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

End Part 5


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