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Subject: New TG: A Losing Season 12 of 13 (Femdom(?), CD)
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A Losing Season - An Alternative Ending to Seasons of Change
Part XII
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. 

Dedication.  To folks who read stories . . .and read. . .and read . .
.and read until they ought to scream at me.  L.Corvidae, Lady Sara and
my beloved Editor in Chief, Vickie Tern.  This story would never have
gotten done without all their help and encouragement.

A Losing Season: Chapter 35.  Flashback

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

Her charge had completely withdrawn from Jane since their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

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

But not this year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

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

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

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

"Do you think he might go to David?"

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

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

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

"May I ask who is calling, please?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Dear Diary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

M. Nash

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

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

And freezing his ass off.

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

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

"Such as?"

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

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

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

"You said there was a choice, Eric."

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

"WHAT???!??"

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

"But. . . but why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's that, Eric?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Diary

Happy New Year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

M. Nash

End Part 12


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