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A Losing Season - An Alternative Ending to Seasons of Change
Part II
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 intact.

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_author/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. 

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.

End Part II


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