant anticipation - like I know it is going to be a good surprise.

It's a good thing that this high, thin mountain air tires you out so much. I would have hard time sleeping if I wasn't so beat from Jane's and my hike around the surrounding landscape today.

God, but it is beautiful up here. Seems so very far away from my life and problems. I like it.

Michael Nash

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

Somewhat to his disappointment, Jane insisted on driving them when the departed the cabin. "I know where we are going, and I don't want you to know until we get there." she said teasingly.

Michael had spent the greater part of he morning mulling over what Aunt Jane had planned. It wasn't a day at the casinos. He wasn't eighteen yet, and so could not even play the slots legally. Besides, he knew the route they had taken from Reno, and Jane had not taken that turn.

The trip took about two hours, and by the time she made the final turn onto the access road of their destination, Michael was in a high dudgeon over her refusal to tell him anything.

They reached a sign that read "Mustang Ranch" and then came to a gate with a small guard shack next to it. A portly man in a generic security uniform stepped out and came to the car. Jane rolled the window down and announced, "Jane Thompson. I believe your employer is expecting me." The man quickly checked a clipboard, nodded Jane a quick salutation, and opened the gate.

"Mustang Ranch, Aunt Jane? Am I going to learn how to ride?" Michael asked.

"In a manner of speaking, Michael." was Jane's faintly amused response. Michael smiled at the idea. As surprises went, this one was at least different. He might have preferred something else, like taking in a Vegas-style floor show, but this could be fun, too.

Jane parked the car in front of a huge, rambling house that looked like it had seen many spur of the moment additions over its lifetime. Spires, dormers, octagonal towers were seemingly thrown together haphazardly in whatever place that might have had room for the addition. The result was a place that looked like a white clapboard combination castle and ranch house.

Michael started to get out, but Jane caught his arm. "Michael," she said firmly, "When we go inside, I want you to do exactly what you are told because if you are going to learn, you ought to learn well. However, secondly and most importantly, I want you to have fun. This is supposed to fun for everyone involved." Confused, Michael nodded his agreement but could not help wondering how much fun a horse could have when dealing with an inexperienced rider.

As they exited the car, a petite woman with gray shot black hair came out on the porch. She was dressed in a fine blue linen business suit and beckoned the pair of them to come up onto the porch. "Hello there, folks. I'm Jean. You'd be Ms. Thompson?" she asked with a welcoming smile on her face.

Jane took the lady's hand and returned the smile. "Yes, and this is my nephew, Michael." She offered her hand to Michael and he also shook her hand.

"Well, c'mon in. Everything's ready." and she took them both by their arms and walked into the strange house.

Inside the front door was an unusually large sitting room with seating all around the periphery of the room, as well as several small conversation groupings in the center of the room.

A door on the wall opposite the entry way opened. Michael turned to see who was entering and did a classic double take.

The woman who entered the room was very tall, easily five inches taller than his own five feet six inches if she had been bare foot. She wasn't. In her spiked heels, which Michael guessed had to be more than four inches, she stood almost a foot taller than he did. The rest of her was in perfect proportion to her height.

Physically, she was a very pretty woman. Her hair was long, and a deep golden blonde. She wore some light cosmetics, but she had a lovely complexion that really did not require much in the way of artificial enhancement. She wore a one piece mint green sweater dress that suited her and showed off her incredible legs.

My god, Michael thought, his mouth going dry. Change her hair to silver blond and she is a dead ringer for Sonja. Aware of her effect on the young man, the woman sauntered over to where he stood with the other two women.

"Michael?" Jean said. "This is Karen. She will be your instructor today. Now, you have the entire day, thanks to your Aunt's generosity, so pay attention and enjoy yourself."

"How do you do, Karen." Michael said with a lump in his throat. Was she going to change for the lesson?

"And howdy to you, too, Michael." She answered, a small smile on her lips. Her voice was low, husky and had just a touch of a western accent. Michael was entranced by her. "Well, shall we get started?" she asked, as she took his hand and began to lead him away.

"I will be here when you are finished, Michael." Jane called to him just before they disappeared through the same door Karen had entered from. "Have fun, dear."

The two women stood there for a moment before Jean turned to Jane. "Y'know," she drawled. "As I told you on the phone, Ms. Jane, Karen isn't exactly my first choice for a cherry picking. Don't get me wrong - she's good at what she does - very good, in fact. Your boy will have a great time, but she isn't likely to get much out of it. That is usually a part of this type of thing - lettin' the boy know when he's done it right."

Jane smiled enigmatically. "Well, I hope you are wrong, but Michael has a huge crush on a lady back home who looks very much the same as your Karen, which is part of the reason I picked her from your brochure." And I can't tell you the other reason which is that I wanted her all the more once Jean had explained why Karen was not her first choice. She really rather hoped Michael was up to the task. And if he wasn't, he'd still have a very nice experience if the lady was as skilled as Jean had promised. Probably, even if she wasn't that skilled, given the volatility of youth.

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

Michael was a little confused when Karen led him up a long flight of stairs to a sumptuously furnished bedroom in one of the octagonal towers. His first thought was that there certainly enough mirrors in the place.

He turned to see Karen regarding him levelly, that little half smile still curving her mouth. Unnerved by her scrutiny, Michael began to blather. "Ummm. . . did we come up here so you could change?" he asked.

The smile widened a bit. "Sounds like a good start to me, Michael."

"Okay." he answered her as he turned away from her to find a place to wait for her to go off and change. "Is what I wearing suitable? Aunt Jane did not tell me what she'd planned so I did not ask what to wear."

"Oh, I think we can do a bit better than that, lover." she crooned. and then almost stopped Michael's heart as she pulled the sweater dress up over her head and then stood before him in nothing but very slinky, very black lingerie.

"Ummmm. . . K.K.Karen. .. " Michael he stuttered. "Have you forgotten I am in the room with you? You are undressed."

A soft laugh bubbled up from her, as she began slinking towards him, her eyes fixed on his. "Well, darlin', it is pretty difficult for you to make love to me with all those clothes on. Now. . let's get you out of yours."

"Out of my clothes? HERE???"

She had her hand on his belt. "Well, it is usually best to do it in a bed the first time, but if you want, we can try some other places once you get the basics down." and then she pulled his much smaller frame into a tight embrace as she gave him his first tongue kiss from a woman.

It finally dawned on Michael that the only mustang on this ranch was painted on the sign outside the main gate. Aunt Jane had hired this lady to make love with him. . .no, not quite. . .Karen was supposed to teach him how to make love.

Michael was not quite sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew, he was nude and lying on the huge bed with Karen's long, lovely body curled around him. Her fist had his cock in a firm, yet gentle grip as she stroked him to full erection while her mouth did incredible things to secret places behind his ears and the pulse points of his neck. Caught up in a wild maelstrom of feeling and emotion, Michael felt the sudden tightening in his guts and the uncontrollable twitching that heralded the onset of his climax.

Karen felt it, too. "Well, if we're going to get anywhere today, we have got to get you a little less. . .jumpy." she whispered throatily as she sat up beside him. Michael expected her to continue the exquisite hand job, but instead, she bent over his dick and then inhaled him whole.

The sudden wet, sucking heat felt so incredibly wonderful, Michael's eyes crossed in pleasure. But the immediate pleasure was only momentary for within moments of her taking him in her mouth, he was jetting his seed into her mouth.

Michael simply laid there on the bed with Karen stroking him as he gathered his shattered wits. Then, he was disappointed because it had been so wonderful, but so short. Karen saw him frown. "Hey, whatsamatter?" she asked softly.

He felt like crying, but managed to control that. "It didn't last long enough. I barely knew what was happening and then it was over."

A knowing smile lit her eyes as she began to stroke him more seriously. "Honey," she told him as she kissed him again, "It isn't over 'cause it hasn't even started yet."

This time her kiss was oddly salty, but certainly not unpleasant. In fact, it was very pleasant. It was not until much later that he realized the source of that saline flavor, and by then, it simply did not matter.

She soon had him fully aroused again, and after showing him how to protect himself and her, guided him into her body. As great as it had felt when she had taken him into his mouth, it could not begin to compare to this.

They spent the next two hours making love in a variety of ways and positions. He let her guide him, let her teach him how to stroke into her slowly, and then pull out so that he rubbed against her clitoris. She set the initial rhythm, but slowly let him take charge. He learned how to use his hands and mouth on her as both foreplay and as part of the actual intercourse.

A Losing Season: Chapter 28. A Coming of Age

About one in the afternoon, they took a break when Michael needed to satisfy a more basic hunger. He had not eaten since a very light breakfast over five hours before and was positively ravenous. As with every other need he'd experienced that day, the lovely Karen had anticipated this need, too. She left for a few moments before returning with a tray piled high with tiny sandwiches, sliced fruit and other snack type foods.

So this is what they mean by afterglow, Michael thought to himself. And it really was a thoroughly unique experience, feeling so mellow, eating finger foods while laying naked in bed cuddled up next to a living Goddess. He felt great - never better, except. . .

Except what, he asked himself, aware for the first time that something did not feel quite right. Somehow, something niggled at him at the back of his mind. There was something wrong. No, not wrong, rather there was something missing, but he couldn't seem to pinpoint what it could possibly be. Hadn't they just spent hours making love to each other, giving pleasure to each other. . . .

He looked at the woman nibbling delicately at the hors d'oerves beside him. She did not look like he felt - there wasn't any glow about her.

That was IT! He'd received pleasure. He had reached orgasm, but he could not recall anything like that happening to Karen. Didn't women have orgasms, too? Surely, they must or else the human race would not be overpopulating the planet. So why hadn't she reached her pleasure with him? Was he really that inept? She hadn't said so, but then again, would she say so? She might be concerned about the reputation of the house if he did not go away feeling like the man.

Dammit, that pleasure had been too wonderful not to share with the person who had given it so selflessly to him. Michael wanted, needed her to enjoy being with him, not endure being with him. Step one, he thought, was to find out why. "So, Karen . . " he started off handedly, "What do I have to do to give you pleasure."

The bite of food stopped midway between her plate and her open mouth. She slid him a look beneath her lashes, before setting the tidbit back down. "What makes you think you didn't?" she asked with a bit of a tremor in her voice.

Gotcha, he thought. "Oh, the fact that you didn't immediately deny it." Michael said in what he hoped was a reasonable semblance of Jane's equanimity. "That and the fact that I don't recall any reactions from you that remotely approached what you produced in me. So, Karen, what did I do wrong?"

Karen's face fell, and she bounded off the bed. Michael was after her immediately and had caught up to her before she could make it out the door. He was shocked to see tears streaming down her face. Gently, he pried her fingers from door knob and pulled her back to the bed.

"Okay, Karen. what is the matter?"

She just shook her head. "You did nothing wrong, Michael. Its just that. . . well, this is your first time, and it is supposed to be wonderful. . .perfect," she said just before the tears came harder. "And if you are one of those special guys who needs to give as well as take, you won't find that with me. Please, let me call Jean. She'll get you another girl and you'll see. You are easily one of the most considerate young men I have ever been with, and you will see how well you do once she is here instead of me."

"And if I want to be with you? If it is you I want to pleasure?" Michael asked quietly.

He watched as her beautiful strong body was racked by sobs. He wanted to comfort her, but needed to know the facts. Finally, she regained control and looked him in the eyes. "Look, Michael. You've learned very quickly and you're really quite a cute guy - but. . ."

When she hesitated to go further, Michael pressed. "But, what?" Karen shook her head, her lips compressed tightly, like she was trying to prevent the words from escaping her mouth. "Please, Karen - tell me - so I will at least know the truth."

Her shoulders slumped. "All right. You are really cute for a guy, Michael, but that is the problem. You are a guy. I enjoy making love with guys. I find pleasure in giving them pleasure, but I can't seem to reach orgasm with a guy."

It was not the strangest thing Michael had ever heard. It surely did not even come close to a house where boys became girls so they'd become better men. Or where a boy became a girl to wreak retribution on his Mother. "So, tell me. What does get you off, darlin'?"

She gave him a very disgusted "what do you think" look. "Girls, Michael. Pretty, petite girls in frilly, slinky lingerie. I guess it is because I am so gigantic,. ."

Michael interrupted her. "Tall, stacked, gorgeous. I don't want to hear you put yourself down like that!"

Surprised by his outburst, she gave him a momentary, shy smile before continuing, ". .since I am so tall, I like the little ones. They make me very hot."

Michael could see her bracing herself for a putdown. He only smiled. "So, tell me, Karen. Any of your girlfriends got some stuff that would fit me?"

Her stunned, unbelieving stare was just about as satisfying as anything else he'd experienced yet today. "You mean. . . girl things? You want to dress up and see if that would help get me really aroused?" Michael nodded, and then watched the emotions flit across her face as she considered that.

"Have you ever tried it like that with a guy? Dressed as a girl, I mean."

"N. . n...no." she said, a considering look in her suddenly intensely dark eyes. "And you would qualify as petite next to me." She thought about it some more. "But I don't think any of the girls would like it very much if I let you borrow any of their dainties, but there is the stuff down in the dungeon." There was just a touch of "put up or shut up" challenge in her demeanor now as she stood to her full height and fixed her eyes on Michael.

Not quite sure he had heard her correctly, Michael swallowed hard. "What did you say? The dungeon?" Michael was a little less certain, now.

Karen laughed for the first time since they'd started lunch. "We have a couple of girls on staff here at the Ranch who sexually dominate guys. You know, tying them up, spanking their bare butts and generally teasing the hell out of them before they finally let the guy get his rocks off. It has gotten pretty popular, particularly with the one time trade, so Jean converted a big part of the cellar into a dungeon. One of the games a lot of guys really like is to be forced to wear girl clothes and being then to be treated like a sissy- slave, so there is a big closet full of man-sized female clothing down there. Jean said that for what your Aunt is shelling out for today, we could have the run of the place. You ready to put her money where your mouth is, Michael?" she challenged.

He just grinned. She hadn't said that she was one of those dominating women, so he figured he'd be safe down there. Hopefully.

Standing up, Michael offered his hands to her. "Lead me away, Ma'am. I am ready."

Fifteen minutes later (Michael'd had no interest in staying in the aptly named dungeon any longer than necessary), they were back in Karen's room, loaded down with everything from a gaff to a corset to breast inserts to fine hosiery to press on fingernails. One small problem was the selection of shoes stocked in the dungeon closet. Unfortunately, the only shoes they'd had that fit him had spiked heels at least five inches high. Michael wasn't all that sure just how much walking he could manage in those stilts, but decided that he'd at least give them a try. If this worked, he did not expect to be on his feet all that much anyway.

Karen helped him into the corset and gaff, lacing both up tight, and was getting ready to help him with the rest of his transformation when Michael shoo-ed her into a chair. "Just watch." he grinned at her.

And Karen did watch - stared at him, in fact, in open- mouthed amazement as he went over to her vanity and began his practiced transformation into Michelle. In very short order, he had teased his still short hair into a sassy, close cropped arrangement of curls. He put on a show for her when he slipped on the smokey stockings, trying his best to imitate the teasing pose he'd remembered from some lingerie shoot in a magazine. Extending his leg to the fullest and pointing his toes, he slowly unrolled and then smoothed the silk hose over each of his legs in turn. As he stood to attach the corset's garters, he stole a peek at his soon-to-be lover's reflection in the vanity's mirror and understood for the first time the phrase "Smoke coming out of her ears".

The look on her face was . . . interesting - very interesting. Her wide open eyes were fixated on his most subtle movement, and a light sheen of perspiration made her face seem to glow in the sun dappled light. She couldn't keep her hands still, and was ringing them in an effort to keep them in her lap. Every little bit, her nose would flare and the tip of her pink tongue would slip out to moisten lips dried by her deep, almost panting breathing.

Michael smiled, very pleased with himself as he sat down again, and began expertly applying Karen's cosmetics to his face. The colors weren't quite right for him, but they'd do in a pinch. Michael wasn't after a particularly classy look in any case.

When he stood and stepped into those incredible heels, Karen's eyes looked glazed as she took in the entire picture. "My god, Michael. . " she breathed. He was surprised her breath did not singe him with the fire he saw in her eyes.

The need in her voice and on her face made Michael shiver in delight. "No, Karen." Michelle's voice answered softly as she sauntered over to where Karen sat, transfixed on the bed and offered her lover her red nailed hand. "My name is Michelle, and I think you still have a great deal to teach me, lover."

With an almost anguished moan of desire, Karen pulled Michelle down onto the bed beside her and ravaged her young lover's mouth with a hungry kiss.

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

It was well after six in the evening when the two lovers made their weary way back down to the main reception area. There were more people there now. . .men as well as the women mingling, getting to know each other a bit before going up (or down, Michael mused thinking of that dungeon) to the rooms. Michael noticed one relatively short, very voluptuous redhead decked out from head to toe in a electric purple latex body suit that seemed to have been sprayed onto her all over her body. Handcuffs, a paddle and a multi-stranded whip swung loosely from a belt around her waist, obviously ready for immediate use.

Michael wondered idly if he should thank her for the loan of the lingerie, but decided against it. She might get the wrong idea and while he found her to be. . . . unexpectedly sexy and very intriguing, he knew that he was NOT ready for that. Maybe someday, though, he thought taking one last sideways look at the domination specialist. Maybe someday.

They found Jane reading in parlor room of the house's private living quarters. Both of the older women took in the looks of absolute satiation on the faces of both young people. "I take it you both had a good time?" Jane asked.

"Mmmmm. . ..Oh yes." Karen purred. "This man is very, very good," and she almost leered at Michael who was blushing profusely. "Very, very special." Jane almost laughed at the stunned look on Jean's face because there was absolutely no doubt that Karen meant every word.

"Ready to head back to the cabin, Michael?" Jane asked with a smile. He nodded. They exchanged farewells, but not before Karen swept Michael almost off his feet with her good bye hug and kiss. Jean could only stare at him, a mixture of disbelief and awe on her attractive features.

"Michael? Sweetie?" he looked up into Karen's sparkling eyes. "Let me know when you are in town next, and I will take a day off to show you around some. Among other things."

"You bet, Karen. It's a date." Michael called as he hurried to catch up with Jane.

As they walked out the door, Jane handed him a packaged, pre- moistened towelette. "You missed a bit of your eye shadow, dear." she teased. "Wouldn't do for it to be there when we stop at that truck stop for dinner, now would it."

Michael was in complete agreement on that score.

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

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary October 9 - Day 85

Dear Diary

Curioser and curioser. On the way home, Jane told me what was behind all this. Since I had decided to stay Michelle, she wanted me to know the male side of the equation before I go back to skirts. She wanted me to have something to compare against if I ever slip up and get hot and heavy with a guy.

She has got to be kidding.

Strangely, Jane was not surprised at all when I told her about Karen's orientation and how I had switched to Michelle halfway through the day. I know she saw the traces of my cosmetics, but somehow, I don't think that is the whole of it. It is the same kind of feeling I got when I intuited that Karen was not getting the same pleasure out of our lovemaking before Michelle arrived on the scene. There is something here, some little tidbit of information that I don't quite know and that Jane does. So what else is new?

Oh man, the look of on Karen's face as I started putting on Caro's special heavy "stalking makeup" like I knew what I was doing was absolutely priceless. Wish I'd had a camera. I will have to tell Carolyn that I used that cosmetics lesson after all. She'll be so pleased to be able to tell me "I told you so." Of course, I don't think she meant for me to use it to stalk a woman.

Okay. . . so how do I feel about losing my virginity and then having to shift to Michelle before my partner got any satisfaction out of my lovemaking? How do I feel about being the submissive partner during Karen's and my afternoon of lovemaking? It is really strange. If I had thought about this situation in advance, I would have thought I'd be upset that I wasn't "good" enough for her, and maybe even a little ashamed that I couldn't get her off "like a man".

Well, as that Jim Croce song that Jane is always playing goes "But that's not the way it feels."

It feels pretty damned good. I was right that something was missing - the pleasure wasn't mutual - it was all one sided. Once I became Michelle and surrendered to her (admittedly, dammit) greater strength, Karen became very excited. The loving was infinitely better. The feeling that I held her total pleasure, her entire being on the tip of my tongue or in my fingers is . . . empowering.

And if I truly gave her that kind of pleasure, how can I be not be a "man"? I wasn't diminished by giving her Michelle. I think I would have been diminished if I had continued only taking and not giving in return as Michael.

It felt good. How can anything that feels that good between two people, that harms no one, be anything but good? Answer: It can only be good. Better than good.

I don't think I would ever hesitate again, to do what it took to pleasure my lover.

Umm. . . well, thinking of that gal with the cuffs and whips, decked out in that latex thing? I might have to think once or twice or even thrice about that one. I think there would need to be a foundation of serious trust there before I could let someone take that kind of power over me. I wonder if that is a leftover reaction to my first experiences with Jane when she was so domineering and so intent on my humiliation? Maybe.

Maybe with Karen - that would be different. Wouldn't that gorgeous, leggy woman look dangerously sexy in one of those shiny latex full body suit things? I wonder if she does that stuff from time to time?

In any case, it is time for Michael/Michelle to go to bed. I am beat. But it is a very nice kind of beat.

Michael Nash

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

Jane sat in front of the fire, a very self satisfied smile lighting her lips. Her boy/girl had taken a big step towards being a real man this day. He had opened himself to ridicule and embarrassment in order to help meet the special needs of another person, putting that person's needs and desires ahead of his own. And in doing so, had received even more in return. A very good day, indeed. She was very proud of her boy. Very proud, indeed.

A Losing Season: Chapter 29.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary October 14 - Day 90

Dear Diary

Well, we got home late last night, and Michael's clothes were back in the attic closet before bedtime. That's okay, I guess. I missed my bubble bath in that rustic cabin. Showers are all right for Michael, but Michelle likes lounging in a hot froth of water and bubbles.

I have decided I am going to go to that dance with Dennis on Saturday. First of all, because I cannot think of anyway to avoid it, and not call real attention to myself. This one of those times that it would have been nice if David was going to school somewhere closer to New England than Illinois.

Secondly, because I have decided that, just as Jane and Caro have said, I need to learn how to function in these situations as a female.

And finally, because after Michael's and Michelle's time with Karen, I am no longer as confused about who I am and what I want. I want what Eric has and what Caro's husband has - a loving relationship with a woman who knows Michael and Michelle, and who enjoys both sides of me. I want children who I will ensure grow up certain of their parents' love. And that leaves out Dennis or any other guy, even if I do find being with them erotically exciting (which I have to admit to myself that I have), because they cannot give me kids.

I am going to wear everything I can think of that will make it difficult for me to get groped. Don't know what Dennis will think of if and when he tries to get cute, but that's his problem. Mine is getting through that shindig without being discovered.

Michelle Nash

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

Jane hung up the phone and sighed sadly. She'd hated not being able to commit to her friend, a judge in a midwestern city. Unfortunately, the case in question would require her to take charge of the boy early in the New Year which posed two problems. First, if Michelle was still with her at that point, which was still a definite possibility, it was highly unlikely that the girl would tolerate, much less assist Jane's program of petticoat-humiliation discipline.

"Jane?" came a soft voice at her open door. "Are you all right? Is there something wrong?"

She looked up and saw a concerned Michelle peering in at her from the front foyer. Jane shook her head. "Not really, Michelle. Just a call from a friend asking for help I cannot give her."

Michelle walked across the room and sat down in the hated chair on the other side of the desk. Oddly, it did not seem to have any power over her any more. "What kind of help?"

You really don't want to know, dear, Jane thought wryly. "Oh, she just wanted me to take on a project for her, and I could not commit to anything more as long as your training is in progress." she said, attempting to sound positive about the situation.

However, Jane had not counted on the almost empathic intuition her charge seemed to have developed over the past few weeks. She simply looked at Jane for several moments, and then she understood. "That was one of the people who sends you boys." Michelle said flatly. "She wanted you to take on another rehabilitation project."

Nodding wearily, Jane affirmed what Michelle had already divined. "Yes. Judge Ruth is another of my sorority sisters who now sits the bench of a juvenile court in a small city in Ohio. She has a boy she thinks would be ideal for the type of retraining I have specialized in for many years. But the boy needs to be here sometime between mid January and the first of February, and I just don't see how I can do it then."

"I see." Michelle said stonily. "And this woman thinks you can help him? Has she worked with you before?"

Jane smiled. "Of course. In fact, she is the one who sent David to me. He originally was supposed to go to her court, but the local DA was on a law and order kick, and wanted to try David as an adult. Ruth intervened, and with the help of another judge, got David sent to me. He either came to me by way of Ruth's order, or the DA would have him in regular court. They had enough evidence to convict - mostly because David had confessed."

"Is this the same type of thing?" Michelle asked tonelessly.

"You mean jail or here?" Jane raised her hands to her eyes and tried to massage the tension away. "Appears so. Ruth thinks he could be salvaged, but not if he ends up in the state prison."

"So why didn't you take him on? I mean, it is what you do, isn't it?" Michelle's tones were aggressively accusatory.

"What I used to do, Michelle. You are here, and even if you were not my first priority - which you are - I could not bring a young man in here for my usual program with you living here. At best, you'd be sullenly neutral, and at worst, you could undermine everything I was trying to do with him. I know you don't think much of what I do, Michelle, but having you here trying to thwart me at every turn would do the boy far more harm than good." Jane shrugged, trying to consign the feeling of failure away. "Now, that is enough on that subject since it is not going to happen. Were you looking for me?"

Pensively, Michelle replied. "Mmmmm yes. I wanted to tell you I had decided to accept Dennis' invitation to the Harvest Festival Dance at his school, and wondered if you and Maria would like to help me go through my closet and pick an outfit."

"Of course, dear. How about after dinner?" Michelle nodded her agreement and quietly left the room. Jane wished that the girl had not walked in on the end of that conversation or had not figured out just what the "project" had entailed. In any case, her initial response seemed to support Jane's worst fears. Too bad for the boy, she thought sadly, but her commitment to Michael had to come first.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary October 15 - Day 91

Dear Diary

Jane's going to refuse to take on this student because of me. I guess I should have expected that she'd be asked to accept new soon-to-be-sissies while I am in residence, but it never even occurred to me. Jane's assessment of my reaction, I am afraid, was dead on the mark. I probably would have tried to thwart her - especially now that I know just how hard she worked to make those terrorizing outings of hers safe for us. And if the boy knew that there really was no danger, Jane's power to accomplish anything, bad or good, would be severely limited.

Only now, I am not so sure what I think or what I would do. Heck, I wasn't sure when I walked out of the study. Jane was too depressed, and it did not seem to be the "oh darn, I won't have this boy to humiliate for my pleasure" type of disappointment. I think she is honestly sad that she won't be able to "help" this guy turn his life around. One thing I have come to believe without question is that Jane believes what she does with "her boys" really does help these guys.

The question I have had to ask myself is "Am I the only one who, having been through her treatment, feels the way I do about Jane's little program?" I turned to the only three sources I know - Bill, Caro's husband, Eric and David.

Evidently, I am. David, who knows this judge, said she was a square dealing lady who really tries to help the kids she has to deal with to the limits of her power. And he's already told me that he is grateful to Jane for taking a chance on him and helping him get past his problems. Bill, of course, is one of Jane's biggest fans. He'd have to be, or he couldn't live with what Caro does to help Jane.

By the time I got through to Eric, I was more confused than ever. He just said, "Michael. Jane's program did not work for you. You had issues she did not expect and very firm plans for your future that were completely incompatible with the person Jane wanted to make of you. Not only that, but because of your attempt to take your own life, you never completed the program. So, even if you had completed her training and it still did not work for you, all that says is that you are the exception among us who proves the rule. She has helped the rest of us. Just as she is helping you now that she better understands what you need. She may come on like a stone cold bitch, but that is necessary for what she does, and covers, as I believe you are beginning to discover, a very concerned and caring spirit."

Yes, Eric, I have figured that all out.

Okay. . .so what do I do? I am obviously a problem. This judge, who thought enough of David to send him to Jane, thinks the same about this guy. If she can't send him to Jane, it is almost one hundred percent certain that he will go to jail, which statistics say is not going to help him. Everyone else who knows about Jane thinks her evil games are useful and beneficial, at least they think that after the fact.

If I do nothing, the guy goes to jail. I just don't know if I can do to another person what Jane made David do to me!

I do not need this in my life.

Michelle Nash

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

When the evening meal was complete, Michelle spoke up. "Jane, could I please speak with you and Maria both? Not quite a time out, but almost?"

A hint of a smile shadowed Jane's drawn features. "Well, that certainly is clear. What does that mean? You don't shift into Michael-mode?"

Michelle nodded. "That's about it."

"All right. Maria, get the coffee and join us in the sitting room."

They sat on opposite sides of the coffee table, Jane and Maria on one side, Michelle on the other. Well, Jane mused, at least I can tell the players on each team. Us against her by all indications. Oh well. "All right, Michelle. This is your conference. What is on your mind?"

"How important to your program is the senior student?"

Whatever Jane had thought might be bothering her ward, that question had been completely unexpected. "Well. . . I am not really sure. I have only had two or three boys, including my very first, of course, who were here for their entire stay without an experienced girl to help guide them and to play good cop to my bad cop."

"But Maria could do that "good cop" thing if it was necessary, couldn't she?"

"As I have done in the past, I'll have you know, Ms. Nash" Maria answered pertly.

"Jane. . . I don't really know if I can help you like. . . like Beth helped you with me, but I am willing to try. I figure I will be going back to school during the day while he's, . . . . or rather while she's being indoctrinated," Michelle decided not to say what she was really thinking, "So I wouldn't be here to hinder your efforts. If you plan it carefully, you could schedule the harshest of your little games so that my "good cop/guide" would be available afterwards. I could help him with his petti's and with his other girl things, like Beth did for me, too. I just don't think I could set him up the way you made Beth set me up."

Jane had been completely unprepared for this type of compromise offer from her one failure, from the one she had almost driven to suicide. "You think you can do that, Michelle?" she asked softly. "Because if we accept this boy, he cannot have foreknowledge or nothing good will come of it."

"I don't know, Jane, and that's the God's honest truth. If I don't see the really . . . nasty stuff," Michelle saw Jane wince at that, but had to give her the unvarnished truth, "I think I can help without hindering in the type of limited role I just proposed."

Considering the possibilities, Jane nodded. It just might work. She could schedule most everything that really tore down the male ego and shattered his overblown sense of pride for times when Michelle was in school. There was only one thing.

"It seems like it might be workable, Michelle. Except one of my most effective exercises that helps the new student realize I am serious is to punish the senior student. Recall Beth going into her Raggedy Anne little girl clothes, and being forced to play with little girl toys. Normally, I don't have to tell the senior about that - I just do it to them and both students get the object lesson. Could you, or maybe it is closer to would you let me do that to you? For some manufactured failure on your part, in order to guide my new student? I won't be able to tone it down. It will be as real as if I were really intent on punishing you, and you will have to take it like that for the lesson to be effective."

Maria piped up. "It wouldn't be so bad, chicka. I promise to sneak you a snack after the junior goes to sleep when Jane orders you into your little girl jammies and sends you to bed without your supper."

Michelle smiled at that. "I can handle it, Jane, just like I can handle going to a dance with a guy, or any of the other things I have done in the past months. I guess I have trusted you this far, I need to trust you again." And then a glimmer of a mischievous smile tilted her lips. "But I will be watching you, Jane. Don't enjoy it too much."

Everyone laughed at that. "All right, I promise to try and hate every minute of it. Don't think I will succeed, but I promise that I will try." she took a breath. "And now, I think we should go up and go through your closet. We may need to go to Mrs. Franson's if you don't have a suitable outfit for the dance."

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary October 15 - Day 91

Dear Diary

I agreed to do my best to help her, and not to hinder her. Best I can do on this. Maybe, as an observer, I can be more objective about the process. Who knows?

Jane told me that the harvest festival dance is actually sort of a "barn dance". Most of the girls go in jeans and plaid work shirts. That suits me just fine. My one concession to fashion will be a low pair of heels, since I do not have any feminine boots. The jeans will work just fine, since they will make it much harder for Dennis to take liberties.

Michelle Nash.

"Michelle?" Jane called to her from the front parlor. "Please sit down. I have a question for you. From our conversation last night, you have evidently decided to go back to school here as Michelle and not to return to St. Andrews?"

"Yes, Aunt Jane. I will never again fit in at St. Andrews" and here she swept a hand down her very feminine presence, "now. And if I stay here, we've agreed I need to stay as Michelle."

"Very well. I will arrange for appropriate physician's orders for you not to participate in gym class or have to go to their school nurse for medical examinations. Other than those two situations, I believe you are up to the task. Do you know what you will study?"

"College prep - I am mostly done. One thing I did not do at St. A's was mess up academically. I could probably pass the equivalency tests right now, taking them cold." and then a bright smile lit Michelle's face. "And it seems to me, I was told I needed to take Home Ec."

"Smartie. All right, I will arrange everything right after Christmas. In the meantime, I will do what I can to fix your records so that no one will question why you are showing up as a female."

"Thanks, Aunt Jane. I really appreciate all your help."

Jane watched her young charge sail out of the room with just a touch of melancholy. She never would have believed that Michael would be willing to meet her halfway on the subject of another student, and he had come more than halfway. Now he was blithely planning a life with her into the future. It sounded surprisingly nice to Jane. It had been a very long time since she'd had a family. Oh, she had Maria, but Maria did not need Jane. Michelle did. Jane hoped that in the fullness of time, she still would.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary October 20 - Day 96

Dear Diary

I survived the dance, and Dennis survived his attempt to neck with me after the dance. But it was a near thing. Oh, the kissing was okay, and yes, it did make me hard again. However, when he got a little too cute, like trying to pull down the zipper of my jeans and then pulling my hand over onto his own hard-on, well, that ticked me off.

I put my hand on his crotch all right - right where it would do the most good and squeezed rather hard. Then I just smiled, and asked him very sweetly to take his bloody hands off me, and to take me home. Which he did, lucky for him.

He failed in his obligations as a gentleman to see me safely to my front door, too. Could not get the hell out of dodge fast enough once I was out the door and out of range of his family jewels.

Jane would probably call this an "object lesson". Michael would probably have tried much the same stunt half a year ago. Would have tried to make the girl feel guilty that she had "teased him" and then not "followed through on her promises"

Well, I did neither. Any "promises" were only in his fevered little brain.

I cannot say I like the comparison between Dennis and Michael being quite so close.

And I am NOT going out with that jerk again. I noticed tonight that there were several of the other girls from Wednesday's classes who arrived unescorted. They danced to their hearts' content, but when it came time to leave, they did not have to deal with any overactive male libidos. Hopefully, they will let me tag along with them next time. I think there is another dance a couple of weeks from now, and I really enjoyed the partying with the other kids.

Live and learn. Being Michelle does have its little pitfalls.

Michelle Nash.

A Losing Season: Chapter 30. The Future and Decisions

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary November 14/15 - Day 120/121

Dear Diary

God, what a mess. I don't even know what to do or who I can turn to. Jane would just go ballistic, but there isn't anything she can do without exposing me. And nothing really happened, it was just the intent. That was more than enough.

It just pisses me off that those two slugs are going to get away with it.

Just the facts.

I went to the Saturday dance with a bunch of the other girls from Caro's Wednesday class. Everything was fine - I was getting a few dances in and having fun. At about 10 pm I went to the ladies room. When I came out, I was ambushed and dragged off into an empty classroom by two guys in ski masks.

I am 99 and 44 hundredths percent sure that one of them was Dennis. The other one held my wrists and forced me to my knees, while "Dennis" undid his jeans and pulled out his cock.

They told me I was going to suck them both off, or they were going to have to hurt me. The one behind be was very strong, and I could not free my wrists from his grip, and the one I think was Dennis just started shaking himself in my face.

I tried to turn away, and so the one behind leaned down so that he could make his threats in my ear without having to speak loudly enough to be heard outside the room. That was his big mistake.

I snapped my head back so that the crown of my skull smashed right into his chin. He grip relaxed enough for me to free my wrists. Then I brought both of my forearms up into each of their groins as hard as I could. "Dennis" got the worst of it because his testicles were out hanging free where I could see them well enough to aim. The other one was wearing tight jeans that I think shielded him a little, but he still went down like a rock.

I was out of there, running as fast as I could go, only to be met by Anna and the other girls who had come looking for me. They saw the state I was in, and took me back into the ladies room to clean me up and fix my face.

I didn't tell them the truth. Only that two guys had shanghaied me, and pulled me away to steal kisses and to cop a few feels. One of them told a chaperone, but by the time he got there, the boys were long gone. Just as well, I guess. As I said before. What could we possibly do.

Anyway, I managed to convince everyone that it was not really a problem - just one of those stupid adolescent things guys do. There was no harm really done, so could we just forget it?

No harm. Right. Bullshit. I'm not bleeding and I did not actually get raped. It just feels that way.

This does however constitute another of Jane's object lessons. At least, that is what I keep trying to tell myself. As Michelle, I am perceived to be weak and vulnerable in ways that I never would have been as Michael. Never mind that Michael and Michelle are just the same size, and just the same strength, Michael would never have been attacked this way.

And Michelle is vulnerable. I have to deal with that, somehow. I can't sleep because every time I close my eyes, I see that boy waving his penis at my face. I wish I had marked the sons of bitches somehow, so that I could find them later on. I can't even be sure it was Dennis, and I have no idea who the accomplice was.

So I cannot get even on my own. I seem to be spending a lot of my time worrying about getting even. If this was Dennis, that may have been his motivation, too. Getting even for my threatening and humiliating him after the Harvest Festival Dance. Guess that is an object lesson, too. Being on the receiving end of an "I'll show you" ploy is not very nice.

Michelle Nash

Jane watched Michelle covertly from the entrance to the sitting room. Something was bothering the girl and had been bothering her for several days, now. A spark had died in her, and Jane did not know why.

"Michelle?" she asked, moving into the room. "Are you all right?"

A sad smile answered her. "I am okay, Aunt Jane. Just feeling a little under the weather."

"Do you want me to call Nurse Nora, Michelle?"

Shaking her head, "No, thank you, Aunt Jane. I will be fine."

"Do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me!" Michelle snapped with far too much vehemence.

Brows lifted, Jane looked at her charge. "I see. Well, if you change your mind, let me know."

The girl moved so quickly, Jane was not ready to find herself locked in a fierce embrace. "Thanks for caring, Aunt Jane." she whispered, and then ran from the room.

Whatever was bothering her, Jane mused, it was definitely something she wanted to try to deal with alone. Jane had to respect that, but she hoped that the girl would be able to do so on her own.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary November 19 - Day 125

Dear Diary

Jane is worried about me. I don't know what to tell her. Last night, I slept without nightmares, although Michelle does sometimes get lost in thought thinking about it. Even that has happened fewer times today. I don't know why I am coming out of it so quickly. That is not the way my books on psychology say women recover from this type of experience. So, maybe it is the part of me that is mostly Michael that is responsible, but I think I am coming to grips with this incident, and starting to put it behind me.

Or is it just that Michael is able to ignore how he feels and that is, to some extent, shielding Michelle who is feeling very used, dirty and frightened? Maybe both. Of course, if Michael ever slips and is forced to confront these feelings, it could really get ugly.

God, I was so scared!

Still, Michael was able to protect himself, and in the process was able to protect Michelle. That means a lot to me, when I allow myself to take a "male" view of the incident. That was pretty hard to do for a couple of days when the memories were so overwhelmingly fresh. But Michael "helps".

Maybe this is part of becoming Jane's better balanced personality - in some situations the male side of me is better able to cope, and in others, the female is the stronger one. It is a matter of being both, and relying on both to see me over the rough spots.

Each to his or her own strengths and abilities? Makes sense to me, but I still think this is going to bother me for a very long time. Hell, I even bought a can of pepper spray yesterday, not that it would have been of any benefit the way those two assholes got to me. Still, as long as I can let Michael deal with the worst of it, I can move on and I can function as Michelle.

Wonder what Eric or Dr. Spinelli would have to say about all this? Probably say I am rationalizing and internalizing and that it is going to bite me in the butt eventually. Well, it is my butt, and one thing Jane has taught me. I have to try to do things as best that I can.

In any event, I am not going to any more of those damned dance classes. Good ole Denny's mom might object to seeing her little darling writhing in the fetal position on her nice pretty dance floor trying to find his balls.

Michelle Nash

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

Jane kept casting looks across the breakfast table where Michael was sitting, calmly eating his preferred morning meal of yogurt and cereal. She did not mean to be rude, it was just that every time she glimpsed the young man out of the corner of her eye, it surprised her. She simply wasn't used to having Michael at her table instead of Michelle.

The day was Thanksgiving, and Jane had planned a huge holiday feast with all of her local friends attending. After reviewing the guest list, Jane had realized that everyone of her invited guests was someone who was already in on her and Michelle's secret. That being the case, and since no one else was likely to visit on a family holiday, Jane had offered to let her ward attend as Michael.

Michael pretended to be unaware of the looks he was getting from both Jane and Maria, just as he pretended not to notice the lack of their normal breakfast banter. Maria, who usually found something to tease Michelle about, had only set Michael's breakfast in front of him. She hadn't even asked him if he wanted anything different for a change. As for Jane, she kept her nose buried in the paper when she wasn't trying to avoid staring at him. She did not read him a single amusing line or share any of the comics with him as she always did with Michelle.

It was a bloody uncomfortable experience. It had not felt like this in Tahoe, but then, Tahoe was neutral ground. This house was Jane's private world, and while Michelle was a part of that world, Michael was not. After finishing his breakfast, Michael excused himself, received only a nod from Jane, and went into the sitting room to read.

Unfortunately, the entire morning went that way, with everyone who showed up. The only exception was Bill, Caro's husband. Sandy and Brenda Franson had stared at him in open mouthed disbelief when Michael had met them at the door. Caro had wrinkled her brow questioningly, but at least she had broken down and given him a greeting hug.

However, the absolute worst part of the morning had been in the kitchen when he'd offered to help with something. He had been very graciously and very firmly rebuffed and told to go watch football with Bill. Michael had not felt so alone since David had left for college.

A very moody Michael sat stolidly in the recreation room, staring at the television and seeing nothing.

"It's not you, you know." an amused Bill said gently. "It's them."

Michael snapped out of his fugue to look up at the older man. "I don't know what you mean."

"I saw the look on your face when Caro did not immediately hug you as she does when she greets Michelle. And I saw your dejection when they chased you out of the kitchen just now." Michael turned his head away, afraid he would lose control and begin to cry. "Like I said, it's their problem, not yours. While they have all become very fond of Michelle, they just don't know how to relate to Michael. I don't want to hurt your feelings by saying this, but they've forgotten that Michael is no longer the insensitive clod who originally arrived here. They don't realize that their unthinking rejection of you has hurt your feelings."

"How do you see that so clearly?" Michael asked, unnerved by Bill's perception.

"Been there, done that, got the bra and the pantihose to prove it." he quipped, drawing a laugh from Michael.

"They'd be hurt if I pointed it out, or told them how I was feeling. And I don't want to do that to them."

"So don't. It is their problem. Don't let it ruin your holiday."

Michael became silent at that point, as he ran through what Bill had said, over and over in his mind. He did not want to hurt any of them, but this was going to ruin his holiday. And probably theirs as well, he conceded.

"Excuse me, Bill. I need to go get something."

Bill gave him a wave, and then smiled broadly at the retreating back of Michael Nash.

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

"I think I am going to have to leave before dinner, Jane." Brenda Franson was saying as the women sat around Maria's table, finishing up the hors d'oerves for today's feast. "I really need to go to the shop and finish the last minute details for my After Thanksgiving rush crowd."

Jane was about to protest, when another voice spoke up first. "Please don't, Mrs. Franson. At least stay for dinner, and then, if you really need to go work at your shop, I will go with you to help you make up for the lost time."

The women all turned to the kitchen door to see Michelle standing there wearing a green and red dress that Jane had bought her for the holidays. "Michael?" she asked, "but what are you doing in . . "

"Michelle, Jane." her ward corrected. "Do you see any Michaels around here? How about it, Sandy? Do you?"

Sandra burst into laughter, and was soon joined by the other women. "Hell no, girlfriend. Not a sign of one."

Michelle then entered the kitchen from which Michael had so recently been banished, rubbing her hands together theatrically. "Now, is there any way I can help?" she asked plaintively. Five sets of hands reached out to drag her to the table.

It was a great holiday, the best Michelle or Michael could ever remember.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary November 28 - Day 134

Dear Diary

What a wonderful day. After I made the switch back to Michelle, anyway. Bill was right. They weren't prepared to deal with Michael's presence. Brenda almost left, but she stayed the whole day once I was Michelle again.

Just another thing I would never have believed back in July, but today it was important to me that all of Jane's friends relax and have a good time. And for that to happen, I needed to be who they expected me to be. Actually, I gained far more than I lost on the deal. Michael could have watched every football game, but he would never have been accepted into Maria's kitchen domain. That was special. Besides, Brenda is one of those people who puts the word "fan" in "fanatic". I got to watch all the football I wanted once we'd eaten and finished the cleanup.

So I guess I am a different person than I was. Even as Michael, because the BJT (Before Jane Thompson) Michael would not have cared a fig for the comfort of others. Most especially, he would not have given a damn for the comfort of Jane's little cadre and certainly would never have willingly become Michelle to ease their tension.

And, I also guess that, strange and impossible as that may have seemed in July, these women have become Michelle's friends, too. Which was the primary reason that I changed.

The only real down-check on my day is that Michelle still wears that darned body shaper and that tool of torture most definitely makes Michael's eyes bigger than Michelle's belly. Oh well, everything tasted wonderful - what little I could get down. And, I am not as likely to get assigned extra crunches and extra minutes on the StairMaster by Sonja after my weekly Monday weigh-in. Every silver lining has a cloud. Or something like that.

It was a grand day!

Michelle Nash

Jane sat in her den, sipping a brandy and watching as the flames in her fireplace danced and flickered. She was so incredibly proud of that boy. She'd realized far too late that it had been a mistake to allow Michael attend the party instead of Michelle. However, once she'd given her okay, it would have been churlish to order him back into skirts just because her circle of friends did not know what to do around the boy they'd all had a hand in making over into a girl.

But the young man (not a boy any longer, Jane reminded herself sternly) had sensed what was wrong and had cared enough to do something about it. He had come so far in the past months; had learned so much more than he'd ever known, had matured so far beyond the juvenile delinquent who had been suspended from his school and then deposited on her doorstep by his Mother.

She just wished he had come far enough to turn away from his stated goals as Michelle. But it was probably too late for that now, anyway.

A Losing Season: Chapter 31. Attack Imminent

Jane stood outside the door of her front parlor, knowing that this had to be done, but wishing she could just forget the whole thing. She sighed unhappily. She had given her word, she thought. At least twice, and it all came down to this. Steeling herself, Jane moved into the room where Michelle sat reading yet another book. Probably psychology again, she thought.

Michelle looked up from her book, a blank expression on her perfectly made up face. She looked so completely feminine, Jane mused not for the first time. In all of her years of training young men to look and behave like young women, not one of them had approached the level attained by this one. Which made it all the sadder that her motive for achieving all this perfection was the accomplishment of so base a goal.

The Laura Ashley sweater and skirt combination were set off by opaque white stockings and low heeled black pumps. Her jewelry was tastefully selected and was completely appropriate to her age and her apparel. Her manner was refined and gentle. She looked like a young lady who had just returned home from Sunday services. Which, with the exception of truly being a lady, was exactly what she was. It had amazed Jane when Michelle asked if they could go to church to celebrate the start of the Christmas season, but she had given her assent. They'd both had a lovely time.

Indeed, she was perfect.

"Yes, Aunt Jane?" Michelle finally asked, breaking the odd silence between them.

Jane shrugged inwardly, and pressed forward. "Michelle. I know it is still very early in your training, but I have what may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here that you should consider." She handed Michelle a piece of gold-gilt parchment and then stood by in silence as the girl read it.

"This is an invitation to my Mother's engagement party next month. So, she has finally managed to get one of her boyfriends to come up to scratch." Jane watched her pupil, and was surprised to see that, although her words had been harsh, her face had reflected no such emotion. Either Michelle had become very good at masking her feelings, or the girl did not actually find the concept of her Mother remarrying as distasteful as she let on. "What has this to do with me, Aunt Jane?"

Jane took a seat on the chair next to Michelle. "I should think that it would be obvious, pet. We could both attend that party together and you would have your chance to get even with her Mother. Many very powerful and influential people will attend this event. Her fiance will be there. What better time could there be for you to face down your Mother and force her to acknowledge what you've become and what she's lost." Jane had spoken in very calm, very reasoned tones, as if she had absolutely no doubt that Michelle could accomplish such an end.

Michelle stared at the mentor she had recently found herself caring about deeply. Could she really mean that? Could they really do something that . . . that total? Michelle shook her head, trying to clear her thinking, and failed. It was all too much, too soon. "Too soon." she repeated those words aloud, hoping to convince Jane and herself. "I am not ready for that type of event, Jane." Her voice held a touch of panic. "Maybe a year from now. . .Maybe. I mean, really Aunt Jane, I have only been doing this for a few months. I could never hold up under such demanding scrutiny as I'd have to face at that party. No, I need to learn much more."

Jane chuckled at her young friend's panic and prevarication. "Now, Michelle," she soothed, "You've held up just fine at any number of dances and parties with the local teenage crowd. I assure you that none of the people who are at that party will be quite so forward as a seventeen year old male in heat." Michelle blushed at that reminder of a recent party where she'd been forced to threaten to knee one suitor in the groin before he finally backed off.

"Wish I'd never told you about that one." Michelle muttered under her breath.

"Well, you did, but that is beside the point. What is to the point is that, with the exception of a few of the young men at the party, no one is going to look at you twice. The women are going to ignore you because you are far more beautiful than they, and the men will ignore you because their women will be watching them. You can mingle or dance or even play wallflower, as you choose, but you will be there and your Mother will see you. You could tell her that her son is dead to her when we make our final good byes to her."

Michelle wasn't sure how she felt about that idea just now. It was one thing to think about, to fantasize about, but to actually go out and intentionally hurt someone? Even if his Mother surely deserved everything he could do to her? But isn't that what you want??, her mind screamed, only to be answered by another part of her brain - I don't know! She needed time. Time to think. Time to get her priorities back in order. "I don't know, Aunt Jane. I just don't think I am ready."

Jane simply shook her head. "You are never going to be any better than perfection, Michelle. You are ready. If we are going to go through with this, it would be best to do it as soon as possible. Furthermore, your Mother will never be more vulnerable than she will be on the day of her engagement party, particularly if she really does love that man."

Michelle considered that. "Do you think she really does? Love him, I mean."

"I don't know, Michelle. I do know that your Mother has had any number of affairs over the years since your father died with men who would have been more than delighted to wed her. If she is marrying this one, then either she does truly love him, or she is broke and needs the money that marrying a wealthy man will bring her."

"No." Michelle responded firmly. "She is still wealthy beyond anyone's needs. The annual income on her share of the stock from my father's company alone is in the seven figure range."

"Then I think she must have genuine feelings for the man." Jane said with great finality. "So. Do I RSVP accepting, or tendering our regrets?"

"Aunt Jane? Speaking of finances, I won't come into my trust fund for another three years. What if she cuts me off after this? I won't have any income and likely no place to live."

Jane squelched that argument quickly. "I told you, Michelle, that I would take care of you until you reach your majority and can take charge of your trust. That promise has not changed - will not change. Please trust me on this. I won't let anything bad happen to you because I care about you. Okay?"

Wonder shown in Michelle's eyes as she absorbed Jane's last words. The girl/boy was so hungry for simple affection that it made Jane hurt. Dammit, she thought, regardless of what Barbara wanted or had to do, this child needed love. Well, she'd just have to see that he got it in the future, wouldn't she?

A tear cut a path down Michelle's cheek, and she flew into Jane's arms. "And .. .and I care about you, too, Aunt Jane."

Before the shocked older woman could react, Michelle jumped to her feet. "Aunt Jane, please excuse me, but I need to go somewhere and think." She was out the door before Jane could reply.

Once she was certain the girl was not returning, Jane allowed herself to relax for the first time since the engraved invitation had arrived. And remembering the surprise hug, she also allowed herself to smile.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary November 30- Day 136

Dear Diary

Well, my chickens have come home to roost. My Mother is engaged to be married and is holding a gala society ball at the South Hampton house as an engagement party. Jane was invited, which I guess means that I have been invited, too.

This wasn't supposed to happen for months, years even. I mean, it's always been the back of my mind, but I never thought it would be so soon. I thought I would have much more time to prepare myself for this, and now, it is almost upon me.

I cannot understand how I feel right now. I should be excited about this, gleefully anticipating the scene I would make as I told her of her son's demise. I mean, it is the perfect opportunity for the maximum possible effect, to really show her just what she condemned me to suffer when she sent me to Jane last spring.

But am I ready for this?

God, I don't even know why I am so confused!

And as for passing at the party, Jane was right about that as well. Actually, Jane does not know the real story. How could I tell her that I was not merely groped by two Neanderthals instead of one, and I was nearly raped. Since that Dennis, that son of a female dog, is a homophobic idiot, I have a damned good notion just how well I am passing as a female these days.

So fear of not passing is just an excuse, exactly as Jane said.

Well, I guess all this means I have to go. There may never be another chance like this, and I have to open the door when opportunity's knocking this loudly. Because if I don't do this, then everything I've done for the past five months, everything I've endured from that damned gaff to the actual abdication of my masculinity, would have been for nothing.

So, it appears I must go to my Mother's engagement party.

Shit. I bet this means another shopping trip.

Michelle Nash.

A Losing Season: Chapter 32. Battle Planning and Logistics

Actually, it was several shopping trips. Mrs. Franson's store, The Style Shoppe, carried a nice selection of very smart dresses and gowns, but she had nothing really suitable for a New York society debutante attending her first ball. At least, not in Jane's or Mrs. Franson's estimation. Oh, no. This gown had to be perfect - one of a kind. It had to be hideously expensive and a designer original.

Jane swept her unhappy student off to Boston where a well known fashion designer fitted her a ball gown. Fortunately, the glued on prosthetic breasts and Caro's special cosmetic blending compound held up through that ordeal; Michelle looked completely passable, even in her lingerie. The strapless bra gave her support and the special gaff designed to look like a g-string panty kept Michael in check, as well.

The designer was a little miffed that both Jane and Michelle steadfastly vetoed every one of her attempts to tease them into a lower neckline that would "properly show off your lovely bosoms, dear."

Which, of course, was one of the few things that the dress could not show off. Caro's body paint worked just fine in the relative sedentary, cool world of the fitting room, but it would not be so effective over several hours in the body temperature heat at Michelle's Mother's ball. At some point during that long evening, whether it was in the middle of a crush of other guests, or when pulled tight against some male's body, pretending to waltz, the stuff would probably melt and get rubbed off onto her dance partner's tux or some woman's bodice. Jane and Michelle had too much respect for the whimsies of Mr. Murphy to permit the designer to have her way.

Finally the designer surrendered, and instead proposed a dress with a high neckline designed to show off Michelle's lovely long throat. That worked very nicely. Michelle even modeled the five stranded pearl choker with antique cameo she intended to wear with the dress during that initial fitting.

The initial fitting went off without incident, and even better than Jane had dared hope. However, the long period of standing absolutely still, while under the close scrutiny of the modiste, had been a nerve racking experience for Michelle. Thus it was a very relieved Michelle who finally scurried away from that shop as quickly as Jane would let her.

Amused, Jane permitted the headlong flight for about a block before she reined in the girl. "Stop worrying, Michelle." Jane chided gently. "The worst is over. She'll even be coming to the house for the other fittings, and you will be able to change into the gown in the privacy of your own room. Now, Betty Franson can handle the lingerie and hosiery for us, and you already have your jewelry, so we don't have to worry about those. Let's see. . . ah yes, the shoes." she all but sighed with pleasure at the thought of their next stop.

~---------~ Excerpt: Michelle's Diary December 2 - Day 138

Dear Diary

I wonder if I need a tetanus shot? After the fifth or sixth time we told that bitch that I was not going to be showing off "my lovely bosoms", those damned pins of hers started sticking me more than they did the darn dress.

As for the dress - well, I just don't know. I still can't tell what the thing is going to look like at this point - but Jane can and she is positively rhapsodic over it.

I just hope it works for me.

I need sleep. Jane has had us both on the move since before seven this morning, and we finally finished what we could at about six tonight. Another thing I don't want to think about is what is it that we couldn't get done. How could there possibly be any more?

Michelle Nash

Jane smiled happily to herself in her room of the large suite she had rented in Boston. Michelle was sound asleep in her own room, exhausted from her ordeals. Still, she'd held up well, and had only come close to panic once - when she'd had to strip down for the modiste. Even then, she had only behaved like a shy, well bred, if somewhat sheltered young woman asked to undress in front of a stranger.

Jane had thoroughly enjoyed their day of shopping. She'd almost forgotten the simple pleasure of just shopping for pretty things with another female. Oh, she went on innumerable "shopping" expeditions with her sissy boys, but those excursions were intended to scare the panties off the little darlings. The problem was, Jane could never relax her vigilance during those jaunts, because although she only frequented the establishments of women who were in on her secret, there were usually other people in those popular stores who were not. Jane had to be constantly on the lookout for real danger while Betty or Caro or Sandy worked on and worked over her little sweeties.

Not so today. Michelle was so close to actually being a woman, that sometimes Jane found herself forgetting that her ward was physically a male. Today had been just such a time, and although Michael would deny it with his dying breath, Jane and Michelle had had a wonderful time. The little minx had even teased the hell out of that poor shoe salesman with her lovely legs as he fitted her for a pair of hand made pumps to match her gown. Yes, today had been great fun, and Jane had almost been able to forget the disaster that was looming in her future.

Almost.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary December 5 - Day 141

Dear Diary

I had my first home fitting of the new gown, today. I have to admit that Jane had it right. My dress is going to be gorgeous. The only downside is that the darn thing has to be white, since this is my "coming out" and debutantes are always arrayed in white purity when they are first presented as "virgins in society". Some stupid tradition left over from Regency England, I'm told. I wanted something festive and bright, maybe jewel tones selected to match my eyes, and to knock the eyes out of whoever sees me in it.

My god. . . .what did I just write?

Oh hell. Honesty time again. Yes, I love the dress. It makes me look and feel pretty, and that makes me feel good. Certainly better than I ever felt about myself back when I was a male.

When I was a male? What the hell do I think I am now?

Interesting question, and one I am not entirely certain I want to or even can answer. However it is abundantly clear that Michelle is no longer just a disguise or an means to an end. I really do not know where Michael ends and Michelle starts. I guess that is what Eric and David meant by saying they were both themselves and their feminine alter egos.

Which begs another question. If next month at my Mother's party, I do finish what I started so many months ago, what happens then? In particular, what happens to all the planning Jane and I have done so Michelle can go to school? What about my little "sister"?

Or do I go back to being Michael? Or even mostly Michael? I don't really know anymore. I really have never given any thought to anytime or anything beyond my giving my Mother what she seemed to want of me. Jane has said I will always have a home with her, but it goes beyond that.

I've said I want to go to college, and Jane has said that she could arrange that for me as Michelle. But that was when we thought the masquerade would go on much longer than a mere five or six months.

Well, the first thing I will do once this is over is take charge of my life and figure out what I want to do with it.

The strangest part of all this is that I am more excited about the dress than I am about achieving my six month goal.

And I don't even want to think any more about that little concept.

Michelle Nash.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary December 18 - Day 154

Dear Diary

Well, tomorrow is the point of no return. The party is the day after so tomorrow we will take a ferry from somewhere in Connecticut down to Long Island's Montauk Point where a car will pick us up. We will be spending the night with one of Jane's friends (not Mother) because Jane does not want to take the chance I will slip up and expose myself to my Mother before the party. "If you are going to do it at all, dear, then do it where and when it will have the greatest effect."

Jane would have made a hell of an army general.

The dress is done, and is packed away lovingly by Maria, ready for transport to our destination. Maria cried when I modeled the full outfit for her, and wasted an entire roll of film. She had me parading up and down the stairs, doing the "Scarlet O'Hara gliding down the front hall grand staircase at Tara" thing, or slinking down the runway like some kind of high fashion model showing off the latest Bill Blass creation. Well, at least I learned how during my part time job as a model for Mrs. Franson.

Well, maybe it's not entirely a waste - the dress is absolutely gorgeous.

I wonder if she will let me have some copies of the better shots? Just for souvenirs.

As to what I will do the night of the party, my mind is no clearer than it has been since Jane first told me we were going to face my Mother.

In my darkest heart, I have to say that I really am looking forward to seeing the look on her face when I unveil myself as the person who used to be her son, and when I tell her precisely what I mean to do in the future.

And yet. . .,

God. And yet, in my less evil moments, I have to ask - does she really deserve this? Well, for neglecting me, yes, maybe somewhat. But on the other hand, her "abandonment" of me to Jane - in the final analysis, was that really such a bad thing? Haven't I ultimately gained Maria and Jane from that?

My stomach is really churning. I don't think I am going to sleep a wink between now and the party. I don't even know why it is still bothering me this way.

Wait, that is not quite right. I do know something of the reason. I am frightened. The thing I don't know is precisely what it is that frightens me.

Sometimes I think it is the confrontation with my Mother, and its subsequent fallout, assuming that there is one. Other times, I think it is the uncertainty of my future beyond that confrontation.

And some times, during those really dark, lonely times when I don't seem to know quite who or what I am anymore, I am pretty sure it is me that I fear the most.

What I am planning is not a very nice thing to do to anyone. Isn't that a gross understatement? Some might say my plans are the complete opposite of the Golden Rule. In "killing" Michael to give her Michelle, I have, in a very real sense, abandoned her as she abandoned Michael. I will do unto her as she has done unto me.

I read something the other day that described revenge as a blade that cuts both ways. As I approach the culmination of my plan, I have come to understand that concept only too well. My little "I will show her" plan is starting to sound a great deal like revenge, and I am not happy about that. After a great deal of reflection on all the possible outcomes of this enterprise, I have concluded that I will not come out of it unscathed. Will the outcome be worth what I have already endured, and what I will have to endure after the fact? I just don't know.

Six months ago, heck, three months ago, I would have simply gone off and done this thing without a qualm or a second thought. Now, I have many of each, and yet, do I really have any choice? I mean, if I don't do this thing, will I ever be free of this. . .this hurting inside me?

I wish I knew.

I seem to be saying that a lot, lately.

Michelle Nash

A Losing Season: Chapter 33. Storming the Castle

The extended body limousine pulled around the long circular driveway and rolled to a stop directly in front of the red carpeted entrance to his Mother's house. Michael Nash had not been inside that house since his Father's funeral; since he'd begun his gypsy life of going from one boarding school to another, from one more camp to the next. Michelle was certain that Jane must be able to hear the pounding of her heart as she stared at the familiar stone pillars of what should have been home.

Oh God, Michelle thought bleakly. I am not ready for this.

Jane sensed rather than saw the hesitancy in her charge's demeanor, and rested a single gloved hand on Michelle's wrist. The lovely vision spun to lock eyes with her Aunt. A strange sad little smile played across Jane's lips before she nodded toward the doorman stepping up to open the car door for them.

Months of training snapped into control and Michelle acted on what was now pure instinct. Offering her gloved fingers up to the gaudily uniformed man, she permitted him to hand her up and out of the car. Michelle bestowed a blinding smile on him and watched with quiet amusement as he almost stumbled getting back to help Jane.

"Ready, my dear?" Jane asked softly as she took her place beside Michelle.

Hell no, Michelle thought before answering "As ready as I will ever be. Lets do this and get it over with, Jane, before I do something stupidly female - like faint."

The entrance foyer was just as Michelle remembered it - rich with red velvet, polished hardwoods and gilt edged trim. As she turned to give her wrap to the butler, she saw the huge, curving grand staircase with its brightly polished bannister. An old memory tugged at her just then, of a young boy caught sliding down that bannister by an angry father who turned him over to his Mother for punishment.

Only, she hadn't punished him. Instead, she'd swatted a sofa pillow and told him to scream loudly. Then the pair of them had snuck into the kitchen to filch cookies from the cook. Her only admonition had been to tell him to make sure his Father was not around the next time he felt like sliding.

Odd how he'd managed to forget things like that - his father always finding fault with him, always finding reasons to "discipline the boy and make a man out of him." And it had always been his Mother who had taken his side, or softened the punishment. What had changed, Michelle's mind cried. When had things changed between Michael and his Mother? Wasn't that the memory of a loving Mother protecting her child from an unjustly harsh punishment?

"Michelle?" Jane's voice broke in on the flood of unanswered questions in Michelle's mind. "Are you all right?" was the solicitous question.

Taking a deep breath, Michelle fought off the memories and nodded to Jane. "I'm all right. I was just remembering. . remembering something."

"A happy or a sad something?" Jane asked gently.

"Both." was the curt answer. "And neither. Let's go in."

The ballroom of the mansion was filled with people engaged in the fine arts of flirtation and small talk. The orchestra was not scheduled to start for another couple of hours, and so the guests made free with the light buffet of savory gourmet finger foods and the open bars laid out in the small rooms about the periphery of the ball room.

Neither Jane nor Michelle had eaten that day, but both were so nervous that the mere thought of eating made their stomachs roil. Jane went to one of the bars and returned with two wine flutes filled with a clear, sparkling liquid. Michelle's brows went up in query as Jane handed her one of the chilled glasses.

"Perrier, darling. I think we will both need our wits about us before this night is over. Now lets go mingle."

Somehow, they managed to avoid Barbara in their wanderings. Whether that was intentional on Jane's part, or simple serendipity, Michelle did not know. She was, however, grateful for whatever brought that to pass. Her ambivalence about confronting her Mother seemed to be growing with each passing minute.

At some point in the evening, the orchestra began to play a rousing little ditty to get everyone's attention. Barbara and her fiance walked hand in hand to the makeshift podium and greeted their guests.

It was the first time that Michelle had ever gotten a good look at Michael's soon-to-be stepfather. He was a very slender fellow of medium height - actually shorter than his Mother since she was wearing fairly tall spiked heels - who moved with unusual grace for a man. He was handsome, in an almost pretty sort of way - much like an older Leo DeCaprio - with his light blonde, somewhat long hair and eyes that were probably blue. He was also, if Michelle was any judge of it, more than a decade younger than Michael's forty two year old mother.

As Michelle watched the pair, her Mother's true feelings came through to her with crystalline clarity. Michelle's mother was deeply in love with that man. The sheer emotion that lit up her Mother's entire face made Michelle blush and want to turn away.

After the remarks and the many toasts to the happy pair, the orchestra began to play a waltz, and the betrothed couple led off the dancing to the applause of all the guests.

Much of what happened thereafter was mostly a blur to Michelle. She had been offered and had accepted dance invitations from several men. A couple of them were old enough to be her grandfather, and they had enjoyed the opportunity to take a turn around the dance floor with such a lovely young woman. She had glowed under their genuine compliments and had dutifully giggled at their gentle, fatherly teasing. Her other dance partners, with the notable exception of two boors, were pleasant young men who danced well and who made an effort to put her at ease.

She even managed to fit in with the other women guests as well. The grand dames wanted to introduce their sons to her, and the younger girls seemed to want to emulate her. On one occasion she heard one woman point her out to another matron. "That one has been well trained by someone. She'd have been acceptable in our time, dear, unlike so many of these hoydens." It had made her smile.

One of her few real smiles that night.

The only difficulties she'd had to face, with the exception of her Mother, were two young preppie males in the St. Andrews Academy mold, who obviously thought they were God's gift to women. Michelle had vainly tried to ignore the wandering hands of the first one, but he would not be deterred. As the dance thankfully ended, the hand he rested behind her tugged at her zipper. Fed up at last, Michelle stopped, and with a dazzling smile on her face, went up on tiptoe to whisper something to the young fool.

Jane wondered if anyone else saw the look of surprise followed by stark terror on the man's face as Michelle got her message through to him. Or if anyone saw the hand taking a fistful of something down around his groin and start squeezing. Jane did not think so, since Michelle had been very careful to keep her skirts between her quarry and the rest of the assembly.

The second incident occurred an hour or so later. This young buck managed to muscle Michelle out onto the terrace during their dance. Although the air was unseasonably mild for December in New York, it was still quite chilly for a young lady in a silk gown and not very much else. Having seen what the churlish young man had done, Jane had immediately hurried over to the terrace door just in time to see Michelle's dance partner trying to force his mouth onto hers.

Suddenly, the man jumped back, his hand flying to his mouth. Jane could not hear what was said, but she recognized the stern, down-the-nose glare Michelle fixed on her erstwhile suitor as the one she herself employed with her more recalcitrant sissy boys. And with much the same effect, too, she was pleased to note. Then Jane only barely missed being knocked over by a furiously blushing man holding a bleeding lower lip as he all but ran from the scene. Jane watched as her ward took a few moments to compose herself before walking with sedate poise back to the ball room.

The girl had learned far more than Jane had realized in the past months. God, but she was proud of this student. If only things were different, she thought yet one more time.

For her own part, Michelle had had just about enough "society" to last her a lifetime. She was heartily weary of the entire thing and wanted nothing more than to leave this place with its painful memories and its myriad ghosts. She started scanning the room for Jane, only to have her gaze fall on her Mother, still dancing with her husband-to-be. The pure unadulterated joy on Barbara's face took Michelle's breath away, and she simply stood there spellbound, watching them dance as one.

The spell broke when the song completed and the orchestra leader announced an intermission. Michelle again looked about for Jane, this time locating her off to one side of the ballroom, over near the door to the terrace that lout had pulled her off to. Purposefully, she moved through the throng of milling guests and upon reaching Jane, took her elbow and led her to a quiet corner.

"Jane, I have had enough. I want to leave. Could we please go home? Now?"

Jane lifted one thin, finely lined brow. "Now? Before we complete the mission to which you have dedicated the last six months? What about your Mother?"

There were tears in her ward's eyes, now. Whether from frustration, anger or sadness, Jane did not know. She wished she did.

"No, Aunt Jane. This is her night. She is happy and in love. No matter how much I hurt, no matter how much I think she deserves to hurt, I just can't do it."

"Does this mean we will be coming back at some later date to finish the job?" Jane probed gently.

"No." Michelle shook her head in defeat. "Not now. Not ever. It is over. I am going to move past this. Somehow. Try to figure out where I fit into the world. I guess I will need to take you up on your offer to stay with you, at least for a while." and here she sighed deeply. "Which means I will be staying Michelle for the foreseeable future. Too many people around your house know Michelle and would probably recognize me if I suddenly showed up as Michael." She looked at her reflection in the glass terrace doors and gave Jane a wan smile. "That's okay, I guess I kinda like being Michelle. Heck, I don't think I'd know how to be Michael around you, Aunt Jane."

"You could learn, dear, if that is what you truly want."

"That's okay. Right now, I probably don't know how to be Michael - period. Can we go, now?" she asked again, plaintively. "Please?"

"All right. Look, you go into that little sitting room off the foyer while I go to the powder room and then call for our car."

Michelle nodded and let herself be led away by her aunt.

Losing Season: Chapter 34. The Final Confrontation

The little room had a small love seat and several chairs clustered into a cozy little grouping in the center of the room, with a small antique writing desk off to one corner. Wearily, Michelle settled onto the love seat to wait for Jane. Her mind drifted until she noticed her reflection again, this time in the glass fireplace screen. With detached interest, she studied the picture she made. Hands resting demurely on her lap, her knees together and her ankles crossed. "God, I look like one of those Regency Misses from the novels Jane is always making me read." she muttered to herself.

"Yes, you do at that." came a soft voice behind her.

Michelle's head slewed around to a door she had not noticed when she'd first entered the room, and her blood froze. There, backlighting emphasizing her proud stance and tall, slender frame, was his mother! And at her side was Aunt Jane.

With a grace Michelle now knew had once been learned over hours of long practice in her youth, Barbara Nash moved over to the chair directly opposite Michelle and sat down.

"Jane told me you were leaving." she said with a smile. "And before we had the receiving line. Since I did so want to meet you, I thought I would come here to keep you company while your car is brought around."

Stunned by the sudden arrival of the woman he had decided not to face down, Michael was momentarily speechless, and could only nod. At least, he thought, she hasn't recognized me. Thank god for that much.

"Jane said there was something you wanted to tell me?"

Waves of shock rolled over Michelle. What had Jane done? Hadn't she just told Jane that Michael no longer wanted to carry through with his ill-meant plan of confronting his Mother with the "death" of her son? That he wanted nothing more than to put this all behind him and get on with whatever life he'd have in the future? Why in the name of God had Jane said anything to Barbara? Swallowing his roiling emotions, Michael tried to brazen through as Michelle. "No, nothing really, Mrs. Nash. But I would like to thank you for having me to your party."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive. Shall we go, Aunt Jane? Please?" All three of them heard the thread of growing panic in that plea. Yet, Michelle managed to rise from her seat gracefully, her nervous tension noticeable only in the stiffness with which she pinched her skirt to rearrange it for walking away.

Then his Mother said, "Don't go just yet, please." Her eyes were soft with entreaty. Astonishingly, she added, ". . .Michael."

Bile started to churn in Michelle's stomach, and he searched for an escape route, but there were none available. With a calm she was far from feeling, she answered. "My name is Michelle, Mrs. Nash. Michael is a man's name."

The smile returned, a bit brighter and strangely, a bit darker this time. "Oh, I think I know precisely who you are." she said firmly. "You are my son."

Michael's heart and breathing stopped as he stared in horror at his Mother. This could NOT be happening. There was NO way she could see Michelle and recognize Michael. Grimly, she tried again to brazen it out. "I really don't think I am anybody's son, Ma'am."

Barbara's smile did not waiver in the slightest. This is what a deer feels like, Michael thought, as it stares into the lights of an onrushing car. She knew. Somehow, she knew.

And then, that "somehow" became clear to her. Jane had said nothing throughout this entire exchange. She should have come to Michelle's aid, should have helped her parry this unexpected attack. She should have, that is, unless she was her Mother's source of information.

The pain of this betrayal, after she had told Jane she cared for her, was almost too much to bear. Furiously, the femininely disguised young man blinked against the tears that burned at his eyes, trying to salvage at least some small scrap of his pride.

"Yes. You are Michael." she finally said with equanimity. "You've turned out even better than I'd dared to hope."

Michael felt his world tilt crazily on its axis, but still forced himself to remain steady, erect and dry-eyed before this woman.

The game was well and truly up, he realized. The pair of them had played him for a fool.

Again.

"Why?" he finally asked, looking from one woman to the other before fixing his burning eyes squarely on Jane. "Why this . . . this game? Is this just another of your damnable "little ploys", Jane? The biggest, most humiliating of them all? DAMN YOU, I'd started to care for you, and now you do THIS to me?"

Jane quailed visibly at Michael's thrust. She started to answer but was restrained by Barbara's hand on hers. "I am the one responsible for every decision concerning you and your welfare since the day you were all but expelled from your precious St. Andrews, Michael. Therefore, your answers should come from me. You've earned that much with your efforts to get here tonight." With a quiet dignity, Barbara composed herself.

"Michael, you don't really remember your father. The reason for that is, in part, because you were very young for your age when he died. But another, more significant factor is that he never allowed you to know him. I know that you've always admired your father as tough, strong, manly - a paragon of all those qualities that real men are supposed to admire in other men. Because of that, you've wanted to be like him and in a way, he was making you like him, even from his grave."

She paused for a moment, steeling herself for what she had to say next. "But Michael, he wasn't tough, strong, or manly. Instead, he was a heavy-handed, imperious bully, a vicious and mean spirited, small-souled man; an immoral coward who enjoyed kicking the weak when they were down because that made him feel more powerful. I don't have words foul enough to describe or name him."

Barbara cast a speculative look at her child. "Did you know that he'd left special instructions with the Head Master and Dean at St. Andrews regarding your upbringing? They were to see that you grew up emulating your father in every way. They'd have done almost anything for the endowment your father promised them. Ever wonder why you weren't punished when you played all those dirty tricks on boys smaller and more vulnerable than you? That's why. You were becoming his vision of a man, and they were being well rewarded for it."

"Then why did that damned Dean suspend me? If he was getting rich from satisfying my father's wishes, why am I not still there?"

Sighing, Barbara acknowledged the question. "You simply left them with no other choice. They suspended you only after you'd gone too far with your unruly undisciplined ways. Several wealthy families with long histories of sending their young scions to that school were going to pull their boys out to protect them from you."

"Unfortunately, your suspension precipitated other actions about which you were and remain unaware. Most specifically and seriously, that suspension put you in serious danger of losing your inheritance.

She paused. "When. . . when your father died, he left you, upon you reaching your majority at twenty one years old, controlling interest in his companies."

Confusion showed in Michael's tearful eyes. "So what? That is nothing new. How does that explain why I have not seen you for barely more than five minutes at a time in over six years?!?"

For the first time, indignant anger flashed in the eyes so much like Michael's own. "Michael, your father, that egocentric, manipulative, miserable excuse for a human being, had a secret codicil written into his will. Basically, he directed that you be made over in his image if you were to inherit. Why was St. Andrews the only acceptable school for you? Your father decreed that in his will. Why didn't I visit you, and try to be a part of your life after his death? Your father decreed that, too. I was a bad influence on you; I made you weak. And any failure on either your or my part to comply with that codicil would cost you your inheritance."

"And then you were all but expelled from St. Andrews, after everything you and I had already sacrificed to get you this far, this close to attaining your patrimony. I couldn't just stand there and watch as you lost everything. I had to at least attempt to turn your life around."

"So, I turned to Jane. My fiance is one of her graduates. He's the one who reminded me of how well all of her students turned out. Jane and I conceived a plan. We would attempt to restore your other self, that decent, gentle self that your father wanted exorcized from your soul. Then, and only then, could you decide the kind of person you were, and then make an informed about who you would become."

"How, Mother?" Michael rasped over the emotion churning in his guts. "What possible choice could I make? I was a prisoner in Jane's house, and if you think my father was vicious, well, Jane could give him lessons. My father never taught me to love him, and then turned away from me. He never promised me honesty and then betrayed me. Not ever. No, it was Jane who did that. And you!"

A sob from Jane made Barbara's eyes flash in controlled fury. "Jane is nothing like that bastard. As to what choices she gave you? You can be anyone you choose. Our fondest hope was that you would choose to become strong, but gentle; ruthless when necessary, but merciful when possible - a real man, Michael, the kind of man others can count upon when times are difficult."

No longer able to restrain the tears, Michael was openly crying now. "How was I supposed to achieve this miracle, Mother? By being stripped of my identity and my dignity? By being forced to live as a girl? Ashamed because I wasn't strong enough to stand up for myself and leave Jane as I should have done that very first week, regardless of her threats? Afraid that, sooner or later, I would be discovered and have to live with that public humiliation for the rest of my life?"

Barbara shook her head frantically. "By giving those finer qualities inside you a chance to emerge as Michelle's traits. Jane had experience bringing out that part of troubled and troublesome boys, helping them to find far fuller and richer lives than that narrow, twisted man I married could have ever dreamed possible. It was never my intention for you to become a girl, ashamed that you're a boy. But neither did I want you to grow into a man who felt somehow diminished or shamed by anything soft, caring or tender in yourself; a man who would be afraid that such feelings made him girlish and unmanly."

"Well, trust me," Michael snarled petulantly. "I was totally ashamed and completely alone."

Barbara's demeanor changed, becoming fierce. "I didn't want you ashamed or afraid of anything, my son! If I abandoned you this time in turning your over to Jane, it was to take that shame and fear away from you forever!"

"But you fooled us and yourself. You had even more sensitivity, refinement and gentleness still locked up inside you than we'd imagined possible. When Jane thought she was humiliating Michael the bully, she was also tormenting Michelle the compassionate and caring. The internal conflict between your father's Michael and our Michelle grew until it became intolerable for you, and you tried to end that pain by destroying yourself."

Suddenly Jane spoke up. "When you . . ." Jane choked, then continued, "When you attempted suicide, I was devastated. Not because I was afraid for me, but because I had somehow failed you. I had not recognized what was happening to you. I did not know who to call, or where to turn, and so, I called your Mother."

"Why should I believe anything you have to say now? You said she couldn't be reached." he accused again before turning his hot burning eyes on his Mother. "Besides - you CALLED me and told me you were too busy."

Barbara sat stone still, then resumed speaking. "Michael, you have no idea how terrified and desperate I was when Jane phoned to tell me what had happened to you. At that moment, I wanted to rush to your side more than almost anything else in this life. I yearned to protect you and to help you get well, but for several reasons, I knew that I couldn't, that I didn't dare! Above all, knowing how you felt about me, I was deeply afraid that my presence would only make a bad situation even worse."

"That is only one reason, Mother." Michael growled. "You said there were several."

"Remember what I said about that cursed codicil, Michael. Staying away from you was an unbreakable condition of that damnable will."

She paused and then swallowed hard. "Unless I wanted to deprive you of your patrimony, I could never see you, or at least, not see you any more than absolute propriety dictated. And never alone - always in the presence of one of his trusted cronies who would "judge" my compliance with your Father's wishes. And then, when Jane told me she had called in one of her students who was a psychologist. At that point, we decided to wait until we were sure I would be a help and not a hindrance to your recovery."

"Why was I never told about this codicil thing?" he demanded roughly.

"Because telling you about it is also on your Father's forbidden list and is grounds for you being disinherited. I am telling you now because you are old enough to understand your own best interests. You need never admit that you are aware of those provisions of your father's will."

Michael's sneer clearly registered his disbelief. "I have a copy of the codicil. I will give it to Jane and you will be able to see for yourself."

"Why are you telling me all this now?? Are you trying to tell me that you cared? That you were only trying to protect me by staying away from me? Why bother at this point? Because I tried to kill myself?" He demanded, his voice choking on his pain wracked sobs.

Barbara wilted a moment under that charge, but then drew herself up. "I have always loved you, Michael. I wasn't heartless when I sent you to Jane. I was desperate. Jane called me every night with a progress report, and much of the time she found me frightened and inconsolable. I love you, Michael. I adore you, Michelle. There is nothing in this world that would have made me happier than to tell your father's lawyer to go to hell and come for you. But I could not cheat you of your inheritance. You could, yourself, choose to turn away from your father's past, and accept that loss, but I could not make that choice for you. And you could only make such a choice as a mature, rational and caring person. The question was, how could we help you become that person?"

"You unwittingly showed us how to help you. In your resentment at my seeming aloofness, in your desire to hurt me for hurting you, you decided to become a complete, fully accomplished and yes, even sweet Michelle. A person who epitomized everything your father wasn't and hated."

"So our plan worked! Now, if you choose to be Michael, any kind of Michael, it will be based on a profound understanding of everything you are or can become. But you had to become a complete Michelle if you were ever to become a complete Michael. Michael without Michelle could only be only half a person. And that half would be as flawed as your Father.

Michael's face twisted. He was confused, and bitter, and fighting to hold back his tears. "How can you just sit there and justify what you've done? The pair of you? You've tricked me time and again, lied to me time and again, and manipulated me. How can I ever trust either of you ever again?"

Barbara's composure finally broke. "We had to trick you; you had to keep working at being Michelle so that Michael could continue learning from her. And you would not have worked at that so diligently without the motivation you yourself provided."

"And yes, Michael, I did not abide by my promise to you." Jane added, holding her friend close, keeping her back straight and her eyes steady, "Because we knew what was best for you. I cannot, will not deny that I kept some of the truth from you. I did attempt to be completely honest with you about everything else, but you were beyond reach, convinced that your Mother had completely and willfully abandoned you. What we did, we did because we wanted you to live. More than that, we wanted you to live well." She said soberly. "And I know you can't believe this now, but it's true nonetheless. Because we both. . . love you."

Now Barbara was crying openly. "But, Michael" Barbara pleaded softly, "Can't you see, won't you see? There was no other way, at least none that we could think of. I know you must feel that this was all a base betrayal. Perhaps it was. Only time will tell if I was right or wrong in what I did. But at least now, you have real choices about who Michael Nash is and how he will live his life."

"I refuse to believe that forcing me into skirts, and turning me into one of Jane's wimpish sissies is an approved alternative to my father's grand plan, Mother."

Barbara sighed. "No, it wasn't, and as long as you were successfully following his program, there was nothing I could do for you that would not have cost you your legacy. But when you got yourself suspended from Saint Andrews, I decided that I had to take this terrible risk in order to give you back choices about your life - to try to save you."

"Save me? SAVE ME???" Michael's voice broke. "Whatever did I need saving from? Other than from the two of you, of course."

"From yourself, Michael. I've already told you what your father had done to you. When you were sent down from St. Andrews, the lawyer was ready to cancel your inheritance! After I conferred with Jane, I went to the lawyer and told him that I knew of a program that would improve your self discipline so that you could return to St. Andrews and complete your father's educational program. I am afraid I was not very honest about what the program really entailed." she said with just a faint smile on her sad face.

"So you've known since the very beginning what I intended to do, why I let myself be pulled back into this damnable masquerade." The full scope of his Mother's and Jane's duplicity was now clear to him and his guts seemed to burn. Oddly enough however, in some small, still barely rational part of his mind, he wondered why he wasn't angry. The old Michael would have been - would have gone nearly insane with rage at having been toyed with in this manner. All this Michael felt was hurt, sorrow and bewilderment.

"Yes, Michael, she did know." Jane took up the tale. "Your Mother and I spoke almost hourly during those first few days after your . . . your incident. Eric and I agreed that you needed to be back in skirts, as much for the training we had yet to finish as for the facing down your inner conflicts about dressing. That was necessary, Michael, for your mental health."

"Moreover, you yourself said, less than an hour ago, that you liked being Michelle. Which is understandable. Michelle is a lovely person, but more importantly, Michael, you are Michelle. Everything good in her is also an intrinsic part of you."

Michael could not take it all in. He was becoming numb, and he couldn't seem to think clearly anymore. He just stared at the two women.

"Michael?" Jane's voice was softly entreating. "As Michelle, you are like Liza Doolittle in Pygmalian, or My Fair Lady. You've grown beyond the limitations that others would have imposed on you. Now you can choose to live as a woman, full time or part time, or as a man. If you do choose to live as a man, then your Mother and I both hope that you will do so as a sensitive, self-aware and strong person who's more man than that insufferable clod from St. Andrews could ever have become."

Barbara sighed sadly and stood up. She turned one more time to face her son. "I'm sorry I had to seem uncaring and cruel, that I felt I had to leave you with Jane. I believed it was necessary for your own good. I don't know if you can ever forgive me for manipulating you this way. Or if you can ever forgive Jane. I hope you can, and will. . . someday. We did the best we could. For you! And you have to know that regardless of what choice you make, there will be a price extracted which only you can pay."

"What price?" he asked, but in an exhausted tone that had lost all of its earlier emotion.

"There is always a price, Michael. One choice is, to turn your back on everything Jane has taught you these past months, to become once again the person you were when you left St. Andrews. Haven't your found contentment, even happiness as Michelle, Michael? Would that old Michael ever find those gifts at St. Andrews? I don't think so.

"Or you might choose to go back to St. Andrews as the person you've become, an infinitely more worthy individual than the one who left that damnable place, but one who won't fit in anymore. You'd become the outcast you expected to become the night you attempted to take your own life. But you'd also keep your patrimony.

"Or you can decide to reject your father's path completely, and thus lose your inheritance from his side of the family. You would still have your trust fund from my Mother's family, but that is a mere pittance beside your father's vast wealth."

Michael's tired, red rimmed eyes slid significantly down his body, taking in the sleekly feminine figure gowned in a designer's masterpiece. Then his gaze returned to his Mother, a look of sardonic disbelief on his face. "I don't think the first choice has much chance, Mother, so I think you have effectively forced my hand there."

Refusing to take the bait, Barbara shrugged. "How you look and behave at this moment is irrelevant. If you want to return to St. Andrews, Jane will certify your behavior and self discipline to that idiot Dean. You've amply demonstrated those attributes tonight. Even now, your grace and self-restraint are being tested to the fullest extent. As to your ability to fit in there if that is what you really want."

Barbara paused, and went over to the small desk on the other side of the room, returning moments later with a glossy piece of folded paper which she negligently tossed at the rigidly contained figure of her son.

"If that is what you want, the place described here will assure you aren't too nice or too feminine for dear old St. Andrews." She indicated the brochure with a tired wave of her hand. "It's a sort of "boot camp for rich wimps" run by a couple of former Marine Drill Instructors. They specialize in toughening up the sons of rich fools who are afraid that their sons don't have the right stuff to swim with the corporate sharks. Just six weeks of hell and your father's Michael is back again."

"Why are you giving me this?" Michael asked quietly, holding the brochure in his hand. "Why are you making it possible for me to undo everything you and Jane have worked, lied and schemed to accomplish over the past months?

"Because now that you know there is another, better way, I will see that you get whichever life you freely choose. They'll teach you to swing your shoulders again instead of your hips. And to glare menacingly at anyone you don't like instead of just smiling down your nose and then turning away in disdain. If that is truly your choice, that is what you'll be - all boy, but never a man in the finest sense of that word; all swagger, but with no true substance to you at all. Just like your father."

Her voice changed again, dropping the sarcastic inflections. "I have always believed you were more than that. But now it becomes your choice, and yours alone. And it's a real choice. You can be a vulgar delinquent or a delicate feminine spirit shamed into learning feminine ways."

"But the simple fact of the matter is, Michael-Michelle, this Ball has been your true coming of age. Jane and I will make no more decisions for you after tonight because we won't need to. Tonight you have become your own person. Whoever and whatever you want to be! Whenever you want to be that person! Whatever school you may wish to attend."

She paused, and then continued in an almost defeated tone. "I want you to know this, however. I love you. I have always loved you, and I will continue to love you as long as there is breath in my body. Regardless of which path you choose or how you decide to live your life. I may not like you or your choice very much, but you are my son and I will always love you."

She turned to leave.

Suddenly the door crashed open behind them. A tall, lithe, beautiful young woman stood there. "Barb," she snapped impatiently. "Jamie has been looking all over for you so that we can set the reception line and get the pictures taken."

Then she saw Michael and gaped. "I don't know you, but you are the very image of Barbara. I'm the sister of Barb's fiance, Janice. And you are?"

Now came the moment of truth. In that moment, Michael saw clearly one last opportunity to turn the tables on the Mother who had so basely manipulated him. He had denied himself earlier because he had chosen not to hurt her as she and Jane had hurt him.

Just a few words and his Mother's perfidy would be all over the ballroom in moments. She'd become an outcast from the society she loved. It was all there for him. All he had to do was tell this girl who he really was and why he was here dressed as he was.

But then, he just sighed softly. He felt, rather than saw, both Jane's and Barbara's eyes on him. What was the point anymore? He had needed the rage and now, there simply wasn't any rage left inside him.

"You'll have to forgive me." Michael's Michelle voice replied, as he brushed at the tears still tracking his mascara down his cheeks. "But Aunt Jane and Aunt Barbara were just breaking a little bad news to me. Someone very close to me died earlier tonight."

A part of me certainly had, he thought, but which part? Then he held out his hand to the girl, his wrist limp and supple, just as he had been taught by Jane. "My name is Michelle, and Barbara is my Aunt." A soft sighing breath was the Michelle's only indication that his Mother understood that he had, once again, turned away from the old mean-spirited Michael.

"Pleased to meet you, Michelle." the dark haired, dark eyed beauty replied. "Say, if you are family to Barb, we should get you into the receiving line, too."

"No. . ." Michael let his voice hitch. "I have to leave. I must get home as soon as possible. You understand, don't you?" Janice reluctantly nodded and he turned back to Jane. "Aunt Jane, could we please leave now?"

Nodding solemnly, Jane took her ward's arm and led the her out the door and into the waiting limousine.

A Losing Season: Chapter 35. Flashback

The days immediately following Jane's and Michael's return from Barbara's party were hell for Jane. She had hoped, apparently in vain, that her young ward had developed enough maturity, enough perspective to understand that they had only done what they thought was best for him. She had also dared to hope that there was now sufficient "Michelle" in Michael for him ultimately to forgive them both. Maybe there was, but it was just barely enough, because there was still no obvious victor in the internal battle her ward was fighting with himself.

Her charge had completely withdrawn from Jane since their return, refusing to do more than respond monosyllabically to any question that he could not pretend to ignore. Rather, he isolated himself, sitting alone in Jane's garden, hiding in his room or taking long walks along through the woods that were near Jane's house where he pretended not to notice that either Maria or Jane was always nearby during these outings. Jane had nearly lost him once, and regardless of the final outcome of the debacle at Barbara's, she would not let him. . . harm himself.

Christmas had been a disaster - the tree remaining undecorated, the presents unopened. In the past, Christmas had always been one of the few respites Jane had given her girls, letting them, for one day at least, simply enjoy themselves without fear of Jane springing one of her games on them. For that reason, the holiday had always been a remarkably pleasant day in the old Victorian manor house.

But not this year.

The phone beckoned to Jane. She'd nearly called Eric a hundred times in the past days, but each and every time she'd stopped herself - hoping that Michael would see past the hurt she'd inflicted on what remained of the "old Michael's" ego, past his resentment of being tricked and manipulated, and begin to soften towards them, again - at least a little.

Maria burst in to Jane's office. "Jane! Have you seen Michael?"

"No." was the uncertain reply. "Maybe he slipped out early to wander the woods alone. We have not been very subtle about shadowing him." God, please don't let him hurt himself the moment my vigilance slipped.

Maria looked uncertain. "Jane. . .one of his wigs is missing. I mean, he hasn't tried to dress up since you two returned." her voice dropped off. "Why would he take a wig on a walk?"

Was that the first break, Jane wondered, was he accepting Michelle again? Then her guts froze. Michelle was a perfect disguise. She could not go to the police and describe her without explaining what had been happening over the past months. "Check his wardrobe, Maria, and where his luggage is stored."

Michael's large shoulder bag was missing. They could not be sure, but it also looked like some of his male casual clothes were missing. A quick check of his bedroom revealed that his body shaper, a couple of dresses and the basic cosmetics were also missing.

"But where could he go? He doesn't have any money to speak of." Maria's eyes went wide and Jane's heart fell. "Or does he?" she asked in a small voice.

"He knows where I keep the petty cash funds now. I mean, Michelle was just always around, and being so good. I never even thought about that."

"How much was in there, Maria." Jane asked as the two women moved as one toward the stairs.

"I just replenished it from the housekeeping account, Jane. There is a little over 500 dollars now."

Only there wasn't. The hidden envelope in Maria's desk was gone.

"Come on. The only places he could go would be the train station and the bus station. Without a car, there's no way he could get to the airport from here."

Twenty minutes later, they had their answer. A boy answering Michael's description had boarded the early-bird train for New York City at five a.m. that morning - a train that had subsequently arrived at New York's Grand Central Station over an hour ago. Their hopes of finding him plummeted. In one hour at the busiest train station in the United States, Michael would be able to lose himself completely.

They rode home in dismal silence. "We have to call Barbara." Jane said finally. "He may be going back to the house in South Hampton, and in the state he is right now, I don't know what he'd do."

"Michael would never hurt a woman!" Maria defended immediately.

"What do you think he was planning to do all these months, Maria? Oh, I agree he wasn't planning to harm her physically, but he was trying to do her emotional injury. And right now, I don't know the person he's become, and I will not take the chance that he might attack her in another of his old rages." Jane sighed. "Even if he is not planning that, she has to know that we've. . . that I've lost her son."

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

"They won't do anything for the first twenty four hours anyway, Maria. But if we have to, we will go to them withholding nothing, and devil take the consequences."

"He has Michelle with him, doesn't he?" Maria asked quietly.

"Yes, he does, which means that he can board a train as Michael, and exit it as Michelle. We can provide the authorities a description of him as Michael, but when we do that, we will also have to tell them to be on the lookout for a young woman with short, close cropped blonde hair . . . Well, let's just say that will hurt everyone, including Michael. If they ever find him."

"Do you think he might go to David?"

"We'll call him, Maria, but no, I don't think so. David was here when Barbara and I began this scheme. Even though Beth knew nothing about it, Michael will not trust easily again. Beth set him up for me on several occasions before Michael tried to kill himself and Michael will remember that."

~-----------~ "Doctor Davis' office." the perky young voice piped. "May I help you?"

"Yes, please." was the pleasingly soft feminine response. "Is Doctor Davis available?"

"May I ask who is calling, please?"

"One of his patients, and I want to talk to him now!" the voice changed radically, no longer soft or pleasing. The receptionist had been warned that things like this might occur, and did as she had been taught. "One moment, please."

"This is Doctor Davis speaking." was the quick response. "Who is calling, please?"

"Hello, Eric." Michael answered in his own voice. "Tell me, Doctor. Am I still your patient?"

"Michael! Where the hell are you, man? Everyone is frantic looking for you!"

"Never mind that!" Michael snapped. "Am. . .I . . .still. . . your. . . patient?"

Uncertainly, Eric decided this was somehow important to the boy. "Well, I'd say so, Michael. May I ask why?"

"Because you once chewed me out for not respecting your professional ethics, Eric. As your patient, I am entitled to the benefit of those ethics, including confidentiality."

"I see. And that is important to you?"

"Eric, unless I have your word, right now, that you will call no one, that you will talk to no one, that you will tell no one that I have been in contact with you, I am gone. I don't know where I will go, or what I will do, but I will not stay where people keep lying to me."

"All right, Michael. You have my solemn word. I promise I won't contact or inform anyone that you are here until you give the go ahead. What's next?"

Eric heard what might have been a sob quickly choked back. "I need to talk with someone. I need a place to crash. I haven't slept in almost forty eight hours."

"Where are you? I will come get you and take you home."

"Oh, no!" there was panic in the young man's amplified voice. "Not to your wife who is a fan of Jane's. She probably won't feel bound by your word."

"Michael, Sylvia is out of town, visiting her Mother. My house is empty. If, after she returns, you still insist on allowing no contact with Jane or your Mother, we can deal with that then. But I hope you'd feel a bit of compassion and at least let them know you are all right."

"Why the hell should I?" was the sharp retort. Before Eric could try to answer that question, Michael was giving him his location.

"I will be there in fifteen minutes." Eric promised.

It took several minutes to get his secretary to cancel the rest of his day's appointments and to reschedule the next day as well. The downtown Chicago traffic was even worse that usual, so Eric's fifteen minutes was closer to half an hour when he pulled up in front of the Greyhound terminal. But the boy was no where to be seen.

Fearful that the boy had decided not to wait, Eric got out of his car to search for Michael, but without luck. Eric got back into the still running car, and pounded the steering wheel, cursing fluently.

"I am surprised that Jane didn't wash such language right out of your mouth, Dr. Davis." came an amused voice from the back seat. Eric had been so furious with himself that he hadn't even looked in the backseat when he'd reentered the car. A startled glance in his rearview mirror revealed the smirking face of Michelle, dressed like a typical college coed on holiday in jeans and a wool sweater against the cold.

"We need to talk, Eric." was the flat, male voiced statement.

"Yes, Michael, we do. But first, lets get you something to eat. I know a private little place nearby, and you look like you could use some hot food in your belly."

The food took the edge of the boy's temper, and he began to talk - becoming freer as the meal went on. Jane had been right. Michael had been changing identities each time he boarded a train so that the person buying the ticket was not the one who detrained at his next stop. He'd even gone beyond Chicago and then doubled back on the bus to throw off any hunters Jane might have sent out.

"You realize, Michelle." Eric asked, using the feminine name since they were in public, "That Jane has professionals searching for you? They are sure to notice that you have contacted me, and they will get the word back to your Aunt."

The slender shoulders shrugged at that. "Figured as much. I just needed to get away. Even for a short time." A look crossed his femininely made up face, and he gave Eric a considering stare. "I have to ask you a question, Eric, and I really need an honest answer. I am sick to death of being lied to."

Eric raised his right hand, putting his left hand across his heart. "I promise."

The girl said nothing for several minutes after that. Eric let the silence go, knowing that Michelle would not say anything until she was sure. Psychologists had to be patient, particularly with patients. Eric had learned to do this - it was unnatural for him and he hated it, but he could wait for Michael.

"Did you know? About what my Mother and Jane had planned? How they tricked me? AGAIN?" Michael was starting to get upset again and Eric reached across to put a soothing hand on the girlish shoulder.

Catching her eyes, Eric answered. "No, Michelle, I did not. Not until Jane called me after she'd discovered you were missing. I only knew what we all agreed to do - to let you go on a trial run, and decide if you were going to go after your Mother as Michelle. It never crossed my mind that Jane was not being completely honest with the either of us."

"If you'd known, would you have told me? Let me know the whole truth? The real truth? Without leaving anything out?"

Eric looked at the miserable boy/girl for several moments, feeling his pain and trying to form a response. Shaking his head, "I don't honestly know, Michelle. Right now, I wish I could look you in the eye and tell you, hell yes, I'd have spilled the beans, but the truth is that I just don't know what I would have done back in July. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, and right now, I'd say their plan was an unmitigated disaster. Back then? Remember what I said, Michelle. I would never do anything or support anything that was detrimental to my patient. I don't know how I would have reacted if Jane had come to me with this plan back then."

"She does have a way of making things sound so very reasonable." was Michael's teary laughing reply. "Hell, look what I let her talk me into."

The emotions and the lack of sleep suddenly caught up with Michael, and he reeled in his chair. Eric steadied him and then helped him to stand. "C'mon, kid. Let's get you into bed."

On the way to his house, Eric managed to talk Michael into letting Jane know he was all right. "She'll find out sooner or later, and wouldn't you rather be the one to tell her?"

Whether it was some stubborn part of Michael that still refused to hate Jane, or just a chance at one-ups-manship, no matter how small a one, he finally agreed. Of course, Eric had been silently hoping for something more than he got. Michael's terse, "Jane? I am all right. I am at Eric's for the time being. Leave me alone or I will go where you will never find me.", left something to be desired, but it was consistent with the way the young man must feel.

Eric put Michael into his guest bedroom, and he was asleep within moments of his head touching the pillow. Anyone but Eric might have thought it a bit odd that an almost eighteen year old male put on an old fashioned granny nightgown to go to bed, but then, Eric had a couple of those of his own.

~-----------------~ Excerpt: Nash's Diary December 29 - Day 165

Dear Diary

God, I don't know what possessed me to pack this thing during those last few frantic moments before I took off from Jane's house. It was just suddenly there in my hand and I put it back down. Imagine my surprise to find it in my suitcase. Guess I put it down there.

I almost threw it away when I saw it onboard the train when I went into the bathroom to take off Michael and put on Michelle. The reason I gave myself for not pitching the damn thing was because I did not want it found. Now, I am just glad I have it. Putting things down on paper seems to have a way of helping put things back in perspective.

Eric took off from work yesterday and today to talk to me. . .with me. He isn't so much asking me questions or demanding answers as much as he is just listening. Well, he does try to keep me talking. He probably doesn't think I notice that, but I have read a whole lot of psychology books in the past few months, so I recognize the tactic. Only it doesn't seem like one when Eric does it. Maybe he really is interested in how I feel about things.

The thing that keeps burning in my gut is that I had started really caring for Aunt Jane. Hell, Nash, be honest for a change - at least with yourself - I had started loving her. And I thought she loved me back. How can love be expressed by manipulation and deceit?

As for my Mother, how am I supposed to feel about her? She tells me she loves me? Has always loved me? And she did everything - abandoning me first to my Father's world, then to Jane's petticoat prison and finally manipulating me into that abysmal scene in her front parlor room?

I've tried to pin Eric down, trying to have him tell me why they did what they did? Trying to get him to explain to me what possible justification could they have for what they did? Of course, he doesn't give answers except in the form of more questions. Damned frustrating.

Okay, so I'll concede that I was a nasty little son of a bitch at St. Andrews, and becoming nastier everyday. And maybe, my time with Jane, particularly after my suicide attempt has made me feel differently about myself. Couldn't they just have left it like that? Why did they find it necessary to force the issue of a confrontation I was not even sure I really wanted anymore. I could have happily gone on as Michelle until my twenty first birthday, and I am all but positive that I would never have gone to confront my Mother.

Hell, Jane practically had to push me to go through with that stupid plan this time, and I was a helluva lot closer to the nasty son of a bitch at that point in time than I would have been in the future.

I know that I have changed. Twice during that damned evening, I passed up taking my shot at my Mother. The first time because I did not want to ruin her happiness, but it is the second time that is really the proof of the change. Michael of St. Andrews Academy would have destroyed her had he been in control when the full measure of their infamy became clear.

And I, whoever the hell I am anymore, couldn't or wouldn't do that.

M. Nash

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

Michael wasn't exactly sure how he'd done it, but Eric had him outside in a park near his home, playing catch with a football.

And freezing his ass off.

Well, Michael thought to himself as he launched a perfect spiral at Eric, at least I don't throw like a girl. Of course, this little outing had precipitated as switching back to Michael-mode. He did not want to run with his inserts bouncing.

After they had run each other out, they began the walk back to Eric's house. "Michael?" Eric opened. "You know that tomorrow is New Year's Eve?" Michael nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything. "Well, my wife Sylvia is coming home tomorrow. Which I think means that we need to make some decisions."

"Such as?"

"Whether you want to stay here. I told you that you were welcome. That still stands. Sylvia knows you are here and she knows why, and its cool with her."

"It is okay if I stay here as Michael?"

Eric laughed. "Yes, of course it is. She'd still like to see you togged up as Michelle once, but if you can't do that, she will understand."

"You said there was a choice, Eric."

"Yes, there is, my fine young psychiatrist-to-be. The other choice is that you go back and work through your feelings for Jane."

"WHAT???!??"

"Hey, calm down. As I said, it is your choice and you are not going to hear another word about it once we get back to my house. But I do think it is something you need to consider."

"But. . . but why?"

"Michael, one reason I wanted you to stay at Jane's as Michelle, at least for that trial period, was so that you could confront your true feelings about dressing. I think you've done that. You are as comfortable being Michelle as you are being Michael. And I think that self acceptance has brought you some peace. Without your sensitive, or feminine side, your focused, aggressive or male side would have been incomplete. Unstable. Particularly after you had been given a taste, no matter how bitter that first taste was, of expressing your feminine side."

The younger man became silent as they walked down the snow edged walks. Finally, he nodded, but then looked up at Eric. "Okay. I guess I accept that. But how does that relate to Jane and my Mother?"

"I should think you have figured that out. You have always had very strong feelings about Jane. You hated her, then you tolerated her and then, you loved her. She's hurt you - quite badly, and the fact that you loved her made that all the worse for you. Now you are confused and at odds with yourself again, this time about your feelings for her. You are angry with yourself for opening yourself up that way and letting her hurt you like that. And of course, you are angry with her."

"Don't you think I have the right to be angry and hurt? Wouldn't you be, too, if they had done it to you?" was Michael's ragged reply.

"Probably so, Michael. The ones we love are the ones who can hurt us the most. Jane and your Mother could never have hurt you this way if you did not love them. You need to deal with that, Michael. Either now or some time later, you will have to face them and your feelings for them. It might get easier if you wait, and then again, it might get harder."

"I don't know if I can do it, Eric."

"I can understand that, Michael. Only you can decide when and how you will deal with this. Only you can decide if it simply hurts too much to face it now. But you need to think about it, and then make the best decision you can for yourself. And another thing you should think about, Michael."

"What's that, Eric?"

"That plan you had of getting even with your Mother? Of showing her just what she'd lost when she had first given you up to St. Andrews to protect you inheritance, and later when she gave you over to Jane in hopes of saving your soul?"

"Is that what they were doing? Could have fooled me." Michael snorted derisively.

"You know that is what they were doing, Michael. You just don't want to accept it because it makes you feel foolish that you were taken in by them, but that is beside the point. What is to the point is that your plan was born of sheer, malicious spite and it would have been a pretty small thing to do to someone else. You didn't do it. You could have, by all accounts, without too much trouble."

"I still got my bloody confrontation, Eric, only it was on my Mother's and Jane's terms."

"I understand that, too, but you didn't do it. I want you to know that I think that was a helluva fine thing you tried to do. Okay, so Jane and Barbara felt that they had to force the issue to the very end. But you took it like a real man, and not like the spiteful boy who had originally wanted to cause as much pain as he could in retaliation for his own pain."

"Are you trying to suck up to me, Eric?" Michael asked suspiciously, his eyes fixed on the older man.

"Nope. I have no reason to suck up to you. I am just telling you square and to your face that it took great courage and greater compassion to turn away like you did. I really like the person you've become, Michael. You should like that person, too."

They walked the rest of the way in silence until they reached the door. "Michael, one last thing. You did not like hearing what I had to say just now, about how you need to confront Jane and your true feelings toward her. However, I said it anyway because as your friend and as your therapist, I thought it was the best thing I could do for you. It did not feel good, and I would rather have let the entire thing slide, but because I care about you, I did the hard thing that I felt was the right thing. I hope you will take it in that vein."

~-----------------~ Excerpt: Nash's Diary January 1 - Day 168

Dear Diary

Happy New Year.

Sylvia's home, and dammit, Eric should have warned me. I thought Eric had put on his femme identity when this auburn haired lady walked in the door. Only, then Eric entered in right behind her.

They could have been twins, and they thoroughly enjoyed my dumbfounded reaction to them.

After they finished enjoying their little joke, they told me a little more about themselves. Turns out Sylvia met Erica first, and was so taken by their resemblance, that she introduced herself. Erica and Sylvia became good friends and then, Eric fell in love with Sylvia. It was hilariously funny the way they explained it, but evidently the courtship was a little bit like an old style slapstick comedy. Eric taking Sylvia out; Sylvia confiding in her friend Erica how she feels about this guy; Erica pumping Sylvia for information that Eric could use to his advantage while plighting his troth.

Evidently, Eric managed to carry it off, because she had not yet caught on when he finally let her in on the masquerade. When she didn't kill him, he asked her to marry him. Since then, she has changed her hair color slightly to increase the resemblance since they both get a kick out of it. Besides, when the neighbors see a redheaded female leave the house, they assume it is Sylvia.

She was very nice and very understanding. She even said she thought the thing that Mother and Jane did was a little cold and underhanded.

I won't say that admission was the only reason why, but I finally introduced her to Michelle. Erica showed up for the party, too. I actually had fun. Sylvia - or was it Erica(?) - made me laugh.

But that was last night, and this is now, and I have been thinking about what Eric said about confronting Jane. He's probably right.

The reason I know he's right is that I cannot bring myself to work up even a moderately good hate for her. As I think back to the night of the confrontation, she was upset, too. Was that because she did not want to hurt me again, either? I wish.

One thing I know is that I need closure. One way or another, I need to move on past all this. I need to get on with whatever my life is going to become. I need to finish school so I can apply to a pre-med program.

It is odd, that Mother was right. I really could go back to St. Andrews now, without going to her boot camp program. So what if I won't fit in with my old gang - fitting in with that crowd is no longer important to me.

One thing I am sure of right now - maybe in part because of what Eric said about being proud of me - I have decided that I am proud of the new me, too. He was also right about the spitefulness thing. Regardless of how this all turns out, I am still glad that I did not strike out when I had the chance. I am not my father's son, and moreover, I am not going to become my father's image. I can expect to take quite of bit of harassment over that decision, to become an outcast but one thing about living in skirts - you tend to think you can handle almost anything. Maybe I can, at that.

No, if I go back to that school, it is going to be to my purposes, not my father's. St. Andrews still has, deservedly or not, an excellent academic reputation which will stand me in good stead in going to a good medical school.

Of course, my decision to go pre-med instead of Harvard Business School will kill off my chances of inheriting from my father. And I am not going to business school, so keeping my inheritance no longer has any bearing on my decision of whether or not to return to St. Andrews. That is, of course, assuming my Mother was telling the truth. And I have no reason to believe that she was lying about that.

As I said, I can't do anything else until I put this past year behind me, and that means dealing with Aunt Jane. Guess that means I am going home.

Isn't that strange. I wrote "home", and after thinking about that, I meant it. For all that has happened, and despite what has been done to me, Jane Thompson's house has become "home". Like I said. Isn't that strange.

M. Nash

A Losing Season: Chapter 36. The Future and Decisions, Again.

Jane looked at the woefully lonely figure sitting alone outside in her cold, desolate, January garden. Somehow, the man and the setting fit together, she thought sadly.

Michael had been like this since his return from Eric's home earlier in the month. He had not said more than six uninterrupted words to her at one time since he stepped off the plane in Providence.

Well, except for that late night confrontation the day after his return. Jane had been sitting in the music room, pretending to read a book, when Michael had entered the room, obviously upset. In very short order, both their short fuses had flashed and a shouting match had ensued.

Michael had demanded to know why they had kept the provisions of his father's will from him. Jane had responded that she had been concerned that, after his near death, he was not ready to know the real reasons his Mother had put him under her care. When he'd started down the path he chose in retaliation, it became even more clear that he was not ready to hear the truth that his Mother did in fact love him, and regretted what she had done in trying to preserve his inheritance.

"And just who gave you the right to make that decision for me?? How on earth can you ever rationalize the fact that you promised me honesty and gave me lies?"

Jane's tenuous grip on her composure had cracked and then broken on that one. "The fact that I LOVED you gave me that right. You were not ready to know the truth, mentally or emotionally, and I was afraid that particular truth might tip you over the edge again. So, I kept the truth from you. When you decided to get even with your Mother, I had to keep more from you, because I was afraid of what you might do if you found out she was still involved in your rehabilitation."

Jane had sprung from her seat and stormed over to get nose to nose with Michael. "Rationalize?" she'd all but screamed. "I don't have to rationalize. I love you, Michael-Michelle Nash, and I felt that, as your guardian, I had to try and find a way to help you past the remnants of your rage against me and against your Mother. All right, I meant well, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Well, Michael, when I took you to South Hampton, and then walked into that parlor with you Mother, I went into that fiery pit by way of a four lane super highway of my own making."

"I don't understand that kind of love." Michael had screamed back, making the word 'love' into a four letter curse.

After her tirade, Jane had regained control. "I am sure that you don't, Michael, but it was love nonetheless. And I still do love you, young man. I just pray that one day, you will be able to say that to me and to your Mother."

Michael had then stormed out of the room and up to his bed chamber. Except for sporadic meals, he had not come back out for almost five days.

When he had finally left his bedroom, he had been then as he was now. Quiet, taciturn and moody; a man locked within himself, or perhaps a man locked in a fight with himself.

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

Michael sat in the cold January sunlight, once again reviewing his only extended conversation, well, screaming match, with Aunt Jane. Telling him that she had done it for his own good. Garbage, he thought, pure and simple garbage. He asked himself again for what had to be the thousandth time, how could lying to someone ever be for the good of the one not being told the truth. Oh, he could understand how a lie might be to the advantage of the person telling the untruth. He'd done more than a bit of that in his time.

Well, when he had kids, and he was determined he was going to have them, if only so he could prove to his Mother, to his Father's ghost and to himself that he could do correctly what they had not, he'd never lie to his kids. Not ever. He would never convince himself that less than the truth was "in their best interests".

Wouldn't he?

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

The phone rang, breaking her line of thought. Jane sighed, picked up the receiver and spoke into the phone.

"Oh. Hi Barb. No, nothing has really changed. He just sits out there and stares at my garden wall.

"What's that? Of course we're keeping a close eye on him. We love him, too, you know. I won't lose him again, Barbara.

"Oh, yes, he is eating all right, as long as Maria or I drag him to the table and threaten to hand stuff him.

"No, his dress hasn't changed either. He is still wearing whatever he pulls out of the closet first, whether that is jeans, a running suit or a dress. He doesn't wear any lingerie or inserts now, so he looks pretty androgynous. Eric thinks that is precisely how he feels, neither male nor female, but some kludged together, imperfect combination of both.

"No, he hasn't said anything more about what his plans for the future are, but I did find that boot camp brochure torn into confetti in his room, thank god. Nor has he mentioned St. Andrews Academy at all.

"Yes, he did read the codicil, but he hasn't talked about that, either.

"What? No, he hasn't written in Michelle's diary, either.

"How do I know? I peek, of course - regularly - but he has not touched it since he returned from Eric's place in Chicago. I'm at my wit's end, Barb. I think it is time to ship him off back to Eric in the hopes that he can help Michael where you or I cannot. I am feeling pretty damned useless right now.

"Okay. I'll try to stay more positive, but it is so bloody difficult when I see him so . . . empty day after day. Okay, talk to you then."

Jane put the phone back in its cradle and returned to her desk. It was such a god-awful bloody mess. She turned back to her window and saw that Michael was no longer in her garden. Worried at this unexpected and radical change in his recent behavior, she started for the door of her office intent on finding him and assuring herself he was safe. "Not again. Please, please, let him be all right," she begged under her breath as she hurried off to find him.

She never made it out the door.

The two of them arrived at the door of Jane's office at precisely the same moment. Unfortunately for Michael, Jane was nearly at a full run. Their collision knocked him sprawling to the foyer floor. "Are you all right?" she cried, kneeling down to check him over and then help him back to his feet.

"I'm okay." he said before repeating the reassurance as much to convince himself as to answer her. "I'm okay. What the heck were you doing, Aunt Jane?"

She started at his use of 'Aunt Jane' . . . he had not called her that since asking her if they could leave Barbara's house that last time. Perhaps that was why she gave him the unvarnished truth without thinking about it. "I lost sight of you. I was worried that you might . . " she stopped and then recovered, "Well, that you might be hurt."

"You thought I might have tried to kill myself again." Michael retorted sourly. "I told you I am not going to do that again. Besides, why should you care?"

A ringing slap to the side of his head had him seeing stars, and holding a hand to his smarting cheek. "Because I love you, you damned thickheaded male. You are my masterpiece - the one I molded into the perfect daughter in hopes of finding a more perfect son. Don't you ever insult my feelings like that. You may not be able to love me after what I felt I had to do to you - hell, you may even hate me - but I'll be damned if I will let you doubt my feelings for you. You hear me??"

"I'm sure Maria heard you and she's off in town buying groceries." he responded, a smile lighting his face for the first time in more than a month.

Before Jane could react to the smile, she found herself wrapped in a hug, being held tightly against him. "God, Jane, I have been so lonely. I love you, too."

Suddenly weak kneed, Jane carefully led him into her office and let him sit in one of the chairs of the conversation group. "What's happened, Michael? What has changed?" she asked softly.

He gave a watery chuckle. "That is the stupid part of it, Aunt Jane. Nothing really has. I just had to get some distance. Far enough beyond the hurt, humiliation and resentment caused by you and Mom turning the tables on me before I could begin to remember some other, more important things."

"Such as?"

"You fighting to save me from myself when I would have hurt myself badly, maybe even killed myself. Mom caning the couch instead of my butt and telling me to scream so that my father would think I was being "properly" punished. You taking me to the Mustang Ranch when we were in Nevada."

"You would remember that." Jane growled, averting her face to hide her blush.

"Yup. First times are special. Anyway, it all sort of came together for me today when I asked myself what I would do with my own children if I knew something that might harm them if they knew it. I wanted my answer to be that, of course, I'd always be perfectly honest with my kids. Only, as I very quickly figured out, that was a pure and simple lie. My honest answer, after a great deal of reflection, was that I would lie through my teeth to protect what was mine. And it would be my responsibility to decide if and when they needed that kind of protection." He looked up at Jane through eyes that no longer held the pain she'd seen for the past month. "Am I yours to protect, Aunt Jane?"

There were tears in her eyes as her hand slipped across the small coffee table to squeeze his tightly. "Damned right." she said huskily.

"Am I going to have to get out that green book for you, Aunt Jane?" he teased.

"Why the hell not?" she said in the same tone. Then she became serious. "Michael, what about Barbara? She loves you, too. She has been calling me at least twice a day ever since the night of the party."

"She's next, Jane. Maybe we can go down there, or perhaps it would be better if she came here?"

"Either way, although it will be easier for you to be Michael there than it would be here. Everyone up here in this area still knows you as Michelle."

"That's not a problem, Aunt Jane. Another thing I have figured out is who I am. I am both Michael and Michelle. I have a masculine drive and ambition that has been tempered by a very feminine sensitivity and caring. Mom was wrong. It's not a choice. It's not either/or. I can and will have both in my life because both are part of what and who I am. When I visit Mom down south, I can be Michael. When I visit my other Mom up here, I will be your Gallatea - your Michelle."

Jane's heart filled. "Your other Mom?"

"It's what you are, you know." he replied as Michelle's gentle smile softened Michael's male features. "Barbara gave birth to Michael, but it was you who brought Michelle into the world. I would say that gives you a claim to motherhood, wouldn't you? And all without having to go through labor. Such a deal, right?"

"More like going through a seven month labor, smartie." she growled.

The peeling of the front door bell interrupted their interlude before Jane could take that thought any further. "Who ever could that be?" Jane asked disgustedly.

Michael gave her a 'how would I know?' shrug and went to the front door. He was astonished to find a happily grinning Janice standing on the other side of the threshold. She was every bit as lovely as he remembered her, but different, too. Instead of the society sophisticate, this was a country girl with her long black hair floating freely down to the small of her back and decked out in jeans, a sweater and western boots.

"I thought I would never find this place. It sure is out of the way, but I guess Jane would need that kind of privacy, wouldn't she. May I come in?" she asked after Michael had stared at her for several heartbeats.

"Oh, of course." he said apologetically. He got out of her way, and then looked at Jane who looked as perplexed as he felt.

The girl took one look at the older woman and offered her hand. "You must be Jane. Jamie has told me so much about you and the good things you did for him here. He was such an jerk before Mom shipped him off to you. I liked him a whole lot better when he came home." Jane's mouth fell open as she realized what the girl had said, but before she could say or do anything, Janice had swung back to face Michael.

"Hmmmmm. . . I think you make a better girl, but you're still pretty cute. Maybe it's the way you are dressed - makes it hard to tell. Don't you have any real male clothing? Or is Jane still keeping them locked away?"

It took quite awhile for things to calm down after Hurricane Janice made landfall on Jane's doorstep. The girl was a force of nature, moving from one topic to another without seeming to breathe, but eventually she slowed down enough for the other two to give her monologues at least a pretense of being actual conversations. She really was a very sweet young woman who had an unswerving sense of purpose, as Jane and Michael discovered when the three of them were sitting around Maria's kitchen table enjoying a light tea.

"So, anyway, I finally wormed the whole story out of Jamie - he can't keep anything from me that I really want to know. You trained him very well, Jane. So, then I figured out why everyone had been moping around since the party and weren't happily anticipating the wedding. Your Mom is a lovely lady, Michael, you are so lucky to have her. But anyway, I figured something had to be done, so here I am."

Dizzy from trying to keep up with her rapid-fire changes of subject, Michael managed to lock onto the last thing she said. "So here you are. . .why?"

Janice looked at him as if he were somehow mentally deficient before tossing a commiserating look at Jane. Jane did not have any better idea what the girl was getting at, but nodded sagely at her anyway. "Silly. To get you to come to her wedding, of course. So she will know you've forgiven her and that you aren't going to anything so stupid as go to that hell hole boot camp thing she told you about."

"When is the wedding?" he asked.

"Saturday after next, Michael, on Valentine's Day."

"Are we going to the wedding, Aunt Jane?" Michael asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"I suspect we are, Michael."

"There's just one more little thing." Janice said with the air of someone who is about to solve a huge problem.

"Okay, give, but just remember I have been manipulated by experts in the past months."

"As if I would try." Janice's nose went into the air and she gave a very unladylike snort. "It's just that one of your Mother's attendants broke her leg - she insists on going to Aspen every Christmas even though she is the worst klutz - and since everyone at the party has already met Michelle. Why, that means you might be discovered if you tried to attend as Michael, so I was just thinking that it might be a wonderful surprise if you were to take my place as her substitute attendant. As Michelle, of course." she added quickly.

Michael wondered how she could say so much, so quickly and not run her words together. He found her. . . fascinating. "Oh, of course." Michael agreed laconically. "But she strongly implied that she would prefer me to live full time as a guy." he teased, winking at Jane since he'd already told her how he planned to live his life.

"Oh pooh. She had to say that because she had you as a son. I don't think she'd mind in the least. Besides. . ." she trailed off.

"Besides. .? " Michael prompted, thoroughly enchanted and already half in love with this vivacious girl.

"Then she'd know you have really, really forgiven her for what she had to do to you . . . to help you become a better person." she looked at him entreatingly. Then she got a mischievous grin on her face. "And, I am almost positive that Michelle would fit perfectly into my bridesmaid dress - I really regret that part of this because it is really a great dress, but hey, I really like your Mom and this will make her very happy."

"Welllllll. . ." Michael drawled before slipping into Michelle's voice. "I really have to see the dress first, darling. I was not very impressed by that shroud you were wearing at the party. Didn't do a thing for you."

Both women simply stared at him, and then burst out laughing with him. Janice recovered first. "Meeee-ooowww, you nasty cat. I will have you know that shroud was chosen by my Mother who wants me to be eternally thirteen years old. Something about she can't grow old if I don't grow up, I guess." she said disgustedly. "YOUR Mom picked this one out and she has much better taste." Then she jumped up from the table. "It's in the car. I'll get it while you . . .do whatever it is you do to become Michelle."

Michael and Jane just shook their heads as she rushed off. "So, my son and daughter," Jane asked, "Are you going to do it?"

Michael frowned as he considered the possible benefits along with the potential dangers of Janice's plan. "You don't think it will hurt her? Mom, I mean?"

It really had worked, Jane thought. He is thinking of others now as well as himself. Even before he thinks of himself. "I think Janice is right. She'll love it. She might cry a bit, but those tears will be the happy kind."

Nodding his understanding, Michael grinned broadly before saying airily. "Then I guess I better go do whatever it is that I do, eh?"

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

"Where is that girl?" a silver haired woman asked to the room. "She knows the procession is supposed to start in five minutes."

"She said she'd had too much to drink and needed to go to the bathroom or she'd never make it down the aisle." Barbara said with a grin on her face. "She'll be back. It just takes awhile to get through all this frou-frou when nature calls."

The matron harrumphed at that. "Silly girl should have seen to it before she got dressed. And you were the one who insisted on real period lingerie to go with these dresses."

Just then, there was a commotion as a someone entered the room wearing Janice's dress, only it wasn't Janice. "I hope I haven't held you up." came a strangely familiar voice.

Barbara turned and saw first the blonde locks done up in a set of old style ringlets that went beautifully with the Victorian style gowns Barbara had chosen for her second wedding. "And just who might you be, young lady?" furiously demanded the same silver haired woman.

And then Barbara knew. "Michelle?" she whispered, not quite willing to believe her eyes. And then she found her child in her arms, hugging her close.

"Hi, Mom. Just couldn't wait to get me back into petticoats, could you?" Michael teasingly whispered for her ears alone before pulling back and saying in Michelle's voice. "Hi, Aunt Barbara. Janice and I thought we'd surprise you since I was able to get away for your wedding after all. And don't worry, Janice has been drilling me on my part in all this. I'll do just fine."

Barbara pulled her son/daughter close again and whispered. "Thank you. Now my day is perfect." before also adding aloud. "I think you'll do more that just fine, darling . . . I think you'll be just perfect."