Tales of the Season: Kendra's Story

by Tigger

Copyright 1999, All Rights Reserved

Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted

provided that no fee be charged, either directly or indirectly

(this includes so-called "adult checks") *and* provided that

this disclaimer and attribution to the original author are

maintained.

Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons

of Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989. This story is

archived in its entirety at the Nifty Archive and at

Fictionmania.

With sincere thanks to (in alphabetical order), Brandy DeWinter,

Denise Emily and Vickie Tern, for slogging through this story

several times each, and finding myriad ways to make it better

each time.

Dedicated to Ellen Hayes, whose unique Tuck Series brings a

different perspective and insight to our genre in the form of a

superbly written, thoroughly entertaining storyline, and whose

Tucky Season is easily the best Aunt Jane I have ever read.

Tales of the Season: Kendra's story

by Tigger

Part 1.

As she had so many times before, Jane Thompson stood on the

small, outdoor train platform and watched the blue, red and

silver behemoth squeal ponderously to a stop. She looked down at

the slender young woman standing patiently at her side and smiled

to herself. So much was the same, and yet so much was so very

different.

Darla, or Darryl (which was her ward's given name), was turned

out in true debutante style in her knee length white dress and

coordinating hat. Old fashioned petticoats made the dress stand

out prominently from her opaque-white stockinged legs. Modestly

heeled patent pumps and a matching shoulder purse completed her

costume.

Jane herself was dressed in her most austere black business suit,

with her hair swept back ruthlessly into a tight chignon and her

cosmetics subtly harsh. She was rather pleased with the look.

Such little power game tricks were just the thing to put her new

guest immediately on the defensive. Which was just where

Headmistress Jane Thompson wanted him.

It had been too long, she thought, far too long since she'd had a

student upon whom she could bring to bear the full dimension of

her program methods. By all accounts, this one was going to

require just that to turn his life around and Jane was

anticipating the challenge. As ever, there was also that

familiar, tiny, niggling frisson of shame telling her she really

shouldn't enjoy the fear and humiliation her training method

imposed on her students quite so much.

That did not change the fact that she *did* enjoy watching her

boys quiver fearfully with their hair all but standing on end.

And since it was always ultimately to their benefit and

betterment, she felt her small pleasure was not *too* bad of her.

Of course, her recent experiences with her last few boys had

given Jane cause for more caution than she might have exerted

with past students. Michelle's suicide attempt and Stephanie's

father threatening her with public exposure and humiliation had

given pause to reflect, and had made her doubt herself more than

she had in the past.

Jane steeled herself against the emotions those memories evoked.

She'd always thought she was so fully in command of her boys and

their situations, always felt that nothing could go wrong as long

as she adhered to her tried and true formula. In truth, she'd

become too complacent and had forgotten just how close to their

psychological edge she pushed the boys in her keeping. The

result of her inattention had been two near tragedies, one

falling right upon the last.

Never again, she firmly told herself for what was most likely the

millionth time. This time she was better prepared for surprises

because she had learned that she needed to expect them. Over the

past few months, Jane along with Marie had carefully reviewed and

analyzed every detail of their program. As a result, Jane had

specifically included more careful attention her charge's mental

and emotional states, particularly during the most intensely

emotional times immediately before or after any of her more

stressful or humiliating exercises. She'd also planned on

stretching out the early lessons a little more so that she had

more time to get to know her new student's foibles and reactions

better before she began in earnest.

Of course, that planned "slowdown" did nothing to change her

standard program for her new student's first two days with her.

That intentionally and necessarily hard indoctrination was when

the boy was stripped (quite literally in some cases) of

everything familiar and masculine, and then cast adrift in the

alien, feminine world of skirts, makeup and petticoats. Those

first forty eight hours were critical to the final success of her

curriculum. Jane *had* to establish herself as the "bad cop" to

Marie's and Darla's good cop with this student right from the

start.

For just a moment she started to reexamine the problem one more

time, trying to find some other way, but caught herself. No,

Jane Thompson told herself firmly, it had to be done that way.

There simply wasn't another kinder, gentler way to impose the

necessary mind set on the student. He had to be taken completely

off-balance, emotionally and mentally, as quickly as possible.

Jane needed him to be reacting, not thinking when faced with her

stern, seemingly-arbitrary orders.

Or else nothing good or positive would come of the other torments

she was going to inflict on this teenager.

Be honest, she chided herself. The real problem was that she was

just a little afraid to do what she knew had to be done and that

was something new and unwelcome in her experience. Jane had

always needed to deal with her charges' fears and anxieties -

hell, she was the one who fostered those emotions - but she'd

never had to deal with fears of her own about how to proceed with

a student before.

Until now.

Jane had very nearly refused to accept this student for that very

reason. In fact, she had eventually consented to take on this

project only because *two* of her oldest friends, Judge Ruth and

the boy's mother, were involved.

There was absolutely no reason that this all-important phase of

her program could not go on as before without any real danger to

her student. For one thing, she was better prepared than she had

been in the past. If he reacted as all her experience indicated

he would then there was no problem. If he did not react as she

expected, well, she knew how to recognize and deal with that

contingency better than she had in the past.

Particularly in the *recent* past.

And she *would* rediscover the joy of her long time mission in

life again with this student. Everything would fall back into

place again. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this

student. Surely, he'd fall into her traps like so many had

before him.

Before Michael, Stephan and Darryl, that is.

So many things had been out of kilter for her of late, thoroughly

disrupting her efforts with her young men. Michael had reacted

very badly to his first experience of being "out" in skirts and

had nearly succeeded in taking his own life. Stephan's father

had stormed into Jane's home and had dragged his son out of her

control, threatening her and her boys with nationwide media

exposure and public humiliation. Worst of all, Darryl had been

ready to run off into the night to protect her from his murderous

brother. *After* he'd told her she'd been *good* to him.

Jane still wondered at that.

The train's occupants began to disembark from their respective

railcars. Jane made another quick check of Darla's appearance

and smiled softly. Her mind flew back to the day her old friend

had called to ask for her help.

"You're actually dithering, Aunt Jane." Darryl, wearing his Darla

masquerade had accused. "Is it because I am here? Am I an

impediment to you helping this mother and her son?"

She'd had to think carefully before she'd answered. "Only

minimally if at all, dear. Mostly, the problem is me. My little

program has not gone all that well of late."

"That's garbage and you know it. You've had some oddballs lately

and things haven't gone as you've expected. How many times had

that happened before Michelle?"

Jane had smiled at the pugnacious, determined look on the

perfectly made up face. "I think we've had this discussion

before, dear. I have only lost two boys in some twenty years of

this work."

"Okay, of us oddballs, are there any of us you are ashamed of

having had as students? Do you believe that you failed with any

of us?"

"But . .but . ."

"But nothing, Aunt Jane." Darryl's voice snapped with Darla's

mouth.

"Okay." she smiled. "So I got lucky with you guys. Nothing

really disastrous came of my failure to deal with you and those

other wise guys properly."

"Maybe it was luck, maybe it wasn't. I don't think so, but that

is beside the point. What is to the point is that now you are

more aware. You won't miss those danger signs and clues again

and you will be able to adjust your program in time to prevent

the crisis. So, what other problem could there be? You don't

want to do it without a big sister and you don't think I can do

the job?"

"You've not been through the whole program, dear. You've only

seen the barest beginnings of what I put my boys through. Not

only that, but you got a very mild taste because" Jane said

sourly, "you were just so damned biddable. I couldn't find

anything that I could seriously discipline you for. . .not

legitimately, anyway."

"And your point?"

"By all accounts, dear," Jane sighed thinking of her friend's

son, "this one is going to be a very tough nut. He will either

shatter quickly, perhaps within the first few hours of starting

his indoctrination, or he will require some of my harsher

treatments before he makes the turn."

"And you're afraid of how I will react when the going gets

tough?" Jane closed her eyes and nodded. "You *honestly* believe

this is what you need to do to help the kid?" Jane nodded again,

with more certainty this time. "Then explain to me what needs be

done, and we will do it."

"You're sure?" this time it had been Darla's turn to nod her

agreement. Jane had started to say something, hesitated, and

then, unbelievably, blushed brightly. She'd coughed to clear her

suddenly tight throat. "I have been told, Darla, that I might

enjoy tormenting my girl-boys a little too much. Will that

bother you?"

"Sounds like Michelle." Darla had opined softly. At Jane's

abashed, affirmative response, Darla had grinned broadly. "Given

her experiences, I might agree, but I don't share those

experiences so I don't share her opinions, either. Might as well

enjoy your work, Aunt Jane. It's not really malicious on your

part, is it?"

Fierce joy had warmed Jane's whole person at that point. "No, it

isn't." she had breathed to herself in wonder. "It really never

has been. Even Michelle called it 'tough love' once."

"Then what do we need to do to help your new student, Aunt Jane?"

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

Darla's acquiescence had slipped just a little bit when the

prissy, fussy petticoated little-girl doll-dresses had reappeared

in her wardrobe and her few boy clothes had disappeared into

storage. She'd recovered quickly enough, Jane smiled at the

memory, once she had understood the danger of the new student

finding boy clothes in Darla's room when he needed to feel

completely alone as he faced Jane's feminine prison. Darla had

to be completely convincing as a female until it was time for the

boy to learn the whole story of his new existence under Jane's

regime.

A slender boy of average height and fashionably long black hair

stepped down from the train carrying a large duffel bag over his

shoulder. Jane recognized him immediately as her new latest

project from the pictures his mother had express mailed to her.

She took the opportunity to watch him for several moments as he

scanned the small station for some sign of the woman he'd been

told to expect.

Taking a deep breath, Jane schooled her features into her strict

Victorian Schoolmistress persona. Looking to Darla, she

whispered, "It's show time." and then strode out toward the young

man standing quietly in the center of the windblown train-

landing.

"Kenneth?" Jane said firmly by way of introduction. "I am your

Mother's friend, Jane Thompson. You may call me Jane, Aunt Jane

or Ms. Thompson. This is my niece, Darla Smith. Darla, this is

the young man I told you about, Kenneth Roberts."

The two young people silently shook hands with Darla making a

graceful curtsey while holding the boy's hand. Pleased, Jane

decided to get on with the real work. "Is that all the luggage

you have with you?"

"No, Ms. Thompson," was the soft, courteous reply. "I have two

larger bags in checked baggage."

"Very well, give me the claim checks. I will arrange to have

them delivered to my home later on, Kenneth. For now, we have

much to accomplish today and your train was late." Jane spun

imperiously on her heel and began to stride away towards the

rustic New England station house. "Come along, children. I

insist on prompt compliance." she shot over her shoulder without

a backward look.

Still, she was pleased to hear the rhythmic tapping of Darla's

heels against the concrete of the train loading platform, knowing

that meant Kenneth was following her instructions.

For now, at least.

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

The drive from the train station back to Jane's home was passed

mostly in silence which suited Jane. Silence, in her experience,

was a most unnatural state for the type of young male sent to her

for help. Normally, a lack of audio stimulation set them on edge

which in turn made them even more susceptible to her frontal

barrage once she had them safely in her house. For that reason,

Darla had been directed to avoid most conversation with the lad.

She could answer his questions as quickly and concisely as

possible, but she was not to initiate anything with him until it

was time for her to "help" the boy with his first experience with

petticoats.

But Kenneth hadn't asked any questions nor had he made any

attempt at further conversation. Jane had expected him to begin

to fidget at some point during the drive and to attempt to fill

in the void of silence with his own voice, but he hadn't.

Instead, Kenneth had sat quietly the entire trip, keeping his own

counsel.

Odd, Jane thought, but so far the boy has displayed excellent

manners. He obviously knew *how* to behave properly, so his

acting up at home and school must be by choice on his part.

Still, he had done better than most of her students. Holding

doors for her and Darla, asking Darla whether she preferred to

ride in the front or back seat and then deferring to her wishes,

responding to Jane's own carefully planned and worded probes

politely and respectfully. Not at all what she expected.

Kenneth's unanticipated behavior since his arrival had

effectively defanged several of Jane's favorite and most

effective opening gambits against a new student.

Most boys preferred to ride in the front seat of a car or reacted

boorishly to her senior student because of her admittedly prissy

and fussy outfit. Ordering the new student to ride in the back

seat or reproaching them sharply for their lack of basic courtesy

typically made the boys feel juvenile which in turn further

opened their fragile little egos to her psycho-dramatic games.

Jane decided that she'd have to take another look at the boy's

records before their initial confrontation. If he was going to

be this mannerly, she'd have her work cut out for her getting him

into sufficient "trouble" to justify her taking the already-

planned first steps into femininity. Jane had learned long ago

that a young man who felt he was being unjustly punished fought

her all that much harder. One of her two failures had been one

who had never trusted her again after she had used a patently

false accusation to start her campaign.

She wouldn't make that mistake again. She'd just have to be

patient, that was all.

Stopped at a traffic light, Jane surreptitiously assessed her

newest charge in the Lincoln's rearview mirror. A quiet frown of

extreme concentration marred his otherwise smooth facial

features. He wasn't happy to be here, but that was to be

expected when the choice was here or incarceration. Jane could

already see that he was intelligent which meant he knew his

experiences with her were bound to be unpleasant given the

alternative. She might have wished for a little more obvious

anxiety, but that would come soon enough, she told herself. That

would come.

He had good bones, she mused, pleased with the observation. A

clear though dark complexion and a nice slender frame, too. From

a purely physical standpoint, he'd be able to carry off the

masquerade without any difficulty. That meant she'd be able to

put him into some of the more public and therefore more

humiliating of her special training situations. Some of her boys

could never have "passed" under the closer scrutiny associated

with those games and therefore had never been exposed to them.

This one would pass easily, although he'd be terrified every

daintily shod step of the way. Jane would see to that!

Too bad about that lovely black hair, but it would back out after

she had given him his release from her silken prison. With that

olive toned complexion inherited from the Italian side of his

Mother's family, he'd look a little exotic once they'd bleached

him into a blond, but not so much that he'd draw too much notice.

Just enough to frighten the poor darling into nearly wetting his,

soon to be her, panties. Besides the obvious and humiliating

male stereotype of the "dumb blonde", bleaching a dark haired boy

had other advantages from Jane's point of view. Not the least of

which were black roots, the control of which would require

regular trips to that bastion of feminine mystery and male

terror, the Marisha Chalet beauty salon.

It was going to work this time, she told herself as she began to

accelerate away from the intersection, just like it had all those

times before. She was going to help this one and he was going to

hate every bloody minute of it until he understood what it had

really been all about.

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

Kenneth Roberts looked around the rose pink room. He'd nearly

asked the girl who'd shown him up here if there had been some

mistake, but he'd managed to restrain himself. Whatever this

Thompson woman, his mother and that Judge friend of theirs had

planned for him was going to be bad enough. No way was he going

to add to his problems by making waves right from the start.

There would be much more important battles to fight before this

was all over and he'd learned the hard way that it was better to

conserve your ammunition and other resources for when it really

mattered. He had his mother to thank for that painful little

life's lesson, too.

A bitter smile crossed his face as he caught a whiff of the

cloying rose fragrance that thickly pervaded the room. It would

not be long before he and everything he owned would smell like

that, too. Not long at all.

Sighing against the inevitability of whatever was planned, he

decided to take a few moments to put away his things. He

especially wanted to find a secure place to hide his wallet. He

might need it in the days to come.

Kenneth opened the large, ornate armoire and instantly stilled.

It was filled with feminine attire and only feminine attire. He

stood there, trying to make sense of what he saw when he heard a

soft knock at his door.

Moving quickly, Kenneth did his best to hide his wallet and

closed the armoire door. "Please come in." he called out

politely.

In response to his invitation, the pretty young female who had

accompanied the Thompson woman to the train station stuck her

head inside the room. "Aunt Jane would like to see you down in

her office now. It's the room just off the stairs to the right."

"Thank you." he responded. "I will be right down." Kenneth went

over to the chair where he'd hung his suit coat, slipped it on

and headed for the door where the girl, Darla was it? Yes, that

was it, Darla. Where *Darla* waited for him.

He allowed her to lead the way as they silently descended the

ornate stairway. It occurred to Kenneth that the clothes might

well belong to this girl. She was certainly turned out to the

nines in that obviously expensive, but unusually frilly white

ensemble. If all of her things were like that, she'd probably

need extra storage. The outfit seemed a little young for a girl

of her age, but then, what did he know? He decided that the

issue of closet space was another question he could hold off

asking, at least until his own baggage arrived.

At the foot of the stairs, she motioned him to a closed door.

Kenneth took the hint and stepped up to the door. He almost

opened it, but caught himself at the last moment. This wasn't

his home and he was a guest. He rapped sharply on one of the

hardwood panels of the door. There was a moment's pause before

his knock was answered by a very authoritative command to

"Enter."

Taking one last deep, calming breath, Kenneth took the antique

door handle in hand and turned it to open the door. Maybe now,

he thought grimly, he'd find out just what the hell he'd gotten

into *this* time.

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

Part 2

Jane watched the carefully groomed young man make his way across

her office to stand before her desk. She waited in vain for him

to do something she could call him to task for. Other than

asking "You wanted to see me, Ms. Thompson." after she'd bid him

enter, he'd merely nodded at her sharp affirmative and closed the

door behind him. He hadn't even taken the seat so obviously

intended for him, but instead had waited to be invited to be

seated.

Well, that merely meant that Sheila, his mother, had trained him

properly in polite behavior and good manners. Which made his

failure to behave properly at home and at school all the more

inexcusable in Jane's opinion. It was one thing to be ill

trained for society as indeed many of her former students had

been; it was quite another thing to know how to interact

acceptably with other people and refuse to do so. This one

*knew* better and that was all the more to his discredit.

Jane waited a bit longer, hoping the boy would at least fidget,

but was again disappointed. Finally, she sighed at the momentary

setback, and then gestured toward the painfully uncomfortable

"chair of honor" at the front of her desk. "Please be seated,

Kenneth. We have much to talk about."

"Thank you, Ms. Thompson." he replied quietly as he unbuttoned

his jacket and then seated himself before visibly giving her his

full and undivided attention.

Jane began to flip through the detailed dossier that Sheila had

express mailed to her the previous day, pausing several times to

glare at Kenneth over the top rim of her half-lens reading

glasses. The third or fourth time she thought she might have seen

a tiny flinch on his part and decided that was as good an opening

as she was likely to get from this one. The boy's composure was

beginning to alarm her.

She slipped the gold-rimmed spectacles from her nose and stared

at Kenneth for several moments. "Do you really want to spend the

next three years of your life in an institution for delinquent

young males, Kenneth?" she demanded.

Kenneth jumped at the sudden sound, but quickly regained his

composure - too quickly for Jane's tastes, and considered his

answer. She was about to demand an immediate answer when he

finally spoke. "If I wanted to do that, Ms. Thompson, I would

not have agreed to come here and put myself under your control."

The voice Jane heard was soft, yet controlled, betraying none of

the emotion she would have expected after her aggressively worded

question. "Well, everything in this record indicates that you

are very likely to end up there if you don't turn yourself

around, Mister. Notes from teachers, letters from your

principal, even police reports all point to the fact that you are

a boorish, out of control and ill behaved lout. And *yet*, you

have exhibited superb manners since I first saw you earlier today

so it is *not* as if you can't behave properly. No, you must

*choose* to behave the way that these," and she waved a hand over

the thick folder, "prove that you do."

Jane stopped, waiting for him to try to defend himself against

her charges so she could really lay into him, but was again

chagrined as he said nothing. "WELL???" she finally snapped.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Kenneth sat there, wondering how he should answer that challenge.

He desperately wanted to swallow back against the threat of

nausua, to wipe at the sweat he felt beading at his forehead, but

he knew from painful experience that showing any sign of weakness

to someone like this Thompson woman would lead to disaster. "I

am not sure that there is anything I can say, Ms. Thompson, other

than that I have done nothing wrong."

Finally, Jane crowed to herself. Now she had caught him in an

out and out lie. Now she had the wedge she needed to start

splintering that male ego like an old dead tree. An almost feral

smile crossed her face as she prepared to unleash her assault.

"Nothing wrong? Oh, really?" Jane scoffed with heavy sarcasm.

"Am I to assume that this police report for vandalism is

incorrect?" Jane asked holding up stapled sheaf of paper. "Or

this suspension record for continued disrespect and abuse of a

female teacher? Or this one for what is practically sexual

harassment of one of the young ladies at your school? *Those*

are 'nothing wrong'? If such things are 'nothing wrong', what in

your mind constitutes something wrong, young man?"

The boy's face momentarily clouded in anger, but he quickly

controlled it. "I have done nothing wrong." he reiterated

firmly.

"This," Jane snapped, holding up the thick file, "Says otherwise,

Kenneth. Am I to presume that these incidents are just "boys

will be boys"-type acts of mischief in your mind? Your Mother

obviously doesn't think so, and neither do I. And this record

shows a continuing pattern of increasingly unacceptable behavior

on your part. I suspect," she said with a mocking half smile,

"that you are likely trying to prove your . . .manhood," and the

word dripped cold derision, "in light of your, shall we say, less

than manly stature and handsome, almost pretty looks?"

Kenneth stared at the file and then at Jane, not saying a word.

He was so bloody tired of fighting, but he couldn't let himself

give up; couldn't let himself give in. Why couldn't someone

believe him for a change? He knew, however, that this woman,

this friend of his mother, would *never* be that someone.

Finally, Jane spoke again. "How do you conclude you have done

nothing wrong when faced with the facts in this file, Kenneth?"

She watched in fascination, then admiration and finally concern

as her student considered her question and then drew himself

upright in the hardbacked wooden chair. Cold grey eyes locked on

her own. "Perhaps because nothing you have read to me from that

file is true, Ms. Thompson. If that really matters to you."

He's not going to admit that he was and still is in the wrong,

even in the face of the overwhelming evidence of this file, Jane

thought in wonder. Well, he would eventually confront that lie

as well as his other many failures before she was done with him.

She'd seen cases like this before. Sometimes they were hard to

break, but when they finally did break, they broke quickly and

completely. In many ways, such students were the easiest to turn

around.

"I see. So I am to believe you and not the records provided by

your own Mother, my friend, and a court judge who is also my

personal friend?" A challengingly cocked eyebrow showed exactly

how likely the former schoolmistress thought of that leap of

faith occurring. "Tell me, Kenneth, do you fully understand what

your alternatives are? What options you have left if you do not

enter into my program?"

She saw him begin to shrug and catch himself. Such control, she

thought yet again, for a fifteen year old male. "My mother has

arranged with your friend the judge to put me into a home for

delinquent boys until I reach my eighteenth birthday."

"And a slightly built," Jane exaggerated for effect, "young boy

like yourself would suffer greatly in such an environment, don't

you think? You'd be an outsider, the one who didn't fit in and

likely the one least able to defend himself." Jane looked down

at the record open on her desk. "Given your loutish behavior

towards the women and young girls at your school, I would say

that might almost be poetic justice, in and of itself."

This time Kenneth did shrug, trying to set aside that especially

dark fear that had taken seed when his Mother had first told him

of the unholy choice he had to make.

Although Jane could see her new student growing uneasy as the

full implication of her words became clear to him. Of course,

Jane knew that such goings-on would never be tolerated at any

institution used by her friend Judge Ruth, but the boy did not

know that. The threat, however, would help ensure his ultimate

submission to Jane's will.

"Nothing to say? I am still curious, Kenneth, as to what prompts

a young man to do such things as are in this file. You obviously

know better as you have amply demonstrated since your arrival."

At least she wouldn't have to drill him too hard on basic

manners, she mused, and could get down to the hard lessons more

quickly.

As Jane had expected, his silence lingered permitting her to

press on with her favored opening gambit of this little chess

game. Time to start making this pawn/would-be king into a queen.

"Well 'boys will be boys' and proving false manhood at the

expense and pain of others are no longer acceptable excuses,

Kenneth. Still, the pattern begins to give me an idea. Maybe

that's the key. There is a practice in England for curbing

defiance such as yours called 'petticoat discipline'. Have you

heard of it?"

If she had any doubts that the boy did understand from the look

of resigned disgust on his face his next words removed them. "So

that's why she did it." He said resignedly.

Jane set aside her reading glasses and stared out the window,

trying to look contemplative as she worked to make some sense of

what was going on. She was absolutely certain he fully

understood that relatively archaic term, but that was absurd.

How many young American males could conceive of such a thing, let

alone instantly understand the implications? Most of her boys

initially concluded that it mean some type of submission to a

feminine will and none had ever understood at the first

confrontational interview.

She decided to press on. "Yes," she announced with a resolve she

was far from feeling, "that will be exactly it. Kenneth, if I am

to help you avoid being sent to that delinquent's home, I must

have your word of honor that you will unhesitatingly obey every

command I give you, no matter how unpleasant or disagreeable you

may find that activity to be. Our goal will be, at least at the

start, to see if we can instill some self-restraint in you." As

if this boy needed to become more self controlled. "If at any

time I detect resistance, I will wash my hands of you completely

and advise the Judge and your Mother accordingly. Is that

agreed?"

"No, it's not." Kenneth said quietly.

"All right then, we will be. . . .*What* did you say?" Jane

goggled, so amazed at his response that her voice broke two

octaves.

"I said that don't agree to your terms. I have a fairly good

idea of what awaits me if I leave here and take my other option.

You are the devil I don't know, Ms. Thompson. I won't be bound

indefinitely by my word of honor until I understand better what

you intend and what those 'unpleasant or disagreeable' orders

might entail."

Jane could only stare at him as he watched her intently. *This*

was a fifteen year old boy??!? She'd faced down corporate CEO's

who had shown less reserve than this . . this child. With some

effort, Jane managed to regain some of her own composure. "So,

where does that leave us, Kenneth? Your Mother is a long time

friend and I told her I would try to help you and her, but I

cannot do that if I do not have your cooperation."

The solemn faced young man sat quietly as he considered that.

"Very well, I agree to your terms." Elated, Jane started to rise

and end this difficult interview before anything else unexpected

happened, but Kenneth raised a hand to stop her. "I am not

finished. I agree to your terms, up to and until I decide that

the boys' home is the lesser of the two evils. At that point, I

will stop and you can, as you say, wash your hands of me. Until

I reach that conclusion, you have my word." The boy stood and

offered her his hand.

Still stunned by this fifteen year old going on fifty, Jane

instinctively took his hand. Why did she feel that she could

rely on his word completely? The record said he was a skilled

liar who folded, spindled and mutilated the truth to suit his own

ends, and yet, Jane's every instinct told her his word was as

firm and as solid as the handclasp that sealed their bargain.

Jane excused her charge to go back to his room and clean up for

the midday meal. One last time, she was struck by his manners as

he acknowledged her direction, thanked her and then left with

quiet dignity.

"That," she said aloud to the empty room, "has to be the most

unusual first interview I have ever conducted, and I am not sure

just which of us is on the defensive."

Jane called Darla into the office to go over one last time the

plans for her to serve and act as hostess for the very formal

meal Marie planned for a student's first day. Normally, such a

meal provided Jane with endless opportunities to pick at the new

student's table manners, but somehow, Jane figured that she'd

have to be extremely vigilant and extremely picky to find fault

with this one. So much for enjoying her own meal, she grimaced.

She'd just have to ask Marie to fix her a plate for her to eat

while Kenneth was sleeping off the sedative-laced after-dinner

wine. Desert, too. Jane really felt the need for some sugar

after that quietly fierce battle of wills.

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

Kenneth sat on the frilly, overdone canopy bed, staring into the

open armoire. He had his hands locked together in his lap to

keep them from shaking. He felt so very cold - whether that was

from fear or anger - Kenneth wasn't quite sure. He'd known going

into this that this was a setup, but the full scope of his

Mother's plan was just becoming clear to him.

He had not all that surprised to find that his extra baggage had

not been delivered to his room when he returned from his talk

with Jane Thompson. After all, his Mother was the one who sent

him here, leaving him with only two choices, neither of which was

particularly palatable.

*What was that trial in Homer's Odyssey called?* he asked

himself. The one where either choice was bad, but one of the two

was unacceptably horrible? Scylla and Charybdis? That was it.

One was a monster that would catch and eat some sailors if the

ship ventured too close, but the other one was a huge whirlpool

that would kill everyone onboard if they tried to avoid the man

eating monster.

Which one of his two options, Kenneth mused, was the whirlpool

and which one was merely a bloodthirsty monster? He didn't know,

but he would definitely find out soon enough. Kenneth only hoped

he didn't find himself being flushed down the porcelain throne

before he could make the other choice.

One way or another, he promised himself grimly, he was walking

away from all this when he reached eighteen, and he was walking

away still a man.

A knock on his door broke through his somber mood. The younger

female opened his door when he called for her to enter. She was

still rigged out in that frilly thing that made her look like a

satin church bell with the way her skirts flared out from her

legs. She dropped him a quick curtsy and said. "The noon meal

is ready to be served. Would you please accompany me to the

dining room? Aunt Jane is a real stickler for being on time."

Kenneth again slipped on his suit coat, straightened his tie and

checked his hair one last time before moving to follow the girl.

As he closed the door, he noticed that the "keyed" side of the

door lock was on the inside of the door whereas the "knobbed"

side of the deadbolt was on the hall side. Doubly odd, Kenneth

mused. He'd never seen bedrooms with security throw-length dead

bolt locks before, either. Well, so much for privacy he thought

with some resignation.

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

The meal had gone precisely as Jane had feared. The extensive,

formal table ware setting had not bothered Kenneth a bit. As

Darla had served each course, he had unerringly chosen the

correct implement each time, without once looking to see which

fork or spoon Jane picked up. He'd even skipped the provided

shrimp fork when no shrimp cocktail was served.

Worse, he'd politely seated Darla after she had served each

course and had waited until she had served herself before he

began to eat each new course. Had someone sent this boy to a

summer camp run by Emily Post and if so, why hadn't she been

apprized of that fact?

As Jane had expected, she had not been able to do more than

nibble at her own food before it was time for Darla to clear away

and serve the next course. They were on a schedule and they

needed Kenneth asleep in very short order if they were to have

him arrayed in his first dainties by dinnertime.

Finally, the desert course was finished. Jane made her typical

spiel about how deeply in trouble Darla had been before coming to

Jane and how she was now the epitome of genteel ladylike behavior

thanks to Jane's tuition and to the strict Victorian code of

behavior that Jane demanded of all her students.

Darla returned with a tray containing several small glasses and a

crystal decanter filled with a dark, richly colored liquid.

Kenneth watched with some interest as she filled the three

glasses and then offered one to Jane and one to himself before

placing the third in front of her own seat. Yet another oddity,

Kenneth thought. Why is the stem of one of the glasses blue and

the other two red? Whatever else he could say about this Jane

Thompson, friend of his Mother, she was extremely well off

financially. Why would she permit that Darla to use such an

obviously mismatched set? Well, he wasn't going to call Jane's

attention to it if she did not see it. No point in embarrassing

the girl in front of her Aunt and making an enemy he did not need

on his first day.

"I enjoy a nice glass of sherry after lunch, Kenneth." Jane said,

recapturing his attention. "I bid you welcome to my house and

offer the hope that together we can help you find your true

path."

Kenneth picked up his glass, raising it in answer to Jane's and

Darla's offer of the toast. Then, he watched as the two women

sipped their wine before setting his own glass down untouched.

Oh no, Jane almost groaned. "Is there something wrong, Kenneth?

Do you object to my toast?" she demanded aggressively.

"No, Ms. Thompson," he hastily reassured her, "it's just that I

am underage - for drinking alcohol, that is."

*He's afraid I am trying to set him up by having him drink.* Jane

concluded. Which of course was precisely what she was trying to

do though not in the way he had supposed.

"Kenneth," Jane said soothingly. "I will never discipline you

for accepting something I freely give you. It is not abnormal

for young people to take a small glass of wine at the family

table. In fact, many families do that so that their children

grow up with an appreciation of fine wines. Go ahead and taste

the wine. I am sure you will find it quite nice." And quite

fatiguing, she added in her mind.

"Thank you, Ms. Thompson, but I don't drink. Not at home and not

here."

*Damn*. "Come now, Kenneth, we both know that is not true." she

chided gently. "At least three of the entries in your file

document your underage abuse of alcohol. One of the things we

may accomplish here is you learning not to abuse such beverages."

"And since it is in that file," Kenneth flared, showing signs of

angry emotion for the first time, "then it must be true. Well, I

have already told you that I have done nothing wrong which

includes *not* having . . . how did you put it? Oh yes. . .not

having abused alcohol. I don't like the taste and it tends to

make me nauseous."

"I see." Jane said, frustration rippling through her from this

yet another unexpected barrier to her goals. She was trying to

find an alternative when Marie entered the room and whispered to

her that one of her business clients was on the phone and was

very upset. *Damn again!* "I have to go to my office, children."

Jane said as she stood. "Darla, please clear the table and help

Marie with cleanup. Kenneth, you have had a long, stressful

trip. Perhaps you would like to go lay down for a while, maybe

take a nap" *Please take a nap*

"Yes, Aunt Jane." Darla replied as she too stood.

Kenneth followed suit and then remembered. "Ms. Thompson? Any

word about where the rest of my things are? From the train?"

Jane stopped at the door. She knew precisely the disposition of

Kenneth's luggage. Marie had put his bags into the locked attic

just before lunch had been served. "I will make inquiries,

Kenneth, and let you know. In the meantime, I think we can

provide you with something suitable. That suit has seen better

days." With that, she bustled off to try to calm her client.

Kenneth found himself momentarily alone in the dining room. He

looked at his untouched glass of wine and decided there was no

point in wasting what was probably a very expense spirit.

Carefully, he removed the stopper from the decanter and began

slowly pouring his glass back in.

He was just about finished when the woman Jane had called Marie

reentered the room and came to complete halt. "What are you

doing??" she demanded.

Kenneth gave her a sheepish grin. "I didn't drink any of it and

it seemed like a shame for it to go to waste. I figured that

since the glass was clean, there was no reason not to put it

back."

"I see." the older woman said in a very soft voice.

"Do you need any help before I go up to lay down, Ma'am?" he

offered.

"No. . . I mean, no thank you. Darla and I are just fine. You go

on up and rest. You have a full day ahead of you."

He smiled, excused himself and then left the room thinking that

at least one person in this mausoleum had some innate warmth.

Marie stood there, watching Jane's newest project stroll off,

obviously not under the influence of Jane's sedative. Shaking

her head, she picked up the decanter and went to pour its drugged

contents down the sink. Despite Jane's wealth, it felt obscene

dumping one hundred twenty five dollars worth of wine down the

drain like so much dirty dishwater.

And Marie had just decanted that bottle yesterday.

Then it hit her. How was she going to raid Kenneth's room to

make off with the last of his boy clothes if he wasn't out cold

from Jane's little potion??

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

The hall clock was striking three p.m. when the three

conspirators gathered in Jane's office for a short breather.

"So, you were able to get the last of his male things even

without him having taken the sleeping draft?" Jane asked,

relaxing for the first time since she'd gotten out of bed that

morning.

Marie sipped her tea and gave her long time friend a devilish

smile. "The little darling was just plain tuckered out, Jane.

Travel fatigue."

"Yet another benefit of having them take the train instead of

more rapid forms of transport. He was on that train for most of

eighteen hours by the time he arrived and Sheila wouldn't pay for

a first class seat or for a sleeping compartment." Jane smiled

over her own cup.

"First boy we've ever had who turned down the chance to try

drinking with the grown ups, Jane." Marie observed, still

somewhat surprised.

Jane paused to consider that. "Yes," she said pensively, "that

was a surprise. What concerns me is his adamant refusal to

concede the truth of those files. His supposed "not drinking" is

another case in point. I went back and checked - he's been

punished several times for underage drinking, one time spending

the night in a jail cell. And yet, he steadfastly denied that he

drinks, just as he refuses to acknowledge the other charges in

that book."

"Is there any chance at all that the records aren't true, Aunt

Jane?" Darla asked, entering the conversation for the first time.

"I don't see how." Jane's answer was immediate and unequivocal.

"If I were working with anyone other than Judge Ruth, I might

have doubts. He is just so . . . so convincing, isn't he, dear?"

Darla nodded emphatically, making the intricate hairpiece

adorning her head bounce wildly.

"A little less enthusiasm and a bit more decorum in your

gestures, Darla. We need him to think you, like Marie and I, are

fully female for the next couple of weeks. Dainty young misses

do not nod their heads like a jack in the box." Jane smiled to

soften the criticism of this special child, "Still, it does pose

problems that he won't admit his crimes. Until he confronts them

openly, we are not going to make very much progress with him."

"You going to have Darla work on him tomorrow?" Marie asked.

"Hmmmm. .. Yes, that is the normal plan." Jane said, almost to

herself before focusing on the youngest participant. "Tomorrow,

after her first skin-out dressing up, you will go in and coach

her on the finer points of dealing with the vicious Ms.

Thompson."

"Like Stephanie did for me?" Darla asked with a soft smile.

"Just so. Play it straight with her, dear. Help her all you

honestly can, but it won't be enough. She'll be too emotionally

mixed up and mentally off balance to absorb more than the

smallest fraction of what you will impart. There will be more

than enough real deportment failures for me to get into her head

with. What she will need to remember is that you tried to help

her and that everything you told her was true."

"So what does that have to do with him not admitting to having

done all that stuff his Mother told you about?"

"Ah, therein lies the challenge for you, Darla. In the mental

state we should have her in by then, you should be able to get

her to admit things that she wouldn't otherwise. If we can get a

recording of her confessing to the contents of those records in

her own voice, we will be able to take away that defense

mechanism. She will then be forced to deal with her actions and

their consequences."

"And the biggest consequence of all is you, right Aunt Jane?" the

pretty teen teased.

"Just so." Jane replied smugly. "Marie, if he isn't awake by

then, wake him up at four thirty. That will give us a couple of

hours before dinner to give him the final ultimatum so that what

happens tomorrow can be laid at his door as if he had really had

agreed."

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

Part 3

As so many young men had before him, Kenneth awoke to find the

remainder of his clothes missing. Only an absurdly feminine

confection of a bathrobe in slick pink satin was immediately

visible, hanging from the armoire door where he'd carefully hung

up his travel suit.

Kenneth took down the robe to see if his own clothes were hanging

behind it, but of course they weren't. There was no sign of the

suit inside the armoire, either. Only the same girl clothes that

he'd originally thought might belong to the Thompson woman's

niece. At least his wallet was still in the pocket of that skirt

where he'd hidden it before going to bed. Perhaps they'd

unpacked his duffel and put his other clothes into the bureau, he

thought with little hope of that being so. His fears were

confirmed when he opened the various drawers and saw that these

were filled with feminine clothing items from lingerie to

sweaters to stockings in a veritable rainbow of colors.

"Well," he told himself grimly, "suspicions confirmed. Now what

am I going to do?"

Just then, a knock on his door was followed immediately by the

sound of the deadbolt rasping open. Jane walked into the room

without another sound and reached over to turn on the lights.

Kenneth instinctively hid his nudity behind the only barrier he

had to hand. . . the pink robe.

Jane smiled with satisfaction at the sight of her new student

cowering behind that satin robe, and moved in to press her

advantage. "Stop hiding, Kenneth. Put that on and come out. I

wish to talk with you some more."

Kenneth looked at her for a moment, then stepped behind the

armoire and donned the garment. The slick feel of the fabric

felt strange against his skin - like it might slide off him at

any moment. He belted it tightly and then moved back into the

center of the room to face the woman he was coming to think of as

the warden.

*Remember,* Kenneth told himself, *losing your temper never works

in situations like this. You cannot give a woman like this that

kind of edge. Control, remember you have to stay in control!*

"You took my clothes." he accused in a quiet, direct tone. "I

would like them back. I need them to wear."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Jane snapped, following her time proven

script although he did not seem to be nearly as angry as she had

expected him to be. "What you have on is perfectly acceptable.

Aren't you covered completely? Yes, you are. Is your so-tender

male modesty in anyway endangered? Of course not. Why, I can't

even tell you are a boy you are covered so completely."

"You want me to wear this girl's robe?" He asked, still without

any display of emotion.

"Of course. That's why it was laid out for you, so you could

wear it. Now, come with me, please. No, don't bother to look

for anything else. Button that up and come with me or go as you

are. You won't be the first underdeveloped male body I have had

to look at. Suit yourself, but you will come with me."

He stood there, staring at her for several moments and for one

frozen moment in time, she feared that he was going to balk

before she even had given him the final ultimatum. She had to

remember the conditional nature of the promise he'd given her.

She needed to get him past that quickly, force him to surrender

or it would cause her major problems later. Then, his face

seemed to relax and he began buttoning up the top of the robe,

only once fumbling because the buttons were on the "wrong side".

"Very nice, Kenneth. You look lovely." she told him when he

finished, her voice taking on that too sweet tone often used by a

grade school principal when falsely praising an erring child.

"Now, come with me."

Moments later, Jane had him inside her upstairs study. As

planned, neither Darla nor Marie had been in sight during the

boy's first walk across the fiery coals of semi-public sissy

dress. Time enough for that once he was well and truly caught in

Jane Thompson's satin and silk web.

"As you may or may not know, I have been and still consider

myself to be a teacher, Kenneth. I just teach different subjects

now and it is time for you to begin to learn the hard lessons I

have to teach you. I hope you have thought about our

conversation today while you rested. I must tell you that I am

*not* at all fooled by your display of gracious manners since

your arrival and especially during the noon meal. All you've

done is exasperate me because it is patently obvious that you do

not have even the unacceptably feeble excuse of not knowing any

better for your past activities."

"I will now lay out the program of studies I have planned for you

and I will remind you that you gave me your word to obey my

directions."

Kenneth held up his hand. Frowning fiercely at him, Jane

acknowledged him with a sharp nod of her head. "I gave you my

word, Ms. Thompson, to obey you until I decided whether you were

Scylla or Charybdis - whether you were the lesser of the two

evils my mother and her judge friend have imposed on me. Rest

assured, if I think you are the whirlpool, I will feel no guilt

whatsoever about ceasing to obey you."

*Scylla or Charybdis?* Jane thought in amazement - a fifteen year

old male comparing me to the monsters of a classic Greek epic?

Jane visibly shook herself back to the task at hand. "So be it."

she growled. "Until such time, you are bound by your honor -

*if* you have any, to comply with my wishes."

She had him there, Kenneth realized, as much as he'd wish it

otherwise. Other than putting him in this absurd robe, she had

not yet done anything to him other than taunt him and make a few

threats. Surely, he'd see that an more at that boys' home.

Kenneth decided he'd continue to bide his time. Grimfaced, he

nodded his concession on that point and it was all Jane could do

not to sigh in relief.

"All right, let us begin then. You didn't like putting on that

very lovely garment just now, did you?"

"Not really." Kenneth responded in the same, even tone that was

beginning to really grate on Jane's nerves. *As if that is any

great surprise to you, Ms. Thompson.* "I would like to know where

my own clothing is, please."

"Gone until I deem you fit to wear them again." Jane said airily

and was pleased to see at least a quick flash of hot anger in the

normally icy grey eyes. "What's wrong with that pretty robe? As

I said, it looks quite lovely on you."

"It is not mine." was the flat response. "It is a girl's robe."

"Just so," Jane said triumphantly. "Your boorish, disrespectful

behavior, particularly towards the female sex, has cost you the

right to dress in male clothing. While you are here, under my

tuition and supervision, girl clothing is all you will be

permitted to wear. By the time you have finished my program, you

will as sweet, as adorable, as courteous as my lovely Darla."

Jane waited to see the time proven reaction, but she waited in

vain. "I see." was all he said.

*Bloody hell!* Jane fumed. *Where is the outrage, the anger, the

accusations, the _threats_. I know I am pushing all the right

buttons, but except for short spurts of anger that he's quickly

put under control, he hasn't reacted at all.*

"Not only that," she pushed on, trying to undermine his seemingly

unnatural composure, "but we start your indoctrination

immediately. Darla and Marie are preparing your first steps to

girlhood even as I am speaking to you. By dinner, the boorish

lout who terrorized that young girl by dragging her into the

boys' lavatory will be nowhere to be found in the cute, winsome

little doll we will make of you."

"And if I refuse to play along?"

Jane made a slashing motion with her hand, precluding any further

protest. "We just reminded ourselves that you have promised to

obey me, young man! If you refuse to follow my orders, then

leave now if you that is what you think you want...but you leave

here dressed as you are. I will not help you. Call someone...your

Mother perhaps . . .I am sure she will happily come to your

rescue out there on the roads. This punishment is my choice for

you and you will bow to this decision or face the consequences."

Jane's heart nearly stopped as the self possessed young man stood

and made his way to the door of her study. "And just where do

you think you are going, young man? I have not dismissed you

yet. Marie will not be ready for your makeover for another few

moments."

He stopped at the door and turned to face Jane. "Pardon me, but

I believe you just said I could leave so long as I left dressed

in this thing. I choose to leave."

This had *never* happened to Jane, not in over fifty students

strung out over the past fifteen years, and she *wasn't* prepared

this time! In the early days, Jane had always ordered Marie to

be ready to stop a boy who took her up on that offer, but she'd

never been needed in that capacity. Now, Marie was on the other

side of the house getting ready for a boy who just not might show

up.

This was *not* supposed to happen! The entire purpose of this

gambit was to force his unconditional acquiescence to her

program, to gain at least the semblance of consent from her

charge, by giving him only one acceptable course of action. It

was *not* intended to actually be a *real* choice for him.

Jane *had* to stop him. Whatever it took, whatever she had to

do, she had to stop him from trying to leave. After all, she

*was* responsible for the boy and first and foremost, she *had*

to see to his safety. The court order from his mother appointed

Jane as the boy's legal guardian and she had just put him in

danger because she hadn't been prepared. She'd gotten complacent

and now this boy stood to get badly hurt because of her

negligence.

*Oh, God, please let the front door be key locked.* The deadbolt

lock required a key to unlock it from both the outside and the

inside. Why hadn't she remembered to ask Marie to lock the front

door and pocket the key while she conducted this interview?

Unfortunately, the key was still in the lock and the front door

was standing open by time Jane had reached the head of the

stairs. Terror gave her feet wings and she ran down the stairs,

reaching the front door just as the barefooted figure in ankle

length pink satin made it to the driveway. *Thank goodness it is

June* she thought. *His feet would be frozen if this were

December.*

"Kenneth!" she screamed. "Stop right there, young man." To her

relief, he did, turning to look up at her standing on the raised

porch. "You have no money. Where do you think you will go?"

"The police will eventually pick me up. Dressed as I am, they'll

have to. After that, who knows. Child protection services

perhaps? Surely telling me to leave without anything more than

this on constitutes some type of child abuse or abandonment on

your part."

Where did the boy come by his unreal control and composure? How

was it that he was thinking rationally about all this? What had

she done wrong? *no time to worry about that* she thought.

"Well, you might wish to know that the local police are fully

aware and supportive of what I do here." It wasn't quite a lie.

Caro's husband, one of Jane's former students, was a deputy in

the local sheriff's office. Hopefully he'd be on duty if she had

to make a panicky call. "And have you considered just how

dangerous it is for you to be out dressed like that?" Which was

the absolute truth and what Jane truly feared.

Jane moved down the stairs to where her almost-lost student

stood. Cautiously, recalling that one of the reasons he'd been

sent to her was a propensity for violence, she put her hand on

his shoulder and squeezed gently. "Trust me on this, Kenneth.

If you do leave, one of three things will happen. You will

either be brought back here to me or you will be sent off to your

home for delinquent boys, or you will end up hurt or worse. It

could happen, Kenneth. We've had several cases of sexual assault

locally the past few weeks. You really could get badly hurt.

Whatever else happens in my house, I promise you that you will

not be physically harmed in any way. If not for yourself,

reconsider for the sake of your mother."

The boy went rigid at the mention of his mother. At a loss, Jane

continued massaging the tense muscles. Finally, he turned to

face her. "So, was your statement that I could just leave a

lie?"

Jane shook her head, thinking very quickly. "No, I will allow

you to leave, and wearing what you are wearing, but I will have

Marie drop you off a good ways from here so that the local

attacks we have been experiencing are not a risk to you."

*Please, please, don't take me up on that. I don't know if I

could really do it and live with myself afterwards. Who are you

kidding, Jane? You know you couldn't do it. Please, give me a

chance to help you, Kenneth!*

"You're saying the threat of assault is real?"

"Yes, very real." Jane affirmed. "I cannot promise you will not

be attacked, even well away from here, but the risk should be

less. Of course, it will also mean that there will be no turning

back for you; no returning here for the safety of my house. And

it will mean that anyone who finally takes you in will be very

unlikely to believe any stories you may try to tell about me. I

will, of course, deny ever having seen you. Eventually, you might

get someone to believe your wild stories. But most will not."

The frill-dressed boy stared at Jane for several moments,

considering her words. Finally, he shrugged and turned back

towards the house. "Very well. I will stay . . . .for now,

under the same conditions as before. However, if I find out

you've lied to me about this assault story, I am leaving if I

have to walk out of here naked in a hailstorm."

Jane steeled herself to match his hard-eyed look without

flinching, but her guilt made it difficult. "I haven't lied to

you about that, Kenneth, and I will try to find the articles to

prove it to you. There are and will be some things I may choose

not to tell you during your stay with me, but I promise you that

I will not deliberately lie to you." *And I will pray that I can

keep that promise now that I've made it because I've never had to

make it to a student before.*

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

An hour later, Jane was busy in her office, digging furiously

through the newspapers she'd retrieved from Marie's recycling

bin. It had taken a while, but she had finally gotten the boy

back into his room for his thirty minute bath from hell as one of

her students had described the floral-scented experience. She'd

have to be heading back to his room soon as the time she allotted

for the bath was nearly over.

A sharp knock was followed by her door swinging wide and a very

upset Darla sticking her head into the opening. "Jane, Marie

needs you. Now."

Jane was running down the hall before she realized just how

frightened she was. Memories of another boy - one who tried to

end his life because of his reaction to her treatment - flashed

vividly in her mind's eye.

What she saw in the room brought her up short and all she could

do for several moments was stare. Kenneth's luxuriant hair was

gone, down to bare stubble - almost white stubble. "What

happened?" was all she could ask.

"What does it look like?" Marie blurted, her wildly gesticulating

hands filled with locks of fine blond hairs; her normally

imperceptible French Canadian accent coloring every syllable she

spoke. "He shaved his head after the shampoo solution had done

its work."

*Now what do I do?* Jane wailed in her mind, but in the end, all

she could come up with was to ask, "Why?"

The sardonic look she got in return was of the "you have got to

be kidding" variety. "I asked you a question, Kenneth." she

tried again, her voice firming as she strove to regain control of

the situation.

"Your nasty little trick with the shampoo made me angry, so I

decided that whatever you planned to do with that mess, you'd

have to find another way."

"You are forcing me to make a decision I'd rather not make, young

man." Jane fumed. "Do you *want* to go to that delinquent's

hall? You are about five minutes from that."

Acid burned in Kenneth's gut, and he almost regretted the rash

act. He'd been so damned angry, he'd nearly pulled it out by the

roots instead of merely attacking it with the razor. Should he

apologize, he wondered. *No, can't do that. Can't afford to give

her any advantage she doesn't already have.*

"That is your decision, Ms. Thompson, and doing this," his hand

raised to brush across the peach-fuzzed head, "was my decision. I

knew there was that possibility when I did it."

For one of the few times in her adult life, Jane Thompson was

speechless. Every time she opened her mouth to say something,

words failed her. She couldn't find any word, any phrase that

was adequate to express her emotions at that moment.

She'd have to deal with this later, she decided, and continue

with the plan as best they could for now. "Marie, do what you

can to dress him properly. Have him at my study door in thirty

minutes." she ordered in a low, angrily intense voice before

striding out of the room.

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

The wig Marie had put on him was a little too sophisticated for

the delicately little-girlish, petticoated, taffeta sailor outfit

she used as her students' first full dressing, but it was all she

had brushed out and ready to wear. Per her standard script, Jane

had ordered him to seat himself on the parson's bench while she

"finished" her work when he'd knocked at her study door.

Now Jane was sitting quietly at her desk, contemplating the small

speaker that was connected to the hidden microphone carefully

secreted beneath the bench.

"Hi." Darla's voice came through clearly on the box as the

second phase of this recurring drama in many parts began anew.

"You missed afternoon tea. Would you like a lady finger?

They're very good, even if Jane did make me bake them myself."

Jane could easily visualize the sweetly smiling face, the small

pastry and the boy in girl's clothing sitting awkwardly on the

bench, wrinkling her petti's and skirt.

"Didn't Jane tell you to sit while you waited?"

"She did, but I decided I would stand. If I am any judge of

women, Ms. Thompson plans to stand me up and put me through an

inspection that would do a Marine general proud." Damn the boy,

Jane fumed. She *had* ordered him to sit down for precisely that

reason - so she could subject him to just such a humiliatingly

intimate and *thorough* inspection. And now she couldn't even

take him to task for disobeying her because that would compromise

Darla in her role as the "good cop" in this little farce. Worse

yet, Darla would have to continue his instruction so that he

would learn the lessons anyway, but without the fault finding.

After that, Jane listened with only half an ear as Darla

instructed her "little sister" in the fine arts of sitting in a

skirt, of mincing delicately and other such feminine mysteries.

Then Darla went into her "Oh, Jane's not that bad once you get to

know her and learn to follow her rules." speech. One thing Jane

did notice, to her increasing frustration, was that the recording

device was picking up a near monologue by Darla. Kenneth was

adding almost nothing to the conversation other than affirmative

noises at key points in Darla's explanations and to ask a few

polite if uncomfortably pointed and insightful questions that

Darla managed to sidestep for the most part. Fortunately.

Jane decided that she needed to call today's exercises to a quick

end. She needed time to regroup, time to figure out just what

the hell to do to get past Kenneth's wall of composed control.

She had obviously failed to put him on the defensive and he was

still thinking rationally instead of emotionally; he was

analyzing instead of reacting - a state of affairs that did not

bode well for Jane's immediate plans.

"Did you really tell Aunt Jane that you didn't do any of that

stuff in that record?"

"Yes, I did." was the Kenneth's curt reply.

"You have to admit that it's kind of hard to believe. . . I mean,

Judge Ruth and Jane are very good friends. I mean, what do you

have to gain by lying? You're already here and she has that

file."

Jane's senses went on alert as she awaited the answer. "I have

nothing to gain by lying."

"Well, then why did you? I mean, all Jane has to do is call

Judge Ruth to confirm those records. And trust me, you don't

want to make Aunt Jane angry."

"A better question is why would your Judge Ruth lie about me.

Your Aunt Jane's not the only one who knows her. My mother is

friends with her, too." Jane's hand slammed down hard on the

polished hardwood desktop. How *dare* he accuse Judge Ruth of

lying. Raw fury colored her vision. That damned delinquent's

school was looking better and better to her every minute.

No, she told herself, she couldn't make such a far reaching

decision after only one day with the boy, and most especially not

when she was this furious with him. Deciding that they had

learned all they were going to from this episode, Jane strode to

the door and opened it. The two girlishly attired boys looked up

at her.

"Kenneth, please come in. Darla, go see if Marie needs help with

dinner. Tell her I want it served on individual trays tonight.

You and Kenneth will dine in your respective rooms."

Jane saw the surprise in Darla's face at the unexplained change

of plan, but she hurried off to comply with Jane's direction none

the less.

Inside the study, Jane gestured Kenneth back into the wooden seat

before sitting down herself to glare at him over her desk. She

tried to make all the snide, embarrassing little "compliments"

that reduced her feminized young men to near tears, but it

quickly became apparent that they were having little or no

visible effect on Kenneth and that her mind was not in the game.

"That is enough for today, Kenneth. Go to your room. Marie will

serve you dinner there and then assist you in getting ready for

bed which will, I am sure, take much longer than you might

expect."

"Yes, Ms. Thompson." he responded before standing and mincing out

of the room. He did it so well Jane nearly screamed.

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

"He already had his make up mostly cleaned off and his dress hung

up when I brought his dinner in, Jane. I don't think we've ever

had a boy who came to us who was this. .. fastidious."

Jane removed the glasses she had been wearing as she continued to

scan the papers and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Except when

he shaves his head." She shook her head, still amazed at that.

"How did he react to the dressing and making up?" Jane finally

asked.

"That's something else that was really spooky. He was absolutely

deadpan throughout, Jane. He did not smile, frown, grimace or

anything. He just sat there staring at himself in the vanity

mirror as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for him.

Almost like he was bored with the routine of it all."

Shaking her head, Jane smiled ruefully at her old friend.

"Sometimes, especially after these latest students, I think that

maybe we have been doing this too long, Marie. Do you think

something fundamental has changed in young men that we don't know

about or am I just getting too set in my ways, and unable to

react when things don't go perfectly according to plan?"

"I don't know, Jane. We have had some strange ones recently,

starting with Michelle, but this one? He scares me because I

don't know what he is thinking, what he is feeling. Normally I

can read them pretty well, but not this one."

"So where does that leave us? I won't call Sheila and Ruth and

tell them we don't think we can help this one, but Lord above,

Marie, if all he is going to do is follow orders precisely,

without feeling any humiliation or any other emotion from the

experience, there's not much we can do with him. We need him

angry, humiliated, uncertain, and so far, he's not showing any

sign of those emotions."

Marie considered the amber liquid in the crystal snifter she held

in her hand before looking back up to Jane. "I know. So what do

we do with him? Usual plan for tomorrow?" she asked softly.

Jane thought about it a moment and then gave a very unladylike

shrug of her shoulders. "Might as well. I don't think it will

make things worse, and who knows, maybe the furor of the rapid

change drill will trip him off so we can start doing something

with him. You did force him to wear cosmetics to bed?"

Marie nodded in reply. "Wasn't much I could do to put the hair

rollers on him, though. He really couldn't wear the wig to bed

and there just isn't enough left to roll."

"All right, then, we will go ahead with the morning quick change

drill, followed by lunch in little girl party clothes and finally

Darla introducing him to the staff as Kendra."

Her longtime friend nodded her agreement. "Just one thing,

Jane." Jane regarded her dear friend attentively. "Let's make

sure that all three of us are close by after Darla does that

first outing with him. He seems much too cool about all this,

but as I said earlier, I can't read him. I am really afraid he

is going to explode and tomorrow is one of those hellish

experiences that has turned some of our young men violent. I

want to make sure there are enough of us close by to take him

down if he really loses it and goes berserk."

"You think that's likely?" Jane asked wearily.

"He's too quiet, Jane, too blase about all this. And that file

says he is prone to violence if given what he considers

sufficient cause."

Sighing softly, Jane nodded her agreement. "Which, of course, is

precisely what we are trying to give him. Lovely. Very well,

then. We'll start with him getting the "this is why we don't

wear cosmetics to bed" object lesson at breakfast in my study and

start the real program by nine thirty. Plan lunch for

immediately after the fourth change and we'll go on from there."

"I am going to go up to bed, Jane. You should, too. Tomorrow's

going to be another very long day."

"I'll be up in a few minutes, dear." Jane said with real warmth

in her voice.

She sat quietly until the door clicked shut behind Marie. Once

she was certain she was alone, Jane eyed the phone on her desk,

thinking about what had happened that day one more time and about

what might go wrong tomorrow. This one felt wrong - very, very

wrong. All it would take, she reminded herself, was one phone

call to Ruth and she could stop feeling like she was carrying a

flaming torch into a room filled with dynamite to take inventory.

None of this made any sense. Kenneth's records described a young

male who would attack, perhaps physically, when his male ego was

challenged or attacked. Males, especially fifteen year old

males, like the one in that file, had no reason to develop the

kind of control he'd demonstrated today. Still, those records

had come from an absolutely unimpeachable source.

Jane felt drained, and just for a moment, thought about calling

it quits. It would be so very easy . . .so very, very easy.

Judge Ruth was probably home already. Just one little phone call

and the purchase of a plane ticket.

Except she'd never given up on a kid before. She'd failed a

couple of times, but that was because one boy gave up on her and

another lost trust in her when she'd been caught in a stupid

little lie, but she had *never* given up.

Jane finished the last of her drink and stood up, stretching her

long, tense body as she rose. No, she hadn't ever given up on a

student, and she damned certain wasn't going to start with this

one.

Making that decision lightened Jane's mood considerably. With a

new spring in her stride, she moved quietly over to her own room

and prepared for bed. Marie was right. They would all need rest

to get through the next day.

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

Part 4

Kenneth lay awake in that rose scented jail cell. Jail cell was

an apt enough description since that woman, Marie, had loudly

locked his door from the outside after glopping make up all over

his face. The old house was now quiet except for the creaks and

other noises that gave such places their character.

Had he made a critical mistake by stopping when the Thompson

woman had called to him? He wished he knew. God, but he felt

alone. It would be so much easier to handle this if he did not

feel so completely alone.

Maybe it would easier just to give in. Give her his word that

he'd put up with whatever nasty little lessons she had planned.

That would certainly simplify things. He honestly did not want

to go to that damned home. The woman had been right about his

size and his vulnerability in such an environment. Physical

abuse by the larger inmates was a surety - sexual abuse was

nearly as likely. What it really came down to was whether he was

going to forced to dress as a girl, or was he going to be used

physically as a girl?

Scylla or Charybdis? Which of his options would merely take a

bite out of his soul, and which one would destroy him utterly?

*That assumes, of course, that at least one of my options _won't_

destroy me.* he thought morosely, and finally lost his day long

battle to control the tears. *At least that _woman_ isn't here to

see me cry. I won't _let_ her see me cry! She's dangerous and

would be even more so if she thought she had reached me this

way.*

Kenneth rolled out of the bed and padded over to the vanity table

and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His tears had cut

wide tracks down his thickly coated cheeks. *Have to take care of

that or she'll know.* he thought, and began looking for that

stuff his mother used to clean off her makeup. Some kind of

cream, came in a little jar shaped like a tub.

After finding none of the special cream, Kenneth had scrubbed his

face as well as he could with just soap and water. *Well, it's

not all gone, but at least the ravages I just inflicted hide the

ravages of my little crying jag. . . .better get some rest. No

reason to believe tomorrow's not going to be worse than today. I

will need every resource to stay in control.*

It still took many hours for sleep to come to the lonely,

depressed young man.

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

Jane regarded her newest protege as he consumed his light

breakfast of dark tea and fresh muffins. He had been up when

she'd gone to wake him. So much for her plan to get him up

barely in time to start the day so that he would feel harried and

rushed in addition to dealing with her little feminine tyrannies.

Evidently among his other talents was an internal alarm clock

which had gotten him awake in time to shower and remove most of

the cosmetics from his face. She hadn't provided him with a

decent cold cream or make up remover as yet, so he still had an

oddly colored face, but he was clean.

And he was rigged out in the frilly gown and peignoir set that

Marie had left out for him. He'd even put the wig back on,

without being told or upbraided for not wearing it. She was

going to have to do something about his hair. At this rate, it

would be months before he would have enough hair to style if she

waited for it to grow back out, and caring for attached hair and

caring for a wig were entirely different prospects.

Jane waited to begin her script for the day's planned events

until Kenneth had finished reading through the articles she'd

found, proving her claim that it would have been dangerous for

him out on the streets.

"Thank you, Ms. Thompson, for giving me those. I will be more

careful in the future."

*I am not going to give you the chance to do that again, young

man!* "Well, Kenneth, if you are finished, let us begin today's

program of studies. Today we are going to concentrate on clothes

and cosmetics. Your face is a disgrace. You have smudges of old

make up making a most . . .interesting abstract artwork of your

face. You should clean your skin more thoroughly in the future."

She watched as the femininely turned out young male continued

chewing the bite of food he'd taken just before she'd spoken to

him (intentionally, hoping he'd try to swallow it whole or

respond with his mouth full) before swallowing. Only then did he

attempt to answer her. "Yes, ma'am, I know. Unfortunately, the

soap did not clean it all away and I did not want to keep you

waiting. I thought I would ask Marie for something better. I

seem to recall my mother buying some special cream by the case

for just that purpose."

Despite her years of control, Jane momentarily goggled at the

boy. "Umm. ..yes. . .I see. An . . .unfortunate oversight. Now,

as to our lessons for today." Jane said quickly to regain

control.

"My 'English method' is designed to put recalcitrant boys such as

yourself, young man, into new, alien and uncomfortable situations

as a means of deterring that recalcitrance. I use petticoat

discipline to force them to learn to appreciate their feminine

side, and before you say anything, psychologists have shown that

every person has both feminine and masculine sides to their

nature. I contend that you, and other boys like you, ignore that

finer aspect of your personalities. If left on your own, boys

such as you grow into men who are totally insensitive to feminine

things and who are disdainful of the elevated role of woman. That

is unacceptable in our modern world."

"Our first lessons today, and those we shall work through in the

coming days, are all about what it takes to be like a young girl

of your age."

Jane paused at this point to take stock of her student and of his

reaction. Nothing but attentive curiosity. How many times had

she given this little speech, or one very much like it? Between

her time at Eastmore working with boys whose mothers wanted them

petticoated and forced to attend an all-girl school as punishment

and her work here in her own home subsequent to Eastmore, easily

over a hundred times. Invariably at this point, the boys had

horrified looks on their faces, or were fidgeting uncomfortably

about in their seats. Some even had the temerity to talk back to

her which aided her cause. Such behavior gave her the

opportunity to become truly scathing about their lack of

deportment and manners.

But never in her experience had a student simply sat there,

listening to her as if she was explaining some new and unusual

scientific experiment in chemistry class. Jane's bad feelings

about this whole project came back with a vengeance and she again

found herself staring at the phone on her desk. Finally, she

looked back at Kenneth and tried to finish the session.

"So we come to this morning's program. Young girls spend hours

practicing with clothes and with makeup. Now while I don't

expect you to display that same enthusiasm for the activity, it

is a skill that I strongly believe is important to your

development. So this morning you are going to practice getting

yourself dolled up all darling and precious."

Again, no reaction. *My God*, Jane thought grimly, *what is it

going to take to get through to this child and would I even have

the nerve or the right to go that far if I do figure it out??*

She had to get him out of her room. She needed to think, to

reflect. "Marie is now laying out your first ensemble. She has

also obtained several wigs that will be appropriate to the age

and style you will be wearing. She will guide you through this

first session."

Jane took a sip of her tea. "Today, Marie will be your teacher.

However, I am going to be the one who appraises and grades your

progress. I think the first phase will take about an hour.

Learn well what Marie shows you the first time, for it will be

important to you later."

"After she has done with you, I will expect you to come back here

for my inspection. Looking like a perfectly lovely little lady.

Any questions, Kenneth?"

"No, Ms. Thompson. I understand what you are doing."

*Why do I think that you do, young man? I really do think that

you do know. Oh, God* "Very well, then," Jane said briskly.

"In my experience, it takes someone about half-an-hour to get

dressed and made-up. After I have inspected you, you will return

to your room and do it all over again. You will cleanse away all

traces of the makeup you have on and redo it from scratch. New

colors, new cosmetics...whatever Marie directs. Do you

understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he relied softly. "Your directions are very

clear."

She glanced at the clock.

"I want to have lunch at 12:30 today. That will permit you at

least four practice sessions. Go back to your room, Kenneth.

Marie is waiting for you."

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

Lunch was late that day and Jane was very unhappy about it.

First, she was hungry having had only a croissant and a cup of

tea since rising from her bed, and hunger always made Jane

irritable. The second reason for her displeasure was the reason

lunch was late. The only part of the morning that had gone at

all well had been the two transformations Marie had done

personally.

Nor had the morning's exercises gone as well as Kenneth had

wished. Kenneth had been very quick to note that Marie had

needed every minute of the hour Jane had allotted to her to

achieve a feminine appearance that first time. It was then that

Kenneth had understood just how impossible complying with Ms.

Thompson's orders truly was. There was simply no way he could

replicate in thirty minutes what it had taken a very good, very

experienced cosmetic artist almost sixty minutes to achieve.

He'd just have to do his best and refuse to let her demands

compromise his own self-image.

That resolution was much easier to make than to accomplish.

Despite Kenneth's willing compliance with Marie's demands, Jane's

sarcastic comments had found fault with every detail of his

appearance. It wasn't his fault that his eyebrows were not slim

and arched. It wasn't his fault that his fingernails were trimmed

closely. It wasn't his fault the dress did not hang on his boyish

figure like it would on a real girl. Yet Jane made it seem as

though all these, and a host of others infractions as well were

deliberate defiance on his part, soon to send him packing to the

unimaginably evil reform school Kenneth's mother had selected.

The screaming, adrenaline-fueled demand within his body for

action to fight this unfair attack on his dignity had no outlet

from behind his rigidly calm exterior. Instead, his stomach

began to churn with turmoil that would cause an ulcer if it

continued. That sent discharges of excess acid into his bowels,

which began to cramp and spasm. No sooner was he out of the

Thompson woman's lair after his first inspection than his stomach

lurched and he'd barely made it to the safety of his bathroom in

time to lose his breakfast, mercifully without too much loss of

dignity. Once he'd emptied his stomach, he'd had to drink some

water just to hold off the dry heaves. That necessary detour had

cost him almost ten minutes while repairing the ravages to his

face had taken the other five. An effort which had been to no

real purpose since the first thing Marie would make him do was

clean off his make up.

By the time he'd left the safety of his bathroom, there was no

way he could meet the half hour time limit, so he hadn't

bothered to try. It was during that particular dressing that it

had occurred to him that the only ones who would see him already

knew what was going on. Regardless of what they said or did to

him, it really didn't matter. Hadn't the Thompson woman promised

that he would not be harmed here? All that left her were her

sharp tongue and her "little lessons", and he had been through

worse - much worse - in the past.

So he'd just played her game, albeit a little differently than

what Ms. Thompson had likely anticipated. Being late instead of

being sloppy left her having to ad lib her little tirades which

blunted their impact - at least somewhat.

Standing up under Jane Thompson's scathing diatribe about his

lack of courtesy in keeping her waiting, his willful disobedience

of her orders, and his incredible insensitivity in using that

"women are always late" stereotype had stretched his control to

the limits. God, but the woman didn't just chew him out, she

chewed all around and let it fall out.

Then Jane had gotten really creative. "If you are going to

continue to be late primping, young man," her words in the sickly

sweet tone Kenneth already recognized as bad news, "then we will

see to it that you have something worthy of the effort!"

Jane had accompanied him back to his bedroom that time and had

huddled with Marie while he'd hurriedly cleansed his face. When

Marie returned to the vanity, she had a small box and a tube of

something that looked like and smelled like modeling glue. In

very short order, Kenneth was sporting a set of fingernails only

a teenage rock singer could love.

Those damned inch long nails had been impossible. He couldn't

touch anything without snagging the bloody things on something.

He'd destroyed the stiff laced collar of a Victorian blouse when

he'd tried to button the thing, and broken off one of the nails

in the process. After that had been replaced Marie had finally

been forced to help him into his hose after he'd managed to run

the first four pairs with those claws.

Upon entering Jane's study for his third inspection of the

morning, she'd immediately set him to work doing some filing for

her in her relatively simple file system. Simple that is, if a

person could get the blasted drawers open. Which Kenneth had been

completely unable to do, breaking two more of the seemingly

fragile nails in very short order. Jane had really lit into him

for that, after making him replace each one under the daunting

stare of her basilisk eyes.

The terrible unfairness of that attack, when they both knew he

had no chance at all of succeeding, had nearly set off his

temper. Restraining himself had cost him another lengthy trip to

the bathroom to vent his anger by trying to rend one of the

towels with his bare hands as he unsuccessfully fought back

against a desperate bout of tears.

Worse, Kenneth had poked himself painfully in the eye with one of

the nails as he'd tried to take off the makeup. He'd been nearly

blind in that eye for that entire dress-up session The only

positive to that was that Marie had concluded that his eyes were

tearing so badly because of the eye poke, and not because he'd

been reduced to tears by the Thompson woman's vile tongue.

Kenneth was late arriving at Jane's study for his fourth

examination, this time struggling not to keel over and break an

ankle on the stilts Jane had insisted he wear for that

presentation. The damned things had to be almost three inches

tall. He just couldn't find his balance in them, and felt like

he was always just one slight misstep away from falling. Jane

had been at her very best during that session, berating him

constantly for his lack of grace and for his inattention to

learning any. She'd had him walk about her study for what seemed

like hours (although the hall clock indicated he'd been inside

her lair for less than fifteen minutes) with a large dictionary

balanced on his head.

Well, almost balanced, Kenneth admitted to himself, since the

thing fell off his head numerous times, twice falling onto one of

his exposed toes and nearly toppling him. Only Jane's quick

action on each of those occasions had saved him from serious

injury.

Now he was sitting at the formal dining table, feeling incredibly

foolish in this refugee-costume from a "Through the Looking

Glass" production. Marie had been waiting to rig him out in that

particularly frilly outfit after his escape from the high heeled

session. At least he hadn't been made to present himself in the

study for a fifth inspection while wearing that dress. Jane had

wanted her lunch more than she'd wanted to chastise him.

Kenneth was trying to appear interested in his food, but he

wasn't. The morning's trials combined with the effort put forth

to hide his reactions from Jane and Marie had left him a very

uncertain stomach. To compensate, Kenneth had carefully selected

the blander offerings while pushing the less digestible morsels

around his plate. Jane had noticed, of course, and had taken

that opportunity to compliment him on his dainty appetite "So

very necessary for keeping your cute girlish figure, dear.", but

that had been her only really pointed dart of that meal. Ms.

Thompson had been far more interested in her own meal than in

sniping at her new student.

Thank God.

Jane recognized that lunch had been an unusually quiet affair for

a training meal at the Thompson table, but she'd simply been too

hungry to keep up her normal banter and social corrections. By

the time she'd taken the edge off her own appetite, the meal had

been for all intents and purposes complete and she had to shoo

the children back to their rooms to put on their sun dresses for

Kendra's introduction to the groundskeeper staff.

*Well, at least he has not exploded like Marie had feared he

might, but as she also said, what comes next is the most likely

trigger for such an eruption. I will have to make sure Marie

knows when they make the turn back towards the house.*

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

"What happened, Marie?" Jane asked as soon as the two girls were

out the front door. "Why did you let him change the schedule?"

The other woman snorted and gave her friend a little shrug. "He

spent the first ten minutes after each of your sessions in the

bathroom. I checked and the odor was unmistakable. Either you

were reaching him to the point of nausea or he was fighting some

type of stomach ailment."

"Which do you think it was?" Jane asked excitedly, hoping that

this was a sign her program had worked better than she had first

thought.

"I'm still not sure, Jane. At first, I thought it was his

reaction to you, but then he ate so poorly at lunch - like every

bite might come right back up. You weren't badgering him at

lunch, so wouldn't he have wanted to eat if you had been the

cause of his upset?"

*Damn* "Perhaps. Or perhaps he hadn't fully recovered by the

time we sat down to table. So, that is why he was late? You

gave him the full half hour after he exited the bathroom?

Because he was sick and you knew he couldn't make the half hour

under any circumstances?"

"Not quite, Jane. I actually tried to press him on time, to get

him to hold to the original half hour regardless of his time in

the bathroom. I hoped that if he was particularly unacceptable,

you might be able to really cut him down, might finally begin to

reach him." Marie's shoulders drooped, "It didn't work. He just

continued on with his dressing and making up as if I had not said

a thing to him. He just stayed focused on what he was doing and

left when he thought he was ready. Jane, I have never had a boy

do that before. By the time we get to this point, they are so

terrified of you and the browbeating you will give them, they

just panic when the time limit approaches."

"As you well know, that panic is much of the intent of this

exercise. So, even if the boy did have a nervous attack, he did

not show any of it to me, and he refused to be panicked into

rushing." Jane shook her head. "Lord, Marie. Why in heaven's

name does a boy of fifteen need that kind of self control? More

to the point, how ever did he develop it in the first place?"

"I don't know, Jane. I just think it is odd that he shows it

here with us when there is no indication of any such control in

the records from Judge Ruth."

"Good point." Jane wondered what to do next. "Of all the

exercises this morning, I think the physical discomfort of the

high heeled session bothered him the most. Certainly, it was

physically difficult for him. I may do an evening session with

him, Marie, to see if I can use that discomfort to weaken his

resistance."

"Discomfort? You know very well that those heels rapidly become

much more than merely uncomfortable. That is why you always work

the boys up to them slowly. Not only that, but that pair is

brand new and very stiff."

"I am not going to let him be hurt, Marie. His feet will ache a

little in the morning, but I won't press him beyond his threshold

of real pain. You know I don't work like that. I just want

something to distract him enough that he loses some of that

control."

"How long?"

"For as long as he can go without real pain or for as long as it

takes, which ever comes first."

"I'm betting this one will drop first." Marie muttered darkly.

"I hope you're wrong, dear." Jane murmured back. "I am not sure

I don't agree with you, but I do hope you are wrong."

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

As they'd agreed the night before, both Marie and Jane were

waiting when the two students reentered the house. Jane searched

Kenneth's face for any sign of the fury that should be there

after having been introduced to men as a girl using a girl's

name. Once again, however, as had been the case from the moment

she'd first laid eyes this boy, Jane found nothing of what she

sought to see in him.

"Thank you, Darla, for showing me around. That was a very nice

walk. Perhaps we can do it again tomorrow?"

"Of. . .of course." Darla stammered. "At least, as long as Aunt

Jane doesn't have other plans for us." She added recovering

quickly.

Kenneth, now Kendra, turned to face Jane. "Are there any more

lessons scheduled for today, Ms. Thompson?"

Jane swallowed hard and shot a worried glance to Marie. There

was no way she was doing anymore with this boy today. She needed

some time to think. "Not immediately, my pretty, probably after

dinner. You may assist Marie in cooking the evening meal.

Knowing how to properly prepare and present food is something

every young girl should know."

"Yes, Ma'am." he responded. "Ms. Marie? What can I do to help?

I must warn you that I haven't had much time in the kitchen, but

I would like to learn how to cook."

"Certainly." Marie rasped out. "Please follow me."

Jane and Darla silently watched the pair go into the kitchen, and

then Jane beckoned the girl into her office.

Once the doors were closed, Jane rounded on Darla, "What in the

bloody hell happened out there?" Her language was a measure of

just how rattled Jane truly was.

"He introduced himself." Darla replied flatly, "Or at least he

tried to."

"What do you mean by 'he tried to'?"

"Just what I said. He walked over to old Tom, held out his hand

and said, "hi, I'm Ken."

Jane groaned, her eyes closing tight as she fought to stave off

the invasive tendrils of an incipient migraine. "Ken?" was all

she could manage to say. What was she going to do? If those men

put two and two together and came to the conclusion that if *one*

of her 'girls' was actually a boy, it would not be all that great

a leap of intuition for them to decide that many if not all of

her students had been skirted boys. At the very minimum every

new student would be under dangerously closer scrutiny during

those introductions at the very earliest, most inept moments of

their masquerade. It would only be a matter of time before the

entire community knew all or part of the truth. Which would be

the end of everything.

"I think I saved the day, but it was too darned close." Darla

continued in a very tight voice. "I said, loudly enough for both

men to hear, something to the effect that "Now, Kendra, you

*know* that Jane doesn't like you using that nasty boy's nickname

and remember, you *did* promise to go by your given name while

you are here." Anyway, I think they believe she is just another

of your charm schoolers, but one who doesn't yet have the nose-

in-the-air arrogance your students are known for in town. They

just figured she was an unusually friendly girl who had always

been called "Ken"-short-for-"Kendra" before she came to learn at

your feet."

"Hopefully, that will be enough." Jane shook her head. "Good

job, Darla. Go up to your room and rest, dear. You look

exhausted."

"Thanks, Aunt Jane, I think I could use a nap." and Darla turned

towards the door, but then stopped. "Jane?"

"Mmmm. .. Yes, dear?" she answered absently.

"She's not acting at all like that file of yours said she would.

He's been nothing but perfectly polite and courteous to Darla.

If you'll recall, even I threw a tantrum when Stephanie named me

Darla for Old Tom. He just lets it all flow off his back. It

just doesn't get to him or matter that much to him."

"And it definitely should be getting and mattering to him." Jane

replied emotionally. "Every bit of experience I have in this

type of psycho-dramatic event tells me he should be a face-

slapped quivering mass of human clay right now, ready for me to

start molding and refining him, first into a girl and then into a

decent man."

"It would be getting to him, Jane," Darla said in a very soft

voice, "If he was what that file says he is. If he's not what

the file says he is, then the important question is what is he

really?" And then she made her way quietly out of the room.

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

Jane stared out her window watching the setting summer sun in the

west as she held the phone to her ear. The buzzing ring sang

four times until -{buzzzzzz} You have reached the Roberts

residence. I am not available to take your call. Please leave

you name, number and a short message at the tone. I will return

your call as soon as possible. {ding} --

"Sheila, this is Jane Thompson. Please call me immediately,

whenever you get in. It is vitally important. Thank you." and

then she hung up.

"*DAMN*!" she snarled before punching in another phone number.

The phone on the other end only rang once before it was picked up

and a bored female voice answered. "County Courthouse. How may

I direct your call, please?"

"Judge Ruth's chambers, please."

Moments later, another woman picked up the phone. "Judge Ruth's

chambers, may I help you?"

Jane recognized the voice of Ruth's long time law clerk who had

been kidnaped by Darla's criminal older brother during her ward's

early days in her keeping. "Hello, this is Jane Thompson. I need

to speak with the Judge, please."

"I am sorry, Ms. Thompson, but the Judge is out of town at a

retreat. I expect her back on the day after tomorrow.'

"I see. Look, it is very important that I reach her. Could you

please give me a number where I can reach her?"

"I am sorry, Ms. Thompson, but this is one of those places that

pride themselves on being isolated and unreachable. The only

phone is in the main office and they normally refuse to call in

guests. She has her cell phone, but it doesn't seem to work up

there in the mountains."

"Blast. All right. Please leave her a message to call me. I

consider the matter to be quite urgent."

Jane hung up the phone, knowing no more than she had half an hour

ago. Should she keep trying for a break through with Kendra and

work her tonight as she and Marie had planned earlier? Or should

she back off until she could discuss this with Ruth and Sheila?

On one hand, she trusted Ruth and her judgement implicitly, and

yet, she found herself agreeing with Darla's assessment that

everything they had seen of the boy was at odds with what had

been written about him. Not only that, but Ruth had never before

been far from the phone during the first critical days of one of

her referral's tenure with Jane. Just in case she had to sign

the papers vacating the suspension of sentence and sending the

miscreant to jail.

Perhaps it was nothing, but still . . . that did not feel right.

That was not at all like Ruth. Lord, hadn't she delayed one

boy's arrival at Jane's until she could be available to Jane? As

for Sheila. . . well, she'd probably get back to Jane as soon as

she got in for the evening.

"Can he really be that good at putting on his company manners?"

Jane asked the empty office. "He must be - there's just no other

explanation. If I am to believe his file, he is a superb liar

and wouldn't this behavior be just another kind of lie?"

And if that was the case, what could she possibly do that would

break through his web of deceit?

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

Part 5

Kenneth, now Kendra after his last interview with the Thompson

woman, lay clean-faced on his bed, wearing only the light cotton

panties and training bra he'd been directed to wear constantly.

It had been an enlightening day. He was now convinced he knew

why he'd been sent here. Knowing that, he had to decide whether

he wanted to stay here and put up with that ex-schoolmistress and

her vile little lessons, or whether it was time to bail and go to

that damned delinquent's home.

He'd probably elect to stay on here, despite her so-called

"petticoat discipline" program. It was dead certain that the

physical amenities at this prison would beat the ones at the home

all to hell. The bed was comfortable, the food was great and the

bath water was always hot. Heck, even the clothes were always

clean, even if they weren't his first choice in attire.

Besides, something in the way Jane Thompson had promised him that

no physical harm would come to him while he stayed with her made

him want to believe her. There was no doubt in his mind that no

one at that boys' home could or would make a similar commitment

to him.

Not that her other little games weren't effective. She could

probably give him Mother lessons and Kenneth had always thought

she had such pointed little torments perfected. Jane had

definitely reached him on numerous occasions that day. He'd

almost snapped back at her after one too many of her unrelenting

and condescending compliments.

Except he'd managed, by the barest of margins, to control his

temper each time and that was when he saw the first signs of

frustration in the woman. He'd correctly deduced that her

intention was to make him angry, to make him stop thinking.

Which made him all the more determined to keep a cool head and a

rational outlook.

That, however, was far more easily said than done. As much as he

knew everything he'd faced that day was all just a setup, as much

as he knew there was nothing he could do, one way or another, to

ever satisfy the woman, *not being able to do so* still made him

feel like a failure. . .made him feel somehow inadequate.

Which was just plain stupid, but that was how he felt.

His instep, toes and ankles still ached a bit from his forced

perambulations about the study in those damned heels. That was

another sore spot since his ineptitude in the damn things had

provided Ms. Thompson with plenty of opportunities to denigrate

his performance. That patently unfair attack had nearly made him

lose it, but he'd almost fallen on his face when he'd tried to

spin around to confront his tormenter. Just as well he'd been in

the heels, he mused, catching himself had given him the break he

needed to bolster his control. The fact that Jane had been truly

concerned for him until she saw he was mostly all right had also

helped.

That was something totally unexpected since Kenneth knew this

woman was his Mother's friend. Maybe Jane Thompson wasn't quite

the bitch he wanted to believe she was. He'd have to think on

that one, too.

The trip outside had been another kettle of fish altogether.

There were other people outside. That was very scary, but he'd

given his word so he'd gone along. Kenneth had come as close to

a panic attack as he had in his life with that Darla female had

maneuvered them over to where that old gardener and his helper

were digging in those flower beds. Only the girl's surprisingly

strong grip on Kenneth's elbow had kept him from heading for the

hills. It immediately became clear that little detour was

intentional, and that for whatever reason, Darla was going to

force the issue of introducing him to those men.

At that point, Kenneth concluded that the gardeners where either

aware of what was happening to him or that they too were

unwitting pawns in Ms. Thompson's little game of chess. He'd

introduced himself as Ken deliberately. If the men knew about

the masquerade, he expected that they'd be very surprised to hear

him use a male name. If they weren't aware of what was going on,

their reactions would have been completely different.

In fact, Darla had jumped in with her little diversion, insisting

that Kendra stop that tomboy nonsense and start using her 'real'

name. That, along with the forced confrontation with the men,

while clearly protecting Kendra's male identity, also proved

beyond a shadow of a doubt that Darla was in on Jane's little

conspiracy. She was not an innocent dupe as Kenneth had

originally thought. Nope, that stunt of forcing the

introductions put dear, sweet little Darla squarely on the side

of the gals in the black hats in Jane Thompson's little

melodrama.

Which seemed odd now that Kenneth had time to consider that. Why

would Jane use a young girl in this escapade? Everything he knew

about girls his own and this Darla's age was that they had a very

difficult time keeping secrets from other girls their age. Which

did not fit the facts as he knew them at all. Kenneth was fairly

certain that not many folks knew what was going on here. For one

thing, security was just too good. They were miles from the

nearest neighbor and there had not been any visitors. That might

not matter all that much, given that he'd only been here two

days, but he'd watch for that in the future.

The second thing was that he found it hard to believe that a

"program" like the Thompson woman ran could last any length of

time if the general populace knew about it. Too many macho-guy-

crazies and religious right-wingers would go right over the edge

if they had even a glimmer of what she did here. She'd be lucky

not to be run out of town on a rail after those groups got done

with her.

So either Darla was an unusually good secret keeper for a girl

her age or Jane Thompson had something on her that guaranteed her

silence. Kenneth wondered what that something could be as he

scratched the tender skin on his shoulder that had been irritated

by that damned bra strap.

A thought occurred to him and Kenneth's hand stopped in mid-

scratch. Could that be it?, he asked himself as he craned his

head to look directly at the brassiere. Could it really be that

simple, that Machiavellian? It would all make sense if Darla

wasn't a girl at all, but was just another, further along

victim/student of Jane Thompson's charm school for wayward males.

Good old Darla had to zealously guard Kenneth's secret because it

was her secret, too. Very interesting. That also meant he was

not quite as alone as he had initially thought he was in this

house.

Kenneth quickly reviewed his few direct interactions with the

girl. In the end, he was forced to admit that nothing in her

looks or behavior disproved her apparent gender, one way or the

other. However, at least now he knew to look, carefully, for any

anomaly that pointed to Darla's real sex. At least that would be

no particular hardship. Girl or cross-dressed guy, the lovely

Darla was eminently watchable.

Even if he was wrong, just concentrating and thinking about what

was going on had helped calm him, helped him regain his control.

*Now, if I can just hold out a little longer. Maybe she'll run

out of dirty tricks*

*Suuurrrre she will," Kenneth sighed *NOT!*

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

"So, you've been unable to contact either woman?" Marie asked.

"No. Only the investigator got back to me. He'll be in Kenneth's

home town late tomorrow afternoon and will start making his

inquiries as long as the public buildings remain open. I don't

know what has happened to Sheila so I've asked the investigator

to check on her whereabouts in case something has happened to

her. As for Ruth, she won't be back until after tomorrow, which

raises the question of what do we do next."

"How so?"

"Normally, our little miss-to-be would be completely cowed by now

- willing to accept my program without question in order to avoid

being revealed publicly as a sissy-boy, or worse, as a boy

masquerading as a girl. Whatever Kenneth is feeling right now,

cowed he isn't. His male pride is not broken. . . it's not even

showing any cracks. In some particularly tough cases, when the

boy was resisting me fiercely, we'd get out the long wearing

cosmetics, curl his hair, put him in some very feminine slacks

and a blouse and take him off to the mall. Let the young rowdies

of the town come down on him for his sissy looks and manner."

"But you don't think that would work on him, either?"

"He's not resisting, Marie. He's not demanding his boy clothes

back. He's just going along with whatever we tell him to do and

not letting it bother him, somehow, or acting like it doesn't

bother him. I've seen this in boys before, but usually only

after they've been here long enough to start getting comfortable

the masquerade and begin to feel safe here around the house.

Then they think they can out-patient me without making any real

changes in themselves. Again, we put those boys in a public

situation as very feminine, sissy boys."

"What are our options, then? Write him off as a lost cause and

send him to that house-thing?"

"I am not yet considering that, not when I have at least two

other options. One is that we do nothing until we talk to his

Mother and Ruth. The incredible disconnect between the way he

behaves and those records is beginning to seriously bother me.

Couple that with the fact that Ruth has *never* been unavailable

during a student's first week and *that* feels very wrong to me.

Waiting until we can talk with those two has the advantage of

resolving our uncertainty about his observed behavior versus his

recorded behavior. Unfortunately, that solution means we don't

do much in the way of effective training tomorrow which means a

lost day during that normally critical first week of the

program."

"As you just pointed out, it's not as if he's into the swing of

things, Jane." Marie scoffed. "The first week is only critical

if we are accomplishing anything. We aren't. What is the other

alternative?"

"Try another tactic to break him down. Obviously he feels safe

and in control here. He willingly introduced himself to old Tom.

All I can think of is to take him out of this apparently safe

haven and try again. I am thinking of taking him to the Chalet

tomorrow and turning Caro and Sandy loose on him. *Really*

turning them loose on him. He needs hair anyway. Wigs don't

give him any practice with hair care and it will be months before

he has any of his own to play with. Let Sandy have her little

hand restraints ready to go if she needs them and really attack

his male self image."

"That could be very dangerous, Jane, if he really is as prone to

violence as those records say he is."

"I know. That's why I said for Sandy could use the restraints on

him. If we go, we'll be started before normal working hours and

I'll explain everything to Caro and Sandy first so that they can

bow out if they feel they can't be involved with something like

this. Besides, *nothing* we've seen so far shows anything like

that kind of violent behavior."

"Caro and Sandy were both quite devastated over Michael's suicide

attempt immediately after they had given him such a hard time

that first visit. Besides, if he does lose it, you are going to

have to free him eventually. Its not like we can keep him tied

in that chair for the next five months." Marie reminded Jane who

did not really need the warning. "I am not at all sure Caro will

want to help with something like this. Sandy maybe, but I don't

think Caro will like it very much."

"Lord, Marie, *I* don't like it very much, but I just can't quit

trying - that's not fair to the boy or to me. Waiting a day

before doing anything is *certain* to accomplish nothing. At

least this has a chance, however minimal that chance may appear

given what we have seen of Kenneth, of accomplishing something."

Jane wound down and saw Marie's highly skeptical frown. "Look, I

am going to call Caro and talk to her. If she says no as I

suspect at she very well might once she knows the situation, then

I will wait until Ruth gets back before doing anything new with

him. We can keep him busy doing the clothes/make up drill again,

but we won't press him beyond that. How does that sound?"

"Like you had best take your cannister of pepper spray in your

purse if you take him to the Chalet tomorrow."

"Think I might need it, Marie?"

"I don't know and that is what bothers me. Anything is possible

with his one, Jane. At least until we can begin to predict what

he'll do next with any degree of success we need to be prepared."

Jane sat quietly for several moments, not saying anything more.

Finally she stirred and reached for the phone. "Well, we won't

know until we ask. As I recall, this is Caro's night to work

late at the shop." she said as she began to type in a number."

"Jane, wait." Marie called. "Isn't there anything else we can

do? Anyone we can call to at least partially confirm or refute

that file?"

"The only people I know in that town are Ruth and Sheila. I have

no other official contacts in that town who would be willing to

discuss a juvenile's case with me over the phone. Calling the

investigator is all of I can think of on that score. Now the

question is whether we should go forward with the salon visit or

should we wait until we have a definitive answer?"

Marie shrugged. "That's up to you and Caro, Jane. You two will

be the ones on the hot seat if everything he's shown us to this

point is an act. If it isn't an act and those records aren't

true, what would be the danger of doing the salon trip?"

"If the records are false? After what we've already done to him

today with those inch long fingernails and those ridiculously

high heels? Only that we will have put an innocent young man

through our program which a court of law might mistakenly call

abusive. Oh well, I can't see that we'd be any more open to

legal action than we already are. Being sued is being sued. If

it comes to that, I can probably protect Caro and Sandy."

"They need to know the truth, Jane, and the possible dangers

before they agree to take him on."

Nodding her agreement, Jane picked the phone back up and pecked

out a number.

"Marisha Chalet, Carolyn Beale speaking. How may I help you?"

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

As was her habit, Jane knocked on Kendra's (*have to keep

reminding myself to use that name now. Its never been this

difficult to remember that before*) room and walked in before

being given leave to enter. She'd almost argued herself out of

this evening exercise period since she was now planning a salon

trip for the next day. Jane still wasn't sure that her planned

session was all that good an idea. There was no reason to think

it would work tonight any better than it had during their morning

session. On the other hand, he, or rather *she* would be all the

more susceptible to Sandy's caustic tongue and Caro's devastating

complements if he was already tired, edgy and irritable when he

walked through the door.

She found her student laying sprawled on top of her bedspread,

attired only in bra and panties, staring at the top of her bed's

canopy. "Do you think that your attire is appropriate, Kendra?"

Jane demanded sharply.

Kendra turned to face Jane as if realizing for the first time

that she was no longer alone and slowly rose from the bed.

Without a word, she walked over to the vanity and picked up the

robe that hung neatly across the back of the elegant little chair

and donned it. "I was not expecting visitors, Ms. Thompson, and

I thought that I would have time to put on the robe before anyone

who knocked would actually enter the room."

Jane had to admire the austerely polite, chilly tone the girl

affected to let her obviously unwelcome visitor know she had

invaded Kendra's privacy without permission. *Well, Sheila was

the Mistress of the cutting set down. It's not too surprising

that her child should also have developed the technique. Sad,

since it means she has seen and perhaps been on the receiving end

of her mother's ire, but not too surprising. I wonder if dealing

with Sheila is at the heart of her unusual maturity and control?

Still, I can't let her get away with that kind of behavior.*

"Be that as it may, Kendra, you are not some rough boy to lie

about in your underwear. Underwear is only to be seen in

transition in my home, that is, while taking off one outfit and

putting on another. Otherwise, you will be appropriately covered

at all other times. Do you understand?"

"I see." Kendra said. "I had thought I was in compliance with

your direction to always wear the brassiere."

"Don't get snippy with me, young miss!" Jane snapped. "You

*know* that my intentions are for you to live and behave as a

proper young lady at *all* times. Lying about in your

unmentionables is not proper, regardless of the circumstances.

Making such fine distinctions that follow only the absolute

letter of a law or direction while ignoring their intent is a

large part of why you find yourself here under my tuition."

The unfairness of it all finally began to reach the girlishly

dressed boy. "But I have done everything you told me to do." he

flared back.

*At last* Jane thought. "NO. . . YOU . . . HAVE . . . NOT!!" she

said in a loud, commanding voice. "You have only done those

things that you were specifically ordered to do in blunt terms,

but you have not done what you know I wanted done."

Shock at her tone flashed across the girl's make up-free face,

followed by anger and then the return of that unbelievably mature

control. "Then perhaps, Ms. Thompson," she replied in incredibly

soft, demanding tones, "You could more clearly layout your wishes

and directions, so that my poor male intelligence can grasp

them."

Jane glared at her student for several long heartbeats, waiting

for her to flinch away. *But you won't, will you?* she mused.

*What is the matter with your face, Kendra? What am I seeing or

not seeing?*

Shaking off the question, Jane returned to the attack. "I want

you to become a sweet, biddable, courteous young woman. You've

proven you cannot behave like a gentleman, so your only chance to

avoid the delinquents' home is to comply with my wishes, young

miss - not just the letter of them, but what you know to be their

intent, as well. Your lack of the most basic courtesy, manners

and deportment must be remedied or else; and I see the constraint

of skirts, petticoats, lingerie and feminine behaviors and

rituals to be the only path to that goal."

Jane saw a deep disgust pervade the girl-boy that not even

Kenneth could control, and yet, she knew in some way beyond the

norm, that it was not self disgust. When he spoke, his voice

cracked from the emotion he was trying almost successfully to

repress. "You say, Ms. Thompson, that I have to become more

courteous. . that my deportment needs improvement. Tell me,

please," he asked with heavy sarcasm, "what I have failed to do

properly since I have arrived. How have I been in any way

impolite? To you, whom I have every reason to detest, or to your

housekeeper. . . . . . " Kendra decided to take a chance, "or to

your other skirted sissy boy out there?"

Jane's momentary speechlessness gave Kendra the answer she had

expected. "What. . .what ever. . .What other skirted sissy boy?"

"Darla." Kendra said in flat conviction. "It is the only thing

that makes any sense. You could not do what you are doing to me

with a real girl in the house. Too complicated."

Jane's mind raced, trying to figure out some way to convince

Kendra otherwise, but she couldn't. No other boy had ever

figured out the truth about his big sister before Jane was ready

for him to know it. She had no pre-existing plan for this

contingency. "Believe what you will, Kendra, it makes no

difference to your own situation. As to your behavior since your

arrival here, it has been adequate - barely. You will improve in

all areas of your new feminine existence - behavior, mannerisms

and conversation, deportment, personal presentation in both

fashion and in make up."

"You will comply with my standards, Kenneth." Jane added in a

much quieter, almost conciliatory but no less commanding voice.

"You will become what I make you. You will do it perfectly *and*

you will enjoy doing it or you won't leave. Except to go to that

home, and let me warn you, Kendra. If I decide you are beyond

redemption in my program, when you leave here, you will leave

here as you are right now. You will face all those young toughs

with shaved legs, red fingernails and fine plucked and shaped

brows. Think on that one for awhile."

For several long moments, the two antagonists stood there,

staring at each other. Finally, Kendra spoke and in a hard, very

male voice. "Then I will be here until I am 18 years old when

you and my mother cannot keep me here any longer. Then god help

you both *and* that judge friend of yours. Until then, I will do

my best to be what you *intend* me to become."

Jane stared at the robed figure in front of her, and came to a

decision. She had to keep pressing this one. She simply had to

do something to reach the fragile, vulnerable spirit everything

she'd learned in the past twenty years told her was hiding

beneath the surface.

"Very well, if that is your plan, then we may as well get

started. Go to your vanity, young miss. I want to see you

reproduce the "afternoon high tea" make up job that Marie showed

you today." Jane ordered as she went to the armoire and rummaged

about its base. When she stood, Kenneth saw the three inch open-

toed heels in her hands, and groaned inwardly. "When you're

finished, put these on and report to my study."

Jane stopped to watch her student's surprisingly deft movements

with brush, pad and tube. He was starting to make up his eyes

when Jane suddenly realized what she has seen wrong in his face

earlier. Without making another comment, Jane slipped from his

room and went to her study.

Sitting down at her desk, Jane considered the ramifications of

what she'd just seen. Kendra's eyes had been red-rimmed, and the

only thing that did that to a young person's eyes were tears.

Lots of tears. Jane had not noticed that redness before was

because this was the first time today that she'd seen the girl in

anything less than full make up.

But when had she cried? She certainly hadn't cried in Jane's

presence, and Marie would have remarked upon it if she had seen

the girl in tears.

That meant that Kendra had been crying when Jane was not there to

see it, that she *had* in fact reduced the girl to tears, and not

just once or twice by the look of those eyes. One of her girl-

boys crying was not unusual, in fact, it was one of the reactions

Jane strove to evoke, particularly in these early days of a

student's tuition with her. Crying meant that the boy had been

forced to find some way, other than violence, to deal with his

more negative emotions. That was one reason she tried to provoke

her boys to near violence early in the program so that she could

brutally put down that response, thus leaving her emotionally

charged subjects with virtually no other release except tears.

Kendra had been crying - not in front of witnesses - but she had

been crying. That *really* did not fit the profile. Kendra

should have needed to be slapped down hard for attempting

something physical in retaliation before she should have broken

into tears. Perhaps she'd gone after Marie or Darla? No, that

didn't make sense - either of them would have told Jane if she

had.

That meant Kendra was dealing with her dark side nonviolently,

that she had been doing so since the moment she'd stepped off the

train, despite everything Jane had done in her attempt to provoke

her to violence. Not only that, Jane knew from long experience

that once a boy began to cry for her, he almost never responded

with physical violence again.

This is, Jane told herself grimly, just one more thing that flies

in the face of everything in that damned file. Could someone,

somehow have mixed up Kenneth's records with someone else? That

made no sense, either, especially since so many of those records

had his name on them. Jane shook her head in frustration. She

could either believe the evidence of her own eyes and conclude

that sending him here had been a dreadful mistake; or she could

believe the evidence of the records, and conclude that his

behavior here had been an Oscar-winning performance.

*No* one is that good an actor, and how could he have known to

cry as part of his "role"? Something was seriously wrong with

this whole scenario and *none* of the people who could help her

untangle things was available to her.

A rap on the door stopped her circular mind chase. "Enter." she

called sternly, and then watched as Kendra minced into the room,

still fighting the heels, but much improved since earlier that

day. *I am going to press him harder* she decided. *I will keep

on him until late and then wake him up early for tomorrow's day

at the mall. A little sleep deprivation should help bring the

*real* Kenneth Roberts just a little closer to the surface.

Whoever that real person really is.*

Jane made a note to warn Caro and Sandy that Kendra would be very

tired tomorrow, and to take special care when really pushing hard

on her buttons.

"Get your dictionary, Kendra. Your performance this morning was

unacceptably graceless. We will spend a few profitable hours

helping you learn to move properly in your pretty heels."

*A few hours?!?* Kenneth thought appalled. *It's already after

nine p.m., and she wants to practice for a few more hours? Oh,

my feet will never recover.*

"Yes, Ms. Thompson." Kenneth replied dully as he made his slow,

painful way over to the bookshelf.

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

It was after midnight when Jane had finally called a halt to what

Kenneth had titled high heeled extreme powerwalking. He hoped

he'd be able to walk - period - in the morning. *God* he prayed,

*Please let me make it to my room with the door closed before I

collapse. Just not in front of _her_!*

For her part, Jane knew that the boy was in severe discomfort,

(*more likely she's in real pain, Jane Thompson, for all your

high minded promises to the contrary*) and thoroughly exhausted

but not once had he whined or complained. Jane certainly would

have complained by this point in time.

Jane walked over to her charge and put a gentle hand on his

cheek. He flinched but did not pull away. "I will win in the

end, Kenneth. You will make your time with me so much easier on

yourself if you just give me my way. Life here can be almost

pleasant if you will just let yourself relax and try to enjoy the

experience, but it can also be hell on earth. The choice is

yours."

She waited for the boy to respond in some way, but he said

nothing. He simply stood there, letting her touch him, but

refusing to even look at her. Jane sighed wearily. "Very well.

As you wish it. Go to your room, clean off your make up and go to

bed. I need you to be up at 6:45 tomorrow morning so that Marie

can prepare you for the day. We will be going into town to have

you fitted with a semi-permanent hair piece to replace what you

destroyed. I expect you to be on your best behavior and to give

me no cause to think I am the wrong person to help you. Now, go

to bed. It will be a very tiring day for you. Good night,

Kendra."

For a long moment, Jane wondered if he would refuse to do her the

courtesy of returning her good wishes, but finally he stepped

back breaking contact with her hand and looked up at her. "Good

night, Ms. Thompson. I will see you in the morning then."

Jane watched her turn, and then slowly, deliberately make her way

to the study door. For a moment, Jane thought to follow, but at

the last minute did not. If the boy wanted to take those heels

off in the hall, she would not be out there to stop him.

Kenneth/Kendra had performed magnificently for Jane tonight and

Jane would not lessen that performance by looking for any more

reason to berate the girl.

As she'd thought before she'd embarked on this night's exercises.

Those records simply did not describe the young man Jane had in

her home.

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

Part 6

Jane normally ran errands or pampered herself with a salon

treatment of her own while her girls were safely being terrorized

by Carolyn and Sandra. This time, she did neither, instead

taking a seat in the waiting room as close as she could manage to

where Sandy would be working her evil ways with Kendra. Self

consciously, she felt in the pocket of her suit jacket for the

pepper spray, praying all the while that she wouldn't need it.

>From the start, Jane had done her best to treat this excursion

the same as she had for all of her previous students first trip

to the Marisha Chalet. She'd "oo-ed" and "ah-ed" over Kendra's

outfit, complementing her profusely on her dainty good looks and

had received a quiet, gracious "thank you" in each instance.

When she'd warned him that as long as he behaved himself properly

no one would see the boy for the lovely young girl his response

had been complete unconcern.

The biggest worry, besides the one that had caused her to bring

the pepper spray, was that they were making this excursion much

earlier in the program than was normally advisable. Kendra had

not had the days of repetitious training that would change her

gestures, mannerisms, even her gait, from masculine to those

expected from and appropriate for a girl of her apparent age. Of

course she'd made her usual threat to expose him loudly as a

sissy who just loved wearing girl clothes if he failed to act

properly while in the salon. Not that she could or would do that

to him - it would destroy her whole program of instruction and

would endanger everyone who had ever been her student or had

helped her.

Not that it mattered in any case since her threat had apparently

fallen on deaf ears. She might as well have threatened to take

away his broccoli (when he didn't like broccoli) for all the

response she elicited.

She'd been on guard for the least sign that Kendra was being

"read", but that incredible composure of hers saw her through.

True confidence shows, and for whatever reason, Kendra moved

confidently, if somewhat gingerly on her sore feet and calves,

through the early morning pedestrians as if walking out in public

wearing a dress was something she'd done all her life.

WHY WASN'T THE GIRL TERRIFIED OF BEING DISCOVERED??!?

Sandra came over, spoke to Kendra and then led her into the back,

closed in cubicle she preferred when dealing with a potentially

obstreperous boy-girl. Once she had him in the chair, Sandy

removed the wig and gawked. The nearly white stubble was less

than a quarter inch long, and still did not show even a hint of

his real black hair color. "Jesus, hon, what did you do to

yourself?" she breathed.

A very tired grin lit Kendra's face. "I liked it better this way

than I liked it after an unfortunate incident with some hair

coloring."

Sandy took a few seconds to digest that, but regained her

equilibrium quickly. She didn't care how "different" Jane

thought this one was. He was just another overblown, adolescent

male ego who needed a good puncturing. And Sandy was just the

lady to do it.

"Well, Jane wants you to have hair, sweetie, so that you can

learn to take care of it. Good little girls just *love* playing

with their hair and we wouldn't want you to be deprived." Sandy

told her as she rolled a working cart over beside Kendra. "This

is similar to what that hair club does, hon, only they use a

stronger bonding agent. Once I've woven this in, it'll be like

your own hair until I use the solvent to dissolve the adhesive.

Why, you'll be able to shampoo it, style it, get permanents -

even go swimming in it although such a pretty little girly boy

like you should wear a bathing cap. Won't that be fun, sissy?"

Kendra almost smiled at that, too tired for any more reaction.

She could have predicted something like this. Naturally the

women who ran this place were in on the scheme. They had to be

because they were experts on women and their grooming. They'd

spot a boy in girl's clothing right away.

Frustrated by the lack of reaction, Sandy got down to ear level.

"You better start playing with me, fag-boy, or the whole shop is

going to know I have a pretty little wimp-ass boy in my chair,

all decked out in pretty skirts. And you'd better start smiling,

too, because girls just love being at the beauty salon. Start

loving it, femmy boy!"

The boy with the girl's face only looked up into Sandy's smirking

eyes. Kendra saw the disdain that Sandy rarely bothered to hide

from her young victims.

"I told you to smile, cutie, or else. Don't think I won't tell

everybody within earshot that I have a sweet, little femmy boy

here getting his hair nice and curled up."

"Kendra!" Jane's voice sounded from just outside the cubicle.

"Remember our agreement, Miss. This is part of what you've agreed

to do, so do it well if you don't wish to face the alternative."

*She wants a smile?* Kendra thought darkly, *I'll show her a

smile*

The smile Sandy got from the boy in her chair might have been

seen on a hungry shark just before it took that first bite. Her

own smile faltered just a little, but only a little.

"I'm glad you learn quickly, hon, but I think we will have to

work on that smile." Sandy chucked Kendra under the chin as if

she were a little child. "Now cutie, you just act as sweet as

you look, and maybe you and I won't have any problems," she

teased.

The weaving of the hair piece was time consuming and just painful

enough to keep her awake in the salon chair. Since Kendra had no

hair of her own to speak of, Sandy had to glue anchors to her

scalp. As the amount of hair in the weave increased, the harder

it was to add yet more which meant Sandy had to pull harder.

Once, she pulled hard enough to wring a pained squeak out of

Kendra.

Jane's senses went on full alert since this was the first time

the girl had actually been hurt since coming to Jane's home.

Would she try to retaliate, give pain for pain? It would not be

an unexpected reaction given what she had been told the boy was

capable of doing.

"Could you take it just a little easier, please." Kendra asked

softly. "It feels like you almost tore my scalp the last time."

"Stop whining, sweet-thing." Sandy said jovially, "I am almost

done with this part." But she did try to be a little gentler as

she finished with the last sheaf of hair.

Kendra attempted to relax while Sandy moved that cart away and

moved another into it's place. Then Sandra asked Caroline over to

Kendra's chair. She joined them shortly with a large magazine,

like a catalogue. Caroline leaned over the motionless boy and

spread the book out on his lap prepared to follow through with a

time proven double team. "Here, Kenneth....", she said in a low

voice, which she immediately corrected with a gleam in her eye,

"I mean *Kendra*. We need you to tell us which style you'd like

for your permanent."

Kenneth stared at the magazine, trying to focus his bleary eyes

on the pictures. Was he was really expected to make this choice

on his own? Why wasn't the Thompson woman over here making her

wishes known? This was her scene, not his. Fixing the hungry

shark smile back on his face, Kenneth stared back up at the two

women. "I am sure Ms. Thompson has something in mind for me,

ma'am." he replied softly to Carolyn. "She was the one who told

me I needed my hair done to her standards."

Actually, Jane hadn't said anything specifically about this

outing. However, just last night she had said he would be doing

things her way for as long as he stayed with her so it wasn't

actually a lie, either. Expectantly, he waited for one of the

women to leave the cubicle and ask Jane for her desires on the

matter.

But they didn't. Instead, Carolyn bent down to eye level with

Kendra, grasped her face in both hands and turned her head from

side to side as if carefully checking the shape of her head and

the lay of her hair. What she was really doing was getting into

Kendra's face, whispering, "This is fun for girls, Kendra. Girls

always want to choose their own hair style and they never defer

to an older woman unless they are forced to do so. You'd better

start acting like a girl or I won't even have to announce the

fact that we have a boy back here hiding in skirts. They will

know it because you *aren't* playing the game."

Sandy chimed in, a little too loudly for Jane's taste although no

one else seemed to hear her. "I know you have a girl hiding

inside you, Kendra-dear", she added, her voice now full of

teasing enthusiasm, "She had better start enjoying her trip to

the beauty parlor."

Kenneth shook his face free of Carolyn's grip and considered his

options and capitulated. He was too tired to fight them, and

besides, nothing they did to him here would really matter in the

long run, anyway. With a casual lack of concern that surprised

both women, he opened the glossy photo-book to a random page, and

without hesitation, positively gushed, "*This* one - definitely.

It even leaves most of my hair in place in case we decide later

it doesn't work for me. I think it is perfect, don't you?"

Caroline grinned wickedly for effect at the boy in Sandy's chair.

She knew his choice was made unwillingly, but no one else,

especially those not in on Jane's secret, would ever have taken

his response as anything out of the ordinary for a young girl at

the beauty shop. At least this one had the wit to hold up his

fair share of the masquerade. She also noted that he was correct

in his assessment of the permanent. The shoulder length style

would soften his strong facial features, while the blonde curls

would frame his olive complexion and grey eyes.

"Excellent." Carolyn said as she closed the book, and turned to

walk away. Looking over her shoulder at him, she loudly added,

"I'm sure everyone here will want to see how it turns out!"

Things seemed to be progressing quite well, Caro mused as she

headed out of the cubicle, and yet, Jane had told her to be

careful with this one. Moreover, Jane was hovering like a mother

hen with a sick chick when she usually had nothing to do with the

boys once she'd turned them over to Sandra and her.

More concerned now, Carolyn stopped to take one last look at the

boy in the chair before returning to her own client. What she

saw made her cringe inwardly. Every boy in her experience had

been rigid with dread at this point in the process, once they'd

sentenced themselves to one of the overdone, hideously girly

styles from that permanent catalogue (there weren't any other

kind in that book which was why only Caro's 'Jane customers'

would ever be caught dead in any of them). This one looked

perfectly relaxed - actually more than relaxed. He looked like

he was about to take a nap in Sandy's chair while she worked on

him.

Grimly, she gestured to Sandy, her face showing her unease.

Sandy's answer was a slight shrug followed by pointing to the

hidden velcro restraints secreted on that particular chair.

Carolyn nodded and left to find Jane.

Sandra then began her work. In the mirror, Kendra idly followed

the process with some interest. Clearly, the woman was highly

skilled at her craft. Meticulous, too, if he was any judge, and

very efficient. In short order, she had most of his new hair

wrapped up into a variety of different sized rollers and then

soaked with the foul smelling liquid.

He was sitting in the chair, half dozing, when she softly spoke

again. "You're not smiling again, sissyboy. I told you to keep

smiling. Piss me off and you really won't like the consequences.

Got that, Cutie-Kendra?"

Kendra's smile looked completely unforced, as if she knew a

secret that no one else did. Sandy frowned, but still she

relentlessly continued. "Its really too bad you messed up your

real hair. This stuff is okay, but you'll be amazed at what I

can do with hair like that picture of you Jane showed me. I have

this great new hair color treatment that can make even the

darkest hair in a lovely strawberry blonde. You'll just love it.

Best of all, it won't wash out. Only way to get rid of it is to

cut off all your hair."

Surprisingly, that earned the startled stylist a giggle from her

current subject. "Nothing new, ma'am." Kendra said lightly.

"Been there, done that."

Sandra could only shake her head and concentrate on getting the

curling done quickly.

Kendra had often sat in a hair stylists chair and listened to the

idle banter they made. His mother had always dragged him along

when she went for her beauty treatments. This was different.

They were doing this to him and trying to force him to go along

with the gag.

Sandy finished setting his hair and set a small electronic timer

before going to work on his nails. Kendra was just about ready

to get the hell out of this place. The sarcastic, nasty little

comments were starting to annoy him, as were Sandy's repeated

threats to expose him to the other clients as a boy dressed in

girl's clothes. More because she kept waking him up than for any

other reason.

As the minutes dragged, his mind kept slipping back to those

constant threats of Sandra's. There was something wrong about

that. . .something that did not quite ring true, but his sleep

fogged mind could not quite work it out.

Why did she keep harping on it? Perhaps because the threat was

all she had and she needed him to fear it? A quick look over his

shoulder revealed a fairly full house now that the shop had

opened for regular business. He considered for a moment what

would happen to this small town business if what Jane and her

friends were doing became generally known. They'd become

infamous, that's what.

How would that affect their business? Probably poorly. If this

place was in a big city and the story hit of how they did this

crap to young guys, why, they'd probably overrun with guys who

wanted that type of help. But here? In Smallville USA in the

heart of Puritan New England? Kendra would lay down long odds

that they'd be out of work in a week's time.

Sandra moved over to work on his other hand when Caro came in

with a make up kit and started testing color combinations on him

and making small notes in a small green book. The two women made

a good effort to keep zinging him, commenting about his

swishiness, the impossibility that anyone could ever have seen

him as being masculine and so forth.

*When in doubt, smile. The bad guys or girls won't know what

you're thinking and it'll confuse the hell out of them* Kendra's

smile grew wider and brighter with each barb and slur. About

half way through the exercise, Caro's grin left her face and she

grew very quiet. Finally, she finished her spot checking and

hurried back to finish her own customer's procedures.

Kendra wondered how Darla was doing. He couldn't see her, or as

he was now positive, see him because of the wall panels

surrounding this station.

The bell sounded on the small clock and Sandy moved back to work

at his hair. She washed his fake hair as she removed each roller

before hand drying the sodden mass. Finally, with a look of

triumph on her face, Sandy spun the chair back around so that

Kendra could see the full impact of Sandra's art.

Neither of them spoke for several heartbeats. Sandy, because she

wanted Kendra to say something she could twist against him.

Kendra, because she was watching Sandy. In very short order,

Sandy couldn't stand it any longer and was about to order him to

say something. It was then that Kendra struck back.

"Hmmmm, Yasss. Nice. . . not quite a perfect match to the

catalogue, but then, I suspect *that* model's hair was done by

the best in the business. One should take such things into

account when evaluating the performance of . . .other

technicians." Kendra was doing his level best to mimic his

Mother's "lady of the manor to the serf" voice and by the look of

Sandy's face, he wasn't doing badly. "Yasss. .. quite adequate.

You may tell Jane that we are pleased and that we have said that

you deserve a tip for your efforts. I take it I am now to go to

Caro's chair?"

Sandy was so shocked she couldn't speak and instead just nodded

her head in dumbfounded amazement. Kendra stood, gave Sandy an

imperious nod of her head, and sauntered off in the direction of

the main salon.

Kendra saw Caro in deep conversation with Jane and wondered what

that was all about. He approached them, still wearing the cape

Sandy had put on him when she'd started messing with his 'hair'.

". . . and that's final, Jane. I'll finish the appointment, but

I am not doing the rest of it. Not this time. Not with this

one."

At that point, Jane saw her protege and her eyes went wide. Caro

turned and saw who was standing there and flushed bright red.

Then she pointed in the direction of one of the chairs and

ordered Kendra over to it.

Jane watched in confused fascination as Caro worked her cosmetic

magic on Kendra. The new hairdo was extremely attractive on the

boy. . .unusual for a first permanent for one of her girls, but

then, most of them did not have enough hair for that kind of

style. An almost hysterical giggle nearly slipped past her stern

schoolmistress-ly reserve as she realized that the only reason

Kendra had enough hair was because she essentially had no hair.

The conversation that Kendra had nearly overheard was yet one

more setback in this student's program. Carolyn had flatly

refused to use him as the model in her Wednesday afternoon

cosmetics class for local teenaged girls.

"I just can't risk it, Jane. You yourself warned me that he has

a history of problems with girls, and while we've done this with

bad actors in the past, we've already had those guys utterly

broken down into submission. This one is not at all broken. I

won't have him around the girls until you have him in hand better

than he is now."

Jane had not been able to give a counter argument and had finally

given in to the inevitable. From her seat in the waiting room,

she saw that same dispassionately interested look on Kendra's

fine features. As if this were all some research project where

she and her friends were the experimental subjects and Kendra was

the principal investigator.

As she sat there, Darla joined her after having finished her own

ministrations. "How's it going?" she whispered into Jane's ear.

"It's not, dear. Not at all. She's just taken every trick in

Caro's and Sandy's repertoire in stride. I wonder if there is any

purpose at this point to going over to MiLady's Closet."

"I don't know, Aunt Jane. Miss Franson is pretty frightening in

her own right, but in all honesty, Sandy is your big gun. If she

hasn't reached him . . ."

Jane nodded, her own fatigue weighing heavily on her shoulders.

"Then I guess we will just go home as soon as Caro finishes with

her." She shook her head. "I had hopes when I realized that she

had not been quite so indifferent to my lessons as I had first

believed. Her crying seemed very encouraging, but so far today,

I haven't seen any of that surrender in her. So far I have

failed with this one, Darla, and lord help me, I just don't know

what else we can do to reach her."

Darla reached over to rest a comforting hand on Jane's own

tightly clenched fists, and waited for this morning to end.

Caro was rushing to finish her work on Kendra, having at least

two reasons to finish making Jane's new student up as quickly as

possible. The most pressing reason was that her cosmetics class

was due at the Chalet any minute. Caro had planned to use Kendra

as demonstration model and so she had scheduled the start of the

meeting to overlap the end of Kendra's appointment. Caro did not

need a dozen unsupervised teenaged girls bouncing around the shop

when she had to keep her full attention on finishing Kendra.

Her other reason was the root cause of the first problem. She

did not want Kendra interacting with that group in any way when

she wasn't sure how the girl would react to them.

She finished up and gave her work a critical assessment. Not

bad, Caro thought. Not her best by any stretch of the

imagination, but not bad. Certainly better than when she came in

the door. "Okay, Kendra. You're done for this time. Be a good

girl for Jane and no one will have to know who you really are

under those lovely curls and sweet dress."

Carolyn had made that last crack almost out of habit, but she

very quickly realized that the boy-girl was once again not

reacting as she expected.

Finally fed up with these stupid games, Kendra decided it was

time to turn the tables on the proprietors of Marisha Chalet. She

recalled watching one of the young girls at her Mother's salon

who'd been particularly pleased with the results of her

appointment. Smiling broadly, Kendra went up on tiptoe and

planted a very dainty kiss on the older woman's cheek before

pulling her into a hug.

"You and I both know you can't unmask me, Carolyn." Kendra

whispered into Carolyn's ear as she held the hug. "Your business

would never survive in this burg if your little sideline came out

to these fine upstanding people. How about we call a truce? I

don't unmask *you* and you and Sandy cut out the Don Rickles

routine when you have me in your salon chair. Okay?"

Then she went back down off her toes, waved to a frowning Sandra

and walked over to where Jane and Darla waited. Five minutes

later the trio was back in Jane's car, heading toward the big

house.

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

Since Jane had tentatively planned on spending the afternoon at

Milady's Closet, there was very little to do once they'd gotten

back home. Which was just as well, Jane admitted to herself,

because she was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Yet another

phone call to Sheila had gotten her damnable answering machine.

Jane had told the woman that she had to be available to Jane

during these critical first days and she had promised Jane that

she would be. Well, that last one had been Jane's fourth call in

the last eighteen hours and still no return call.

Marie slipped into Jane's office with a steaming tea pot and a

bottle of cordial. "Sorry about lunch, Jane." she offered as she

poured the tea and the cordial and set both on her friend's desk.

"I should have called. I knew an hour before we left the Chalet

that I wasn't going to go dress shopping. There just wasn't any

point in it. Kendra, or rather Kenneth for that is who we are

still dealing with, wouldn't have gotten anything out of the

shopping trip. He'd just have tried on the clothes as if it were

the most natural thing in the world, that damnable composure

wrapped around him like armor, not bothered by it at all."

Marie took a healthy sip of her own drink. "At least he didn't

lose his temper and try to hurt anyone - even if he did threaten

Caro's business."

"He did WHAT??!?" Jane yelled coming out of her chair in dismay.

Frowning, Marie sighed. "Caro called just before you arrived

home. Evidently Kendra decided that it would do the Chalet far

more harm if they exposed him than it would to him. He told her

he'd keep their little secret if they'd lay off their comments

and teasing when he was in there in the future."

Jane slowly, almost painfully sank down into her chair. "If

there is a future for him here. Sad to say, he's right about

Caro and Sandy as you and I have discussed before. Do you know

that's his second leap of insight since his arrival? Last night

he told me that he figured that Darla was probably also a

crossdressed male which severely limits her usefulness in the

future. Now, he's effectively declawed Caro, Sandy and Betty

Franson."

"What do you mean by "if there is a future"?" Marie asked

softly. "It's not as if he is resisting you or defying you."

"I almost wish he was fighting me. I know how to deal with the

ones who fight me tooth and nail. I don't know how to deal with

what little reaction this one gives me. Marie?" And Jane turned

haunted eyes at her best friend, "I am beginning to think that

there is nothing I can do for this one."

"So what now?"

"Nothing for now. At least until I can talk with Judge Ruth and

decide what the best course of action which probably means that

we ship him back home."

"Isn't it a little early for that? I mean, he hasn't done

anything bad."

A sad smile flickered in Jane's tired eyes. "He hasn't done

anything we expected him to do, either. Not once since he

arrived. Oh, I know I told you that I believe he's been crying

in what privacy he can manage, but that's based on his eyes being

red. For all I know, he may be slightly allergic to something -

perhaps eye make up. The fact remains that he has not truly

broken down under any of my lessons. Since the very first day,

he has consistently blunted most of the impact of each of my

thrusts."

"I still don't like giving up on him, Jane. Not this early."

"You know as well as I that the first forty eight hours under

feminine control are the most critical hours in the program."

Jane continued, "It's somewhat like setting the explosive charges

that make one of those old buildings collapse in on itself so

that something new and stronger can be built in its place. Well,

this morning, I just twisted the plunger on the detonator and

instead of a boom, I got a barely audible pop. I am not

omnipotent, Marie. I have always known there were boys I could

not help. Kenneth appears that he may be one of those boys."

"If that's true, I think it is very sad." Marie said as she

refilled their glasses.

Jane could only agree.

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

Part 7

Darla and Kendra were walking outside, both of them having

changed into more casual clothes. Darla had suggested the walk,

primarily because she wanted to find out what was going on inside

her "little sister's" head. She had hopes that if she could get

Kendra to talk, the resulting information might help Aunt Jane

help this guy.

"You've really surprised Aunt Jane, you know." Darla said as the

rounded the house and headed off into the large back lawn.

"Really?" was Kendra's noncommital answer.

"Really. I mean, nothing seems to get to you. Take today. You

just walked from the car to the salon, bold as anything, as if

nothing mattered."

"Nothing of that did matter." the other girl-boy answered with an

unconcerned shrug.

Amazed, Darla could only gape at her companion. "But, you could

have been exposed as a boy. People would have laughed at you,

called you a sissy. Doesn't that matter??"

Kendra laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. "The people

here, laughing or otherwise, would not have mattered to me.

Listen Darla, regardless of what your aunt does to me, whether

she keeps me or sends me off to that bargain basement Boys Town,

in less than three years it all ends and I get the money my

father left me. Then I tell your aunt, that judge friend of hers

and my damned mother to go straight to hell so that I can get on

with my life. If I have to, I can stand on my head for that long

if that is what it takes to get out from under those damned

women."

Darla let the last comment pass. "But how can you just go out

there, dressed like a girl and have it not matter to you?" She

had to get this guy to tell him something that Jane could use.

A sly look came across the beautifully made up face. "How do

*you* do it, Darla?" Kendra asked very softly.

"M. . . m . . .ME?!? What can you possibly mean by that?" Darla

sputtered in surprise at the unexpected attack.

"Oh, I bet if I tossed your skirts up and had a close look under

your pretty panties, I am sure that I would find you are

definitely an "outie" and not an "innie", and I am not talking

about navels, either."

As Jane had the night before, Darla tried to come up with some

way to protect his disguise, but he lacked Jane's experience and

her self possession to carry it off. "How did you guess?" he

finally asked, depressed.

"I just figured that if you were a real girl, you'd be in real

danger from a guy like those records say I supposedly am. One

thing I have figured out about our Ms. Thompson - she is not a

lady to take too many unnecessary or dangerous chances. She's a

control freak and she makes sure she is well in control of the

situation before she puts anyone else into it."

Darla gave a very unladylike snort. "That's Aunt Jane," he said

affectionately. "Right down to her always perfectly shined

designer shoes."

The pair continued their walk, a companionable silence growing

between them. As they made the final turn along the path back

towards the house, Darla thought of another question. "Why do

you refuse to acknowledge what you did to get sent here? I mean,

it's not as we don't have the goods on you in that file."

Anger flashed in grey eyes and Darla instinctively took a step

back. "Because everything in that damned file is a dirty rotten

lie, made up by my mother because I refused to play along with

her damnable schemes."

"But Judge Ruth concurred. . . she set it up so you could come

here. . .the records. . .?"

Kendra came to a dead stop in the lush green back lawn. "Listen,

blondie, listen *really* good. Everything in that damned file,

with the exception of my name, my social security number and my

birth date are out and out lies. As for the esteemed Judge Ruth,

she is just like my mother, a goddamned no good liar. I believe

that your aunt honestly believes that pack of lies because she

trusts that Judge. Which makes Judge Ruth *much* worse than your

Aunt, even worse than my damned mother, because she abuses her

office and the trust of the people she is supposed to protect as

an officer of the court."

Darryl, and it was *definitely* Darryl, saw red. "You can't say

that about Judge Ruth." He growled. "Not in my presence and get

away with it."

"Why not? It's true. Everything in that record, including the

so-called court documents are fakes and lies. So, she has

falsified government records on top of everything else. Trust me

on this one, Blondie. The first thing I do when I get my freedom

in three years is to cut my bitch of a mother off from the income

off the principal of my inheritance. The second thing I am going

to do is take that damn judge down and drag her through the mud.

What is in that file is sufficient to get her sorry ass impeached

and convicted. And once she is not Judge Ruth, but rather

Citizen Ruth? I will sue her until she has to live another

lifetime just to pay off the interest on the debt. I will

destroy her career, her reputation and her financial security.

And God help your Aunt if I find out she was a knowing

conspirator in all of this because then I will go after her next.

If that means my little sojourn in skirts becomes public

knowledge, so be it. I'll be wealthy enough to ride through that

storm, but Ms. Jane Thompson's little torture chamber gets

shutdown forever."

Fourteen years of living on the streets and running with gangs

snapped to the fore as Darryl's temper erupted like an erupting

volcano. Without any warning, the enraged teen was on the other

boy, trying to beat his brains in. "God damn you, bitch. You're

going to leave Jane and Ruth alone!" Every syllable was

punctuated by a punch or a kick, or even a couple of bites.

"They helped me, *saved* me, you sorry bastard, when no one else

would or could. I'd be in the state prison right now if not for

them."

Caught unaware by the suddenness and the savagery of Darla's

attack, Kendra was momentarily unable to defend herself, but

years of training with her father kicked in. She parried several

blows and kicks until she got into the position she wanted and

then neatly hip-tossed Darla to the ground. Darla landed hard on

her chest, knocking the wind out of her. Kendra did not give her

a chance to recover and was on her immediately, tying up the

other girl-boy's arms and legs with his own.

"Calm down, Darla. I've got leverage on you. You're only going

to hurt yourself." Her voice was soft, but Darla continued to

struggle and to curse at Kendra until she eventually began to

tire. "Now, I will say this once more since I have no reason to

lie to you. The records are false. I didn't do any of that

stuff."

Darla started to draw breath to respond but never got the chance.

"What is the meaning of this?" a coldly angry voice demanded.

*oh shit* Kendra thought bleakly. The jig was up. Maybe they'd

let him have his own things back before they sent him off to Boys

Town's Basement.

"I *asked* a question, ladies, I *expect* an answer."

"Just a friendly little debate, Ms. Thompson, that got a little

too heated for Darla here. Everything is fine now." Kendra

answered.

"Oh, is. . it. . . really? Kendra, I want you in your room, NOW!

Marie will lock you in until we decide what to do with you. If

you are not in there when I come for you, I will call the police,

have them pick you up and put you on the next plane home. AS . .

. YOU . . . ARE! Now get out of my sight."

Kendra momentarily thought about arguing with her. After all,

all he'd been doing was defending himself. And he hadn't even

tried to hurt the guy. But then again, why should he expect to

be given a fair shake in this place? Very deliberately, he

released his grip on the no longer struggling Darla, stood slowly

and headed off into the house with Marie following close behind.

"Are you all right, dear?" Jane asked as she helped her ward to

his feet before pulling him into a hard hug. "I am very sorry

you got hurt. I should never have relaxed my guard. I *knew* he

had a history of violence, but he hasn't shown it here and now

you are the one to suffer." Jane's eyes and voice both went hard

and dark. "That's it. He's through. He is out of here as soon

as I can arrange it with Judge Ruth in the morning."

"No . . .Jane. . ." Darla was still trying to get her breath back

as Jane slowly walked her back to the house. "Not his fault. .

.at least, not directly. I jumped him first. Lost my temper

when he started telling me what he'd do to you and Ruth after he

reached eighteen."

"He threatened us with violence?" Jane asked quietly, fear

clutching at her guts.

Darla shook her head. "No. No violence. He still claims those

records are fakes, forgeries of government documents and he says

he is going to come after you by revealing what you do to the

world. Judge Ruth he wants impeached for falsifying those legal

records and then he will sue her into the poor house."

"I see. Well that explains how the fight got started, but I

still will not tolerate him hurting you."

Darla winced and then knew she had to tell the truth. "He didn't

try to hurt me, Aunt Jane. He just tossed me to the ground and

then held me there until I exhausted myself. He never threw a

single punch."

"That's it?" Jane was dumbfounded.

Nodding her head, Darla managed a weak smile. "All he did was

try to control me so I did not hurt him. That and say that he

was not guilty one more time. That is what he was doing when you

came on the scene."

Once inside the house, Jane headed for the peace and isolation of

her office with Darla trailing behind her. *None of this makes

any sense at all*, Jane thought yet one more time. Darla had

attacked first. Kendra had been given a free shot, so to speak,

and her new student hadn't taken it.

"Aunt Jane?" Darla's voice broke into Jane's thoughts. She

looked at her ward, standing in the doorway to Jane's office,

grinning sheepishly. "I . . . ah. . . think I am really starting

to believe Kendra, Jane. . . at least part-ways. I know I said

this before, but something is definitely wrong here. I don't know

what it is, but most everything that's happened since Kenneth

arrived just does not jive with the person we were told to

expect."

It was just all too much, Jane fumed to herself. "I will agree

about nothing making sense, dear. Look, I need to think. Why

don't you go see if Marie needs some help with the evening meal.

Please close the door on your way out. Thank you, Darla."

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

Much later that evening, Jane sat alone in her front parlor,

watching a fire dance and flash in the old Victorian hearth. The

night was a little warm for a fire, but Jane found the chaotic

movement of the brightly colored flames relaxing. Besides, what

was the point of being wealthy if you couldn't crank up the air

conditioning at times.

None of this made sense she told herself yet one more time since

Darla's revelations of the afternoon. Who *was* Kenneth Roberts?

How could he be both the person in that record and the one she'd

been living with for the past three days?

An egotist without any apparent ego? A violent young man who

fights not to harm his attacker, but rather, only to protect

himself and then contain his opponent? An overly macho boy who

releases emotion through tears in the privacy of his room? A

resentful young man who plots retribution, not revenge, and who

thinks not in terms of violent acts, but in terms of justice? A

hothead who thinks calmly and rationally enough under stress to

deduce some of Jane's most closely guarded secrets in less that

three days?

And until the fight this afternoon, Kenneth had not displayed a

single one of the dangerously antisocial, ill mannered or boorish

behaviors so painstakingly and lavishly documented in those

records. Jane could almost believe that the records *were*

fakes. Darla said she was certainly beginning to believe that.

If you accepted that premise, everything else that had happened

in the past three days made sense. . .somewhat anyway.

But that meant that Judge Ruth, one of the few people that Jane

Thompson believed without question had betrayed not only Jane's

trust, but that of her constituency as well.

None of it made any sense at all. Still, she had the evidence of

her own eyes when it came to Kendra. Particularly after the

incident with Darla, Jane was ready to believe that Kenneth was

*not* aggressively violent and that his courtliness and polite

behavior were *not* an act.

Ruth was due back tomorrow, Jane mused. Tomorrow, she'd get to

the bottom of this, once and for all.

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

Kendra sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. There had

been no sleep the previous night. Odd how *Kenneth* had begun

thinking of himself as Kendra at least part of the time so

quickly. A great deal of that was probably the clothes.

Kenneth's boy clothes were still not in evidence, so Kendra had

slipped on one of the long, granny-gown nighties Jane had

provided.

A grim smile crossed the lightly made up lips. She was also

wearing the bra, panties and light cosmetics that Jane had

ordered her to wear at all times unless given specific directions

to the contrary. That was probably pretty pointless since there

was no doubt in her mind that her hours at Jane's house were

rapidly coming to an end. It was pointless except that Kenneth

*had* given Jane his word to be Kendra, and a bra was a big part

of how Jane defined Kendra.

*Probably ought to stash some cold cream and nail polish remover

in my purse just in case Jane does carry out her little threat,

although where I'll get boy clothes I have no idea.*

The turning of the deadbolt drew his attention to the door.

*Probably Marie with breakfast.* A very stern, tight-lipped Marie

had brought Kendra's dinner the evening before. She'd walked in,

set the tray on the vanity and had walked right back out -

without so much as a word or a second look. At least the meal

had been as good as every other meal here had been. He'd half

expected to be put on bread and water - or worse.

Maybe it had been Marie's idea of the condemned man's last meal.

The door swung open to admit a very disheveled Jane Thompson.

Kendra couldn't help himself. . .he stared at the older woman

carrying a cloth napkin-covered tray into his room. She looked

positively unkempt. This was the first time in his admittedly

short residence, but he'd never before seen her without some

makeup or with her hair uncombed.

Jane settled the tray down and took off the napkin. Kendra was

surprised to see two cups, two juice glasses and two covered

plates. Jane busied herself setting out the food and then pulled

the chair she and Marie used during their "lessons" on grooming

and makeup. "Come, Kenneth." she said quietly. "Eat your

breakfast before it gets cold."

"Kenneth, Ms. Thompson?" he asked carefully. "I thought I was

only to answer to Kendra while I am under your tuition?"

Jane watched the femininely attired figure carefully sit on the

vanity's stool and take the napkin she offered. She took a

fortifying sip of Marie's dark, rich coffee before turning her

attention to her student. "And so I did. However, one way or

another, Kenneth, you will most likely cease being my student by

noon today."

Kenneth reached behind his back and unfastened the bra that was

digging into his back. He slipped the straps over his shoulders

through the sleeves of his gown before pulling it out and

flipping it towards the hamper. "I guess in that case I no

longer need to wear that thing."

"No, I guess you don't." Jane agreed as she buttered a warm

croissant.

"You said one way or another, Ms. Thompson. I thought there was

only one way out of this for me. You and your friend the Judge,

what's-her-name, are going to send me off to that delinquent

boys' home?"

"Eat your breakfast, Kenneth, and I will tell you what I have

decided to do. I spent the whole night reviewing everything I

was told about you and everything I have observed about you."

"And you concluded?"

"You are either the most accomplished actor I have ever met or a

very serious mistake was made in sending you to me. If the

former is true, then you are even worse than that record says,

and there is nothing I can do to help you. You just don't

respond to my treatments in a way I can predict or deal with

effectively. If that is the case, then yes, I will send you to

the boys' home. Today, in fact, on the four o'clock flight out

of Providence."

"You said there was another possible answer - that a serious

mistake had been made. If that is your final conclusion, what

happens then?"

"I won't know that until I know how the mistake was made. Until

I do and can decide what is best for you, you will live with me

as Kenneth. Marie will be up after breakfast with your bags and

other male things."

"How are you going to find out what the truth is?"

"I have two lines of investigation planned. I've called an

investigator friend. . . a former student of mine, in fact. He

is heading to your home town even as we speak. He will talk to

the police and to your teachers directly, while I carry out my

own investigations over the phone. If that file is a fake, then

someone I trust has lied to me and might very well continue lying

to me about this. In that event, then my investigator will

surely find contradictory evidence to that effect. He may even be

able to identify the person responsible for that "mistake"."

Kenneth sat, quietly eating, waiting for Jane to continue.

"Judge Ruth is scheduled to be in her office by nine a.m. her

time, ten a.m. our time. We are going to call her and ask her to

explain what is happening."

"*We* are?" Kenneth asked in surprise.

"We are." Jane confirmed. "You will be there in my office when

I call her. We'll all hear what she has to say in response to my

questions over my speaker phone."

"Why would you let me out of here if you don't know if I am that

person in those files yet or not? Why not just keep me safely

locked away in this bedroom until you do know?"

Jane dabbed her mouth with her napkin and pushed away her still-

untouched breakfast. "Because you did not hurt Darryl when you

had the chance and the excuse of self defense."

"Darryl? Oh! Is that Darla's real name?"

"Yes it is. He is my ward and former student. You twigged to

that disguise quickly enough. Anyway, you obviously have some

martial arts training and you could have hurt him badly when he

tried to attack you. You didn't do that. Every instinct tells

me you don't belong here because you don't *need* the type of

therapy I provide. So I am going to let you face your accuser,

so to speak."

"Darla, I mean Darryl is all right? I tried not to take him down

too hard, but it's hard to judge such things."

"She and he are fine, Kenneth. Now," Jane sat up and became the

steely eyed woman of power he'd seen so many times since his

arrival. "Do you have any idea why you were sent here in the

first place?"

Momentarily nonplused by the question, Kenneth only stared at

Jane for several long moments. "You want to know that? You

mean, you are actually willing to listen to me?"

The incredulity in the boy's voice stabbed at Jane. "Yes,

Kenneth." she said steadily. "I definitely want to here what you

have to say about what is going on here."

Jane watched as emotions flashed across the boy's face as he

considered what to do next, and then, finally, Kenneth slowly

nodded and began to speak.

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

"This is Judge Ruth, may I help you?"

"Ruth, it's Jane. . .Jane Thompson." Jane said in the loud tones

people tend to use when using a speaker phone.

"Jane!" the tinny voice grew several degrees warmer. "How are

you, my dear? And to what do I owe the pleasure of you calling

me so early this fine rainy day?"

Jane chuckled. "Well, it is bright and sunny here, Ruth. As to

why I called, well, I am having a great deal of difficulty

correlating the behavior the young man you sent to me with the

records you sent me. If he is really as bad as your file says he

is, my experiences with him lead me to believe that he is beyond

my help and we will need to vacate his sentence to the boys'

home."

The phone line went completely silent for several seconds before,

"Jane, I haven't had my second cup of morning coffee yet, and I

can't handle strange humor in this condition. Just what the hell

are you talking about?"

Jane shot a look to Marie and Darryl before fixing her gaze on

the now boyishly attired Kenneth. "Why, I am talking about

Kenneth Roberts. You know, Sheila's boy - you remember our

sorority sister Sheila Martini, now Sheila Roberts?"

Again, silence answered Jane's question. "Jane." the Judge said

with an air of great control. "I have not sent you any boy since

Darryl. Yes, I remember Sheila, but I have not talked to her

since our last college reunion two years ago."

"Damn." Jane said under her breath. "Ruth? I have a problem

and I am going to need your help. I have been had, and the

person who did this to me and to Kenneth did it using your bone

fides. More than that, she provided me with a file of records to

document his problems and bad behavior. Some of the most damning

of those records are printed on your letterhead."

"WHAT!?!?" hot anger rolled through the phone lines. "You are

telling me someone conspired to put this boy under your program

and used *my* office to do it?"

"That's what it looks like, Ruth."

"Fax me the pertinent documents, Jane. Use my private fax line,

not the office one. I have got two hearings scheduled for this

morning, but I will be free this afternoon. I will look into it

myself and get back to you."

"Thank you, Ruth."

"I hope you have that young man out of skirts, Jane. As an

officer of the court, I hereby inform you that boy. .. what's his

first name again, Jane?"

"Kenneth, Ruth. Kenneth Roberts."

"Yes. All right. I hereby inform you that Kenneth Roberts is

not under any court directed program originating in this office

and that you have no legal authority originating from this office

to discipline him. Do you need that in writing, Jane?"

"Understood, Ruth, but I have already taken him out of the

program. He's sitting here right now, Ruth, listening in on my

speaker phone while exquisitely turned in a ragged Chicago Bears

t-shirt, a pair of threadbare bluejeans and as decrepit a pair of

running shoes as I have ever seen in my life. The pinnacle of

male teenage haute couture as I'm sure you'll agree. And no, I

bloody well *don't* need it in writing, your Honor."

A warm chuckle rippled from the speaker box. "All right, Jane.

Obviously, you've had time to figure out something wasn't right

and stopped what you were doing." *not nearly soon enough* Jane

told herself, *I knew something wasn't right before I took him to

Caro and Sandy, but didn't believe the evidence of my own eyes

and ears.* "Since you've had time to figure out something wasn't

kosher, have you come up with any idea of just what the hell is

going on here and more importantly *why*??"

Jane sighed. "Yes, I think we do. Let me give you the quick

version of it and you can get the long version after you've

finished your hearings."

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

Part 8

Jane and Marie sat in side by side lounge chairs watching the two

boys frolic in the swimming pool. It seemed so strange she

reflected as she sipped Marie's tart lemonade, to see someone in

a boy's swimsuit cavorting in her pool, let alone *two* such

someones.

"So, Sheila's behind this?" Marie asked softly.

"She has to be. She is the one who first introduced me to the

concept of Victorian petticoat discipline all those years ago

when we were sorority sisters."

Jane winced as Kenneth pounced on Darryl and both of them

disappeared under the surface wrestling. Boys were just so. . so

. so . . . boyish. Except for that mop of hair Kenneth was trying

to keep out of his face. She reminded herself to get Sandy to

come over and undo the long blond mane she'd given him and then

dye his remaining hair black again. She'd been right about the

blond hair and his dark coloring, though - striking and very

attractive.

Sighing at the thought of not having any of her girls in

residence, Jane turned back to Marie. "She had all the Victorian

erotica classics on the subject . . ."Gynecocracy", "Miss High

Heels", "The Petticoat Dominant" and a few others I can't

remember anymore." Jane gave a self deprecating smile. "The

first boy I ever petticoated was her boyfriend after she'd talked

him into going to a costume party as a girl. I think she kept

him in skirts on and off for the rest of their time together."

"Is he the one she married? Did she keep him in skirts after the

wedding?"

"No. By all accounts, Sheila went a little wild after she

graduated. I heard that she even worked as a professional

dominatrix in California for a while. Care to guess what her

specialty was?"

"Boys into girls?" Marie asked with a hint of resignation in her

soft voice.

"Yes indeed. As I understand what happened, she went too far a

couple of times and put a resistant client into the hospital with

her "encouragements". The last one almost landed her in jail.

That's when her father stepped in and basically ordered her to

marry his handpicked successor unless she wanted to cut off from

his financial support. One of those patriarchal "do it or else"

type marriages of convenience. Evidently, she didn't really give

up her little hobby - just didn't charge for it and kept her

liaisons very discreet."

Jane sipped at her glass before continuing. "Still, she lucked

out. He was a very good man, from what I saw and heard of him.

Masculine, yet refined - by all accounts a gentleman who was

truly a gentle man. Now that I am no longer prejudiced against

Kenneth by that damnable file, I see a lot of the father in the

son. Both of them have very clear pictures of themselves as men.

Very unusual for a young man Kenneth's age."

Marie smiled. "He does seem to be quite a fellow. I find it

hard to believe he wasn't overwhelmed by his treatment here. I

don't imagine there are very many young men his age, bad boy or

not, who would not have been fully under your power by now."

"I know what you mean." Jane said as she relaxed in the sun. It

felt so good to let herself go limp for a change - something she

hadn't been able to do that since she'd begun to have

reservations about her treatment of Kenneth. "He was determined

not to surrender to me because that is how he has learned to deal

with his mother. Sheila evidently sees every crack in his

composure or control as an opportunity to attack. He's learned

that incredible self control as a self defense mechanism. If he

didn't give in to her, she couldn't hurt him further, I guess."

"Well, it was certainly effective against us. I still can't

believe he wouldn't let what we did or threatened to do to matter

to him. Maybe what is really amazing is that he went along with

us at all."

"As I said, he understands himself very well. He did not want to

go to that home, decided I was the lesser of the two evils he had

to choose between and did what was necessary to stay. But it was

very obvious we weren't getting the responses we wanted and

expected from him. He couldn't have understood that part of the

program because that is not why he thought his mother sent him

here."

"His mother is really the beginning of the Jane Thompson Home for

Wayward Boys Who Become Winsome Girls?" Marie asked, using the

joking, private name the pair of them had come up with to

describe the school.

"Well, she and her boyfriend certainly fired my curiosity about

that type of thing, although I will admit that it was more the

intense thrill of dominating and feminizing a male that

interested me at first. Then, during my senior year I took a

course in behavioral psychology given by this ardent feminist.

It may be hard to believe in the times we live in now, but back

in the mid to late seventies, this professor's course and her

views were considered pretty radical. Anyway, one of her course

requirements was to do a study/research project on some type of

behavioral modification process. In passing, I mentioned

Victorian petticoat discipline to the woman. To my utter

surprise, she positively loved the concept and told me I should

get right on it."

"I always wondered where you had gotten the basis of your

program. It was just too clearly designed to attack the boys'

psyches to have been something you stumbled on by chance."

"Believe it or not, there are still organizations in England that

train governesses to use that type of discipline with their male

charges. It is not something they advertise, but it is not much

of a secret in various circles, particularly among the women of

the old aristocracy. My professor put me in contact with one

such organization. I spent my semester break studying with the

Head Training Mistress of that Governess Training School."

"They really do that? Like we do here now?"

"Not entirely like you and I do. I brought back what they taught

their governess students, which was mostly technique, but their

goals for using petticoating were much more limited than what we

try to achieve. In their view, petticoating was a particularly

intense, very humiliating punishment for rowdy boys - classic

negative reinforcement. If you were bad, you went into skirts

until you behaved properly, but I saw potential in using those

methods in a different way. I spent the whole semester working

on that project, combining the techniques and methods I had

learned in England with bits and pieces from other psychological

theories, primarily Skinner's operant conditioning theory. The

resulting paper was actually the first draft of the blueprint for

much of what we do here."

Jane stole another glance at the two boys who, evidently having

exhausted one another, were sitting by the pool sipping their own

lemonade, talking quietly - completely relaxed. Maybe she'd have

to make sure her girls got some type of intense exercise in the

future if that utter calm was a result. She had always made them

study dance, but that wasn't intended so much as exercise, but

rather as feminine reinforcement.

A picture began to take shape in Jane's mind. Some high impact

aerobics, perhaps, in skin tight exercise leotards, with other

real girls their age and led by a particularly demanding

instructor. Even better if she could find an instructor she

could trust enough to bring into her little conspiracy. The

possibilities of what that woman could do to work the girl-boys

over mentally, emotionally and physically were very intriguing.

Jane Thompson smiled at the short movie playing before her mind's

eye - it was a smile that more than fifty young men would

recognize instantly and probably still shudder slightly on seeing

it. Jane Thompson concocting yet another way to terrorize her

wayward would-be lasses. The poor dears would feel utterly

exposed, completely inept and if she chose her instructor well,

thoroughly exhausted by the end of that first session.

It offered tremendous potential for sissy humiliation (*you

couldn't keep up with the other girls? How tough does that make

you, miss? Better learn to be more graceful or the _real_ girls

in the class will figure out you are a boy beneath that lovely

tutu.*) while they burned off some of that excess adrenalin and

aggression. Multiple birds with one stone. What a delightful

concept.

Very happy with that little innovation, Jane returned her

attention back to Marie and her story. "I actually got to try

out my entire program while I was at Eastmore. The old Head

Mistress had died early in the fall term and I was appointed to

her position. It was then that I found out that several of my

"girl" students had really been petticoated boys, sent to

Eastmore for a variety of reasons. The reasons are the same ones

we most often deal with here and now - for being too aggressive,

too violent, too disrespectful of their primary female care-

giver. To make a long story very short, I contacted the parents

and guardians of the boys involved and found out what their goals

were for the boys. I took over their program personally, seeing

it as an opportunity to test my own theories."

"Those poor boys." Marie smiled, her eyes twinkling

mischievously.

"Those poor boys, indeed." Jane replied with a soft chuckle. "I

wasn't as laid back then as I am now nor did I fully understand

just hard I truly was pushing them. I am afraid their year at

Eastmore was emotionally and mentally devastating for them. I

kept them on for "summer school" at the end of term, and that's

when I put them back together. That's also when I realized that

I could not be both the "bad guy" and the "good guy" in the

equation. The school nurse stepped in and filled that role, but

it was not as successful as what we do right now. She was still

an adult and someone who worked for me."

"Just like when we don't have a senior student and I have to step

into that role? Those students seem to take longer to figure

things out even though I try very hard to help them along."

"Precisely." Jane affirmed. "And besides, I need you to do all

the really evil transformation stuff so that I can be the

terrible Inquisitor who judges their performance and finds it

wanting." Jane's overblown, pompous tones set them both

giggling.

Regaining her control, Jane continued. "For a while, I thought

about using one or two of the real girls as my little darling's

mentors, but discarded that idea. Girls that age don't

understand and are often not fully in control of their power as

females. There were just too many possible problems and I didn't

have as strong a lever to keep the girls in line as I did my

sissies. All it would take is choosing the wrong girl for the

job, and it would be all over for me and my program."

"So that is the origin of the "big sister" concept?" Marie

asked.

Jane nodded. "As it happened, one of my darling young men did

not perform well enough to graduate back into his trousers and

had to repeat his year in an Eastmore uniform. Since he knew

what I was doing, I ordered him into the "good cop" role as a

condition of his own ultimate release. Not knowing he was also a

be-skirted boy, the same as they were, my poor prissy darlings

flocked to him when the awful Mistress Thompson abused them so

basely and so sorely."

"It was a great success." Jane continued. "As you just noted,

the boys learned the masquerade much faster with his help so they

could begin to learn the other lessons that can only commence

after they could pass adequately. Most boys finished the program

in the allotted one school year and went back to their homes much

better for the experience, but there were always those who did

not get the message the first time. In my time at Eastmore, I

always had at least one big sister in residence."

"If it was working so well, why did you leave?"

"The restrictions placed on me as Head Mistress that had nothing

at all to do with school, but that affected the rest of my life

very negatively. The school board chairperson was a woman who

could have been Edith White's more conservative older sister.

She delighted in lecturing me on my responsibility to always be

the ultimate paragon of feminine virtue and morality one too many

times. I *was* a good role model for the girls, but I wasn't

going to live like some saintly, cloistered nun just to suit that

sanctimonious old bat. I left the school and started my

consulting business. That got boring after a while and I started

looking for something else. One of my clients, a woman, was

having problems with her son. We got a little drunk together one

night and I told her about the skirted boys of Eastmore. Despite

the alcoholic haze, she remembered that conversation the next

time her son got into trouble."

"And the rest is history."

"I suppose, but things have certainly not been going according to

plan of late."

The harsh, electronic tone of the portable phone Jane had set

down on her side table ended the conversation. Jane picked it up

and greeted her caller.

"Jane? Ruth here. There are no records here that in any way

resemble the ones you faxed to me. Not on file anyway. Of

course, none of the clerks would admit doing something like that

since it is a criminal act to falsify such records and court

orders."

"So we don't have anyone we can use to bring Sheila into line?"

"Not right now. We could confront her, but if I recall her well,

she's a cool customer. I don't think she'd break unless we

really leaned on her hard, and right now, I am not sure we have

enough evidence to be able to do even that much."

"I see." Jane said wearily. "Well, where does that leave us?"

"The only paper in that whole damn file that is in any way

legitimate is the one she signed giving you custody of her son

until such time as you deem him to have satisfactorily completed

your program. Regardless for her reason for making that

guardianship change, that particular record is a completely legal

and binding document."

"So, I could keep him here with me until we can decide what to do

about Sheila?"

"Or until his eighteenth birthday, Jane, if that is what it

takes. That would put a real crimp in your activities with other

students, but it would keep him out of that bitch's hands."

"True. Unlike Darryl, I don't believe Kenneth could or would

play the female while I break in a new student."

"Or you can just send him home. I can try putting the fear of

God in her."

"No, she is sufficiently well off financially that she would

simply move out of your jurisdiction. No, Ruth. I will keep

him. It will take some getting used to, having a boy running

around the place. Blast!," Jane burst out. "That means I will

probably have to redecorate his room, but there is no way I am

going to let that bitch have him back. She tried to use me and

my program for her own perverse purposes, Judge, potentially

endangering my boys' reputations and quality of life at the same

time if things had gone badly wrong here. I am not going to let

her win or get away with it. Somehow, someway, I am going to fix

her."

"So long as it isn't too illegal, dear, I will be right there

with you. She soiled my reputation too, remember. I didn't get

to be a judge by letting people wipe their feet on me like a

doormat. Hey, I have got to run. I will call you if I hear

anything or think of anything."

"Same here, Ruth. And thanks."

Jane broke the connection and set down the phone. For several

minutes she simply sat there, watching the boys and mulling over

what she knew for the thousandth time. Finally, she turned her

eyes back to Marie who'd been watching her longtime friend very

intently. "Well, Marie-dear." Jane said lightly. "How do you

feel about raising a couple of boys for the next few years?"

Marie set down her lemonade and stood. She watched the boys for

a few moments and then bent over to kiss Jane on the cheek.

"Just fine, cherie. I think we will both like it just fine.

Maybe, as you said earlier, we have been in the petticoating

business a bit too long. Or maybe for too long without a real

break. This will give us a time out of our own."

"*I* don't really think we've been doing it too long, Marie, but

I will agree with you on one thing. With those boys over there?

We will do just fine."

Marie nodded before standing back up. "I will go start dinner.

Tell those two heathens that I don't feed anybody who isn't

properly dressed for the evening meal. Just because they are out

of skirts doesn't mean they can forsake good manners and

behavior."

"I know." Jane laughed. "Or we'll put 'em both back into the

Shirley Temple line."

"Right!" Marie asserted with a high five to Jane before heading

into the house to start meal preparations.

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

Darryl was laying down in his bed staring up at the frilly

canopy, thoroughly pissed off at what Kenneth's Mother had tried

to do to her own son. Not an asshole type son who might actually

deserve it, but her own very nice, very well behaved, very

gentlemanly son. That a mother could do such a thing to her own

child infuriated him.

Intuitively, Darryl knew this feeling of rage derived from his

own mother trying so hard before she'd died to make things better

for her younger son. Moms were supposed to be special! *This*

one did not *deserve* to be called Mom. She just happened to be

a female someone who got pregnant but who did not bother to get

an abortion.

Christ, he fumed before remembering what Jane would do if she

heard that epithet slip out in normal conversation. Still,

sometimes even the best behaved, most well mannered guy in the

world had to curse - it was the only way of expressing the anger

and fury he was feeling.

Christ, that bitch is like Stephanie's father. Only worse.

Kenneth's mother was doing this because she got her rocks off on

seeing males publicly humiliated by wearing women's clothing and

maybe getting caught. At least Stephanie's father thought he was

doing the right thing by his son, rescuing him from his Mother's

and Aunt Jane's program.

Well, at least they'd fixed Stephanie's father's wagon. He'd

been so shocked to see that old guy's grandson in full female

regalia he'd acquiesced without much of a fight. It had been

great.

Too bad they couldn't do the same to Kenneth's mother.

An idea began to flicker in Darryl's mind.

Maybe they could at that.

Quickly, the young man jumped to his feet and headed out to find

Aunt Jane. She'd know how to make this work if anyone could.

And there was very little doubt in Darryl's mind that Jane would

be motivated to find a way to make his idea work.

Although she might prefer to phrase it more delicately, Darryl

knew that Jane was thoroughly pissed off, too.

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

As his guardian thought over his idea, Darryl took the rare

opportunity to look around Jane's private sitting room. He'd bet

that few if any of Jane's young men had ever been admitted to

this special place. It was clear to Darryl that this was where

Jane went to get away from the prison of her own making, if only

for a little while. Even the furniture in this room was markedly

different than anywhere else in the Victorian mansion. The

furnishings in this haven of Jane's were overstuffed, broken in

to the point of being shabby and most of all, comfortable. In

Darryl's experience, very little of the furniture in the rest of

the house had been selected for comfort and in many cases, the

selection criteria seemed to be just the opposite. If it was

uncomfortable, overly showy and difficult to sit upon gracefully,

Jane had probably used it to decorate the students' quarters and

the public rooms.

Lord, he thought amazed, Jane was practically sprawling on that

lazyboy recliner, her left leg dangling over one of the arms, her

right leg tucked up under her bottom. She wasn't even wearing her

trademark blouse and instead sported a faded, hole worn Winnie-

the-Pooh t-shirt. And, *omigod* Darryl goggled, *are those

really BLUE JEANS she is wearing??? Aunt Jane???*

He knew he'd never seen her in those before. A smile flitted

across his face as he made a quick mental list of every little

comment Jane would direct at a student who she found in a similar

position of inelegant repose.

"What do you think you're smilin' at, mister?" a softly amused

voice cut through his ruminations.

She even talks differently in here, Darryl thought amazed. "Umm.

. .I was looking at . . .at . " he stumbled for something other

than what he was actually looking at, "your chair." he blurted

out.

"Uh huh. Sure you were, Darryl, sure you were." Jane's familiar

wicked smile coupled with her change to a more dignified position

brought bright color to her ward's face. "All I will say, dear,

is that for the first time since your arrival here, you are

really in my home. Before this, you were merely in my house."

"I think I had already figured that out, Aunt Jane." he said with

some pride at the obvious honor she was giving him. "So, what do

you think about my idea?"

"It would be very difficult to pull off, dear." Jane said

carefully. "First of all, we'd need to have everyone, us,

Sheila, Ruth all in the same place at the same time, and it would

be best if we could be in Ruth's jurisdiction when we do it."

Her ward nodded his understanding. "But all that means is that

we have to go to her. Ruth already lives in the area."

"True, but don't think for a minute that Sheila is going to

willingly put herself in the same room with both Ruth and me

since she has been using each of us to manipulate the other. I

might decide to ask Ruth more about Kenneth's case and that would

ruin all of her plans."

"But it could work, couldn't it?"

"It might. We would need some specialized electronics so that we

can constantly monitor her interactions with Kenneth,

particularly when she is alone with him. Remember, she is still

avoiding me. I don't think she wants to talk with me about her

son for fear I will figure out her nasty little game."

Jane became silent again, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as

she worked through the possible scenarios in her mind. "No, we

will need something to smoke her out, and there's only one lure

that is certain to work. That would also solve the other big

problem, too, but. . ."

"Well, let's go do it." Darryl enthused, his anger about what

Sheila had done to her son still burning hot and hard.

"We can't make that decision, dear." Jane said reprovingly,

"because we are not the person most affected by it. You and I

are both outraged, and I promise you, I will make that bitch pay.

Someday, some how, she *will* pay both for what she tried to do

to Kenneth and for using me to try to do it. But to make her pay

now, using your plan, we'd need Kenneth's active participation

which he may not want to give. If he refuses, or is even

reluctant, we can't press him on this."

"But I don't get it. I've talked to him, Aunt Jane. He is even

more pis. ." Darryl's face flamed bright red again as he caught

himself, "I mean, upset about what his mother did than I am.

Why wouldn't he want to take part in this."

Jane chuckled at his discomfort and said easily, "I've heard and

said 'pissed off' before, Darryl, and although I try not to use

such a phrase in polite company, I agree that it fits here. I am

indeed, pissed off." She shrugged. "As to why Kenneth might

balk at my plan? Think about it, dear. I am sure it will come

to you."

He did, for several long moments and then he saw the problem.

"Oh shi... I mean, darn. You mean . . .?"

"Quite so." Jane chuckled. "Go to bed, Darryl. Let's think

about this over a good night's sleep. Maybe we will think of

something else that will work. If not, we will put the idea to

Kenneth *and* we will abide by his decision."

Darryl didn't much like that. Why couldn't Aunt Jane be . .

well, _Jane_ about this and make it happen. Sighing, he rose and

gave Jane a kiss on the cheek before leaving for his own room.

Jane sat unmoving for another half hour working the plan over in

her mind. "Well," she finally said aloud. "I think it will work

if Kenneth will go along with it. Now, I just have to figure out

how to market the concept to him. Good thing I have a lot of

experience selling things that people don't think they want or

need to buy anything.

Knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep herself with Darryl's

concept nagging at her, Jane went down to the kitchen and brewed

a pot of tea. Soon, she was settled in her study, furiously

scratching notes onto a yellow legal tablet.

Two hours later, the half full pot of tea now cold, Jane reread

what she'd just written for the third time. It could work, she

thought. All she needed now was Kenneth's complete and willing

cooperation, and Ruth's go ahead.

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

**brrrrrrinnnnnnng! brrrrriinnnng!**

A hand emerged from the covers, and blindly fumbled for the

source of the penetrating noise. Finding the alarm clock, the

hand bashed the snooze button several times to no effect. The

noise continued.

Unable to sleep through the unremitting clatter, Judge Ruth

finally roused enough to realize it was her phone and not her

clock. Moreover it was her "home line" instead of the business

line ringing. *If this is some cop who's somehow gotten my

private number and wants a warrant approved, it had damned well

be for some heinous capital crime like a mass murder or I may

just kill him.*

"This is the Judge," she growled into the phone.

"Ruth? It's Jane."

Her eyes really open now, Ruth glanced down at the brightly

lighted numerals on her clock. "Jesus, Jane, do you know what

time it is?"

"Of course I do, Ruth," was the tart reply, "It's an hour later

here and I have not been to sleep myself yet."

"What's the matter? Is something going on with that boy,

Kenneth?"

"Yes and no, Ruth. Look, I think I may have a way to do

something about Sheila that won't hurt Kenneth, but I am going to

need your help and his to pull it off. Before I take it to him,

I need to know if you can and will help. It's not quite illegal,

but it definitely falls under the category of unethical."