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A Losing Season - An Alternative Ending to Seasons of Change
Part IV
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_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. 

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

End Part 4


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