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."

"I promise nothing." was the very lawyerly reply.  "But if it
does something to and about that bitch, well, lets just say that
I am disposed to help you already."

"Okay, this is what we are going to do. . ."

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

Kenneth, Darryl and Marie sat around the small coffee table
looking expectantly at Jane.  Each of them had a cup of tea and
had helped themselves to pastries and snacks from the low tea
Marie had prepared at Jane's direction.  Finally, Jane cleared
her throat and looked directly at Kenneth.

"Kenneth, Ruth and I have been looking into what action can be
taken against your mother in retribution for her crimes against
you and me.  Clearly, we have a solid case of falsifying
documents and making a false sworn statement. Unfortunately, if
we do take her to court for that, it means everything comes out
in the open.  What I do here, but more importantly, what happened
to you and all my other young men here.  In recent months, I have
had to face the possibility of public exposure at least twice.  I
would regret that, because I honestly believe that I can help
certain young men turn their lives around."

"We know we've helped the boys who have been here before you,
Kenneth."  Marie chimed it.  "Jane has the files to prove it."

Jane waved that off.  "Be that as it may.  As I said, I would
regret the end of my program, but I have had to prepare myself
for that eventuality and I am quite certain that I would be able
to get on with new things in my life once the furor died down. 
The real reason we cannot take her to court is you."

"Me?  How so, Aunt Jane?"

The familial name on Kenneth's lips warmed her.  He'd begun using
that name instead of his extremely formal "Ms. Thompson" once he
had been absolutely sure she was on the level - before he'd even
gotten his boy-clothes back.  Jane's willingness to finally
listen to him, and more importantly, to believe him enough to
unlock the bedroom door that morning had gone a long way towards
bridging any gap that remained between the pair.  Trust and
affection had quickly followed. 

"Because you will become a media _thing_.  A thing of pity for
some, a thing of revulsion for others, but in all cases a thing
and not a person. You won't have a life.  Every time you turn
around, someone will expect to see you swish, or they'll check
you for panties when you go to the gym.  I, Ruth. . ._none of us_
want that for you."

"So she just gets away with it?  This isn't the first time she's
done something like this.  Before I learned I could stand up to
her, it was girl costumes for every Halloween, or girl parts in
plays at the local theater.  She once even found this summer camp
for boys who want to play at being girls and tried to send me
there.  Fortunately, the ladies who ran that camp insisted that
the boys had to want to be there.  As soon as any boy decided
he'd had enough of skirts and dolls, he was allowed to go home." 
Kenneth's face flashed a dark smile at the memory.  "I was home
thirty minutes after my mother dropped me off for the first day."

"Yes, Kenneth, she gets away with it unless we can do something
outside the law.  Ruth and I have come up with a plan, but we are
going to need your help to pull it off."

Kenneth studied the look on his temporary guardian's face.  She
was hesitating, he realized, and Jane Thompson never hesitated
about *anything*.  What on earth, he asked himself, could involve
him in such a manner as to make this forthright, self confident
woman hesitate?

Then he knew.  "You want me to face her as Kendra." he said
flatly.  "Okay, explain the plan to me, Aunt Jane, and be sure
not to leave out the part about why it can't be done as Kenneth."

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

Part 9

An incredibly intense two weeks later, Jane maneuvered her rental
car through the tree-lined streets of Kenneth's home town of
record.  She periodically checked the rearview mirror to make
sure that the van with Darryl and Ruth was still close at hand.

The days leading up to this little drive had been very demanding. 
Darla, Marie and Jane had spent hours every day drilling Kenneth
on the finer points of being Kendra.  Every evening either Sandy
or Caro or both had come over for two hours of make up and hair
care lessons.  Even Brenda Franson had gotten involved in the
act, spending both Sunday afternoons refining the girl's gestures
and movements, and fitting her with specially selected outfits
designed to enhance Kendra's boyish figure.

The results were spectacular, Jane smiled, stealing a glance at
her ward.  She was rigged out in a version of the "senior student
meets the train" outfit - a light grey-green dress, complete with
three petticoats for fullness, hosiery, two inch pumps, a hat and
matching gloves.  Marie had thought the second and third
petticoat were overkill, but Jane had overruled her on that
score.  Sheila would be ecstatic at the excessively prim and
prissy look of her feminized son.

Jane's former student had kept Sheila's house under surveillance
so that they would know when she'd returned.  They also knew
where she'd been - at the old house in the city where she and
Kenneth had lived while her husband had still been alive.  During
her time there, a young man had been observed entering the house,
but not leaving it.  Instead, the watcher had reported the
departure of a very bedraggled-looking and upset female in a very
short skirt and incredibly high heels who limped away from the
house just before Sheila herself left for the airport to return
here.  The house appeared to be empty following the departure of
the primary subject.

Ruth and Jane were convinced that the precipitous move to this
town was part of Sheila's overall plan.  It made the threat posed
by Ruth seem all the more real.  That she hadn't sold her old
house probably meant she would return there to her old life once
her aims for Kenneth had been achieved.  A life that evidently
still involved forced feminization of young men and then driving
them out into the public to face humiliation or worse.

*That unspeakable . . . unspeakable. . .* For all her classical
training, Jane Thompson, Schoolmistress, could not come up with a
sufficiently vile epithet to describe what she thought of that
female.

"Easy does it, Aunt Jane."  Kendra's soft voice chided as she
touched a gloved finger to Jane's white knuckled hand gripping
the steering wheel.  "It will be fine." she smiled under the
incredibly long lashes Sandy had spent an hour applying, one lash
at a time, the last night before the trio had left home.  They'd
been in town now for three days, staying with Judge Ruth, waiting
and getting ready for the final act in this horror drama.

On the bright side, Ruth and Kenneth/Kendra had hit it off
famously.  At first, Ruth had been concerned that the boy would
blame her for all that she'd also been an unwitting pawn in his
mother's plan.  Kenneth was too smart for that, and besides, he'd
seen just how badly that particular "pawn" wanted Sheila's blood. 
Well, this pawn was about to become a queen and wreak havoc on
Sheila's little war game of strategy.  

A soft smile crossed Jane's tense features as the memories of
those first few hours at Ruth's home.  Poor Ruth had never had
children of her own and was quite at a loss as to what to say to
the teen, so she'd started talking about her career both as a
lawyer and as a judge.  To Jane's utter bemusement, her ward had
been fascinated.  Soon, the pair of them had become all but
inseparable as the young man constantly pumped the older woman
for every bit of information about her career.

"This is the street, Aunt Jane.  Third house down on the left."

Jane parked the car at the curb and turned to face the
beautifully made up young man.  "We don't have to do this, you
know. You are welcome to stay with me as Kenneth.  No one will
think the less of you for not going in there like this."

Kendra smiled grimly.  "I would, Aunt Jane.  I know this is going
to be difficult, but not because of all this." she said running
her gloved hand down her dress.  "This is just a game, that's
all.  Playing it doesn't really change anything essential in me
and it definitely doesn't threaten me.  With her," and she
inclined her head toward the house occupied by his mother, "It
would not have been a game.  She truly wanted to change me -
mentally, physically and permanently.  What makes this so tough
is that she's my mother, and I can't find it in myself to love
her.  In fact, I really believe that I hate her."  Kendra's voice
hitched and Jane fished for a tissue.

"Calm down.  We don't have time to fix your makeup.  If you need
a good cry, do it after we leave, okay?  Damned overemotional
males." Jane muttered, just loud enough so she knew she'd be
heard.

It worked.  A chuckle bubbled up from Kendra, who then nodded. 
"Thanks.  I am under control now."

"Is it show time, young lady?"  Jane asked one last time.

"Lets do it, Aunt Jane."

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

Sheila Roberts was already thinking about taking another sanity-
trip back to the city.  There just wasn't anything worth doing in
this backwards burg.  Certainly none of her more . . .esoteric
pleasures were to be had around here.  

She thought about Horace, the male slave she was currently
training back home to be the slut maid she had named Whorish. 

And about what she wanted to do to him the next time he attended
her in her private little dungeon. 

Sheila had just read about this person who performed voluntary
surgeries neutering male humans.  Sheila shuddered in barely
suppressed sexual arousal at the thought of watching the scalpel
slide oh-so-very-delicately into that ugly sack of skin.  Yes,
Whorish was going to "volunteer" for that little operation when
she got back home just so Sheila could watch and see it done. 
Maybe she could even get the man to do it to her slave without
using any anaesthetic.  After all, didn't she have the goods on
him?  What was a couple of useless balls of male flesh compared
to going to prison and losing everything?

Sheila was getting god awful tired of this place.  She'd only
moved here because good old Ruth presided over the local court
that seemed to be a regular first stop for so many of Jane
Thompson's bad little boys.  Bad little boys who, by everything
she had been able to learn, found themselves sent to Jane to be
changed into girls.  Another ripple of arousal lanced into
Sheila.  Just how far did Jane go in turning bad boys into good
little girls?  Maybe Jane would like to know the address of that
man who provided the neutering service.  Better yet, she'd just
keep that bit of information as a surprise for her old sorority
sister.  It would be Sheila's little contribution to the program
when she ultimately took her rightful place as Jane's partner.

Sharing a drink with Barbara Nash at that reunion two years ago
had been the best piece of luck she'd ever had.  That was when
she'd found out about what Jane was doing with herself these
days.  Some discreet inquiries by a very expensive investigation
service had turned up the connection to Ruth. From there, it had
been child's play to buy a house here in this town, find and
bribe that clerk who liked the ponies too much for his paycheck
and build that apparently damning file on her "crime-hardened"
son.

*How would that clerk look in skirts and petticoats?* Sheila
wondered.  She certainly had enough on him to win his "willing"
compliance to a little playtime.  She'd even worry about all that
safe and sane crap when she played with him. At least at first,
anyway.

*Losing your focus, Sheila* she chided herself.  As to her son,
well, the only thing hardened about that boy was his resolve not
to let her turn him into the girl she really wanted him to be. 
Just like his father in that regard.  Oh, they'd both played
along with her at times - Halloween, costume parties, special
evenings from her husband, but neither of those damned males had
ever taken her and the transformation seriously.  She'd tried
very hard with Kenneth after his father died, but he was just too
certain of himself for her to make any headway in her goal.

Until she'd learned of Jane and her little alternative to jail
for the bad boys.  Who'd have thought Jane would be the one to
create something like that.  Oh, she'd helped Sheila that time at
school, when they'd first dressed old what-his-name up as a
streetwalker for the sorority costume party, but for her to come
up with something like that operation?

Amazing.  Well, Jane had selfishly kept the fun all to herself
long enough.  Kenneth was by way of a test to see just how good
dear little Jane was at her craft.  If she was good enough, then
she'd be getting a new partner in Sheila or else.  Sheila
shuddered in almost orgasmic delight at the thought of the file
the investigator put together, along with the names of the boys
who'd been in her keeping, appearing on the desks of eight major
gossip columnists, and into the hands of five tabloids and three
talk show hosts in forty eight hours.

And if Jane didn't succeed with Kenneth, then she'd have to pay
for her failure.  She wondered how Jane would look on Hard Copy,
or how her boys would feel about being hounded by the Springer
Show?

Sheila cursed as the annoying buzz of her doorbell intruded on
her lovely dream of skirted little boys scurrying around in fear,
doing her bidding.

She could not believe her eyes when she opened the door.  "Jane? 
Jane Thompson?"  *What the hell was she doing here?  And who was
the young blond in the 1940's church dress? I didn't know anyone
even made hats like that thing anymore.*

"Hello, Sheila.  May we come in?"  Jane asked. Sheila couldn't
think of any reason why not and stood aside to let the two women
enter.

She guided them into her ornate living room and bid them to make
themselves comfortable.  "Would you like some tea?  Some coffee?"

"Some tea would be wonderful."  Jane answered sweetly.  "Why
don't we have this little darling prepare it for us while we
talk? She won't have any difficulty finding the makings?"

"N.. no. . I keep everything except the milk on the counter
beside the stove."  Sheila answered, still wondering what the
hell was going on.  She had to be careful.  She couldn't afford
to anger Jane.  She might decide to drop Kenneth from her program
and that would mean she'd have to call Ruth.  Sheila had to
prevent that from happening for as long as she possibly could.

"Dear?"  Jane turned to her protege. "Please prepare a light tea
for three?  I would also like you to serve."

"Yes, Ms. Thompson."  The girl actually curtseyed, Sheila thought
in wonder, before moving gracefully into the kitchen. For just a
moment, she wondered if Jane's companion was one of her boys, but
immediately discarded the thought.  Too feminine entirely. 
Sheila herself had never managed to get a male to pass that well,
so surely little Jane Thompson couldn't.  *Too bad those heels
aren't higher.  The girl has great legs and a cute butt.*

"What brings you out here, Jane?  Aren't you a long way from your
school?"

"Not so you'd notice, Sheila.  As you know, my program involves
forcing my pupils to face and come to grips with their gentler
sides by making them live that way until they do."

The smile that lit Sheila's face was one part hunger, one part
triumph and one part something else much darker and evil.  "Yes,
I know. You were our last hope, you know."

"I could tell." Jane replied equably.  "As to our purpose here,
Some," and Jane put steel into her voice, "of our students resist
and require much stronger measures to break their silly macho
self image.  Sometimes, we have to make them face their worst
nightmares before they see the wisdom of compliance and
submission.  For some young men, that is being made to appear in
public as a male, but seriously feminized - a true sissy.  Others
have to face the constant threat of exposure by putting them in
tenuous circumstances where their slightest miscue would give
them away, knowing that I will abandon them to their fate if they
fail to carry off the masquerade."  

Jane was lying, but Sheila wouldn't know that her boys were
*never* truly in danger of being truly exposed.  This was, as
Jane well knew, the other woman's greatest fantasy since she'd
first read of Victorian petticoat discipline almost twenty years
ago.  "I see." she breathed, her breathing becoming noticeably
shallow and quick.

"Yes, and some very rare, hard core, testosterone challenged male
animals require even harsher treatment."

"How are you coming with Kenneth, Jane?  Is he giving you a hard
time?"

The smile Jane gave the other woman was just a bit triumphant. 
"Oh, he's become quite the she, darling, a true sweetheart.  He
was very difficult the first few days, but we've got that turned
around."  Jane's voice became low and confidential.  "You should
have seen the look on his face when he realized that first
shampoo was heavily laced with a bleaching agent.  For some
reason, being made into a blond just destroys the little dears. 
Must be some silly male stereotype."

Sheila closed her eyes against the rush that image induced in
her.  "You know, Jane, I am quite jealous of what you are doing. 
In many ways, it has long been the type of work I wanted to do
with my life."

*I am sure of that, you amoral strumpet.* Jane growled deep in
her mind.  "Well, I have been very lucky, Sheila.  I mean, my
work is deeply . . ." Jane let her lips curl into an
intentionally sensual smile, "satisfying." she purred throatily.

The other woman literally squirmed in her seat, and Jane could
see a fine sheen of perspiration forming on her upper lip and
forehead.  "Oh, I can believe that." Sheila breathed.

"Yes, verrrry satisfying.  Of course, a great deal of that
satisfaction comes from overcoming each challenge posed by one of
my girlie-boys, from finally crushing their pathetically
overblown adolescent male egos so that I can then rebuild them
according to my own _personal_ requirements and standards."  Jane
moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and winked
salaciously at Sheila.

A sharp, visible shudder shook Sheila's body, her eyes and mouth
closed tight.  *My God*, Jane thought in disbelief, *Did she just
have an orgasm?* 

"I would just _love_ to dedicate my life to that kind of plea. .
uummm. . . work.  Have you ever thought of taking a partner?"

Jane was saved from having to answer by the timely return of
Kendra carrying the tea service on a silver tray.  Deftly, she
set the tray down on the small coffee table and sat down.  "Shall
I pour, Ms. Thompson?"  She asked in her soft, deceptive voice.

"Please do, dear."  Jane said as she turned back to Sheila.  "Do
you still take yours with sugar and a squeeze of lemon?"

"Yes, I do." was the curt reply. *Not happy at having your little
opening ignored, are you, Sheila?  Tough!*

"Your tea, Ms. Roberts."  Kendra offered the saucer and cup,
filled with the steaming brew.

"Thank you, . . .Jane?"  Sheila's voice had a hard edge to it.

"Yes, Sheila?"  Jane smiled as she accepted her own cup of tea.

"I cannot properly thank your young lady since you have not
introduced us."  Sheila's tones were chidingly reproving.

Her eyes all wide with feigned surprise, Jane set her cup down. 
"Oh, _do_ forgive me, please, Sheila.  I just never thought you
would need introductions."

"And why not?!?" was the sharp return.  "She is a guest in my
house and I have never met her before in my life.  Of course I
need an introduction."

"Well, if you insist." Jane said before turning to Kendra and
ordered sternly.  "Kendra, make your curtsey to your Mother."

Kendra stood and made the classic movement with her petticoated
skirt - very well, too, Jane noted with pride - then remained
standing, head slightly bowed, hands clasped in front of her, her
legs straight and together.  Jane almost laughed at how well
Kenneth was presenting Kendra to his Mother.  The picture of
classically demure, slightly embarrassed girlhood.

"That's really you, Kendra?" Sheila whispered, a fierce, not
altogether clean light burning her translucent eyes.

"Yes, Mother." the girl-boy answered in a soft, sweet voice.

"Didn't I tell you, Sheila, that some of my boys require
particularly harsh rites of passage when they refuse to submit to
the inevitability of the feminization?  In this case, Kendra
finds herself forced to function as a female in the outside
world, instead of the relative safety of my home, knowing that
the least misstep will have disastrous consequences."  Jane's
voice dropped back into the "two-girls-sharing-a-confidence
tones.  "But the harshest lesson of all is having to present
herself to her own Mother.  Quite devastating to the dear girl. 
Isn't it, Kendra??

The girl's eyes dropped even lower as she avoided looking at
either of the two older women.  "It is really awful," she
responded, letting just a hint of a sob crack her voice, "You
didn't have to do this.  I was learning." she accused.

Jane had been paying more attention to her old sorority sister
than she had to Kendra when she made that little revelation.
Sheila was unable to conceal her delight at her son's
transformation and complete humiliation.  It was time to dangle
the bait a little closer. 

"Not nearly quickly enough," Jane retorted with all the hauteur
of a Regency Dame, "At least you weren't before you found
yourself out and about in your lovely skirts.  I will admit that
things began improving as soon as you knew that we would not
return to my house until you made _significant_ progress towards
your inevitable girlhood.  In fact, Kendra-darling, let's
demonstrate for your mother just how well you have or have not
learned your lessons."

For the next fifteen minutes, Jane put Kendra through a carefully
choreographed display of feminine movements, gestures and
behaviors.  She made her sit, stand, glide about the room,
simulate entering and leaving a car in a short, very tight skirt,
powder her nose and refresh her lipstick and a myriad of other,
more subtle examples of the "total girl".

"Excellent.  My, Kendra, but aren't you quite the sweet, polite
little girl, now?"  Sheila cooed and was delighted at seeing a
red flush color her feminized son's face.

Jane saw Kendra color rise, too, but she knew that it was rage
coloring her ward's face and not humiliation as Sheila was
assuming.  *Don't blow it darling. Time for phase two.*  Jane
thought.

"I have been trying, Ma'am."  Kendra offered submissively.  Jane
wondered if the poor dear was choking on her obsequious persona.

"And very well, too.  I must say, Jane, that this is definitely
an improvement over the rowdy young brute I sent to you.  And
what else have you planned to help my poor boy over his
unacceptably male natures?"

"Oh, I have some plans for _her_," Jane said, emphasizing the
feminine pronoun and bringing a broad smile to Sheila's face,
"Some she knows about, some she doesn't.  For example, she will
be appearing at a cotillion that will be held near my home
dressed as one of the old time debutantes.  Of course, she will
be expected to dance with anyone who asks her."

"Oh, how delightful.  Dancing with boys?  In a lovely white
formal?"

"Just so." Jane said equably.  "Dancing the waltz, tightly
pressed against a strong male body is an excellent way to
suppress those male natures you're so concerned about, Sheila. 
And more importantly, our little Kendra knows that failure to be
perfectly sweet and biddable means more such experiences in her
life until she does."

"More boys?  Maybe having to go steady with one?"  Sheila asked,
her eyes alight with pleasure.

"Dates are likely.  Going steady is only a last resort if she
truly displeases me."  Jane turned a hard glare at her protege. 
"Young boys do expect certain . . .. favors from their steadies
these days, don't they, Kendra?  Isn't that why that poor girl
was dragged into the boys' lavatory at school?"

The ruddy flush of fury on Kendra's face deepened, and for just
one second, Jane was afraid she might have gone just one step too
far with that last remark. *Please, don't lose that control of
yours, now - not when we're so very close.* she begged silently.

"As you say, Aunt Jane."  Kendra finally got out, her voice harsh
with the effort to control his fury.


Part 10

*Time for phase three,* Jane decided, *but do I dare leave him
alone with her as furious as just being in the same room with
this woman has made him?* She contemplated that for a few
moments, pretending to glare at the still red-faced girl standing
between Sheila and herself. *There's no other choice.  Only
Kendra can take the woman to the next step.  We need her too
excited to remain cautious.*

"Sheila, we will have to be going if we are to catch our plane
and be home in time to pretty up little Kendra for her night out
with the boys.  May I use your powder room?  It is a long drive
to the airport."

"Of course.  It's just down the hall over there."

Jane rose and then looked down at Kendra.  "Be a good girl for
your Mother, Kendra.  I will be right back."

Moving quickly to the small bathroom, Jane closed the door and
pulled the earphone to her miniature receiver to her ear. 
Fortunately, the tiny transmitter hidden on Kendra's person was
working perfectly.

"So, I have won at last, Kenneth." Jane heard Sheila's self
satisfied tones in her ear, remembering at the last minute to
check the other device hidden in her suit jacket.  Her receiver
was also attached to a small tape recorder in case the equipment
in the van failed.

"I guess you have, Mother." was the patently male response.

"I told you I would, miss, and don't use that crude male voice
around me ever again."

"You wouldn't have won without that pack of lies and false
records you put into that cursed file, or with that Judge of
yours lying for you."  Kendra accused.

"No one else needs to know that those records are all forgeries. 
As a Juvenile, your records are sealed.  No one will know they
weren't true for your stay at Jane's, and then they will be
returned to me and destroyed without a trace.  Only Jane, Judge
Ruth and I will ever know they were fakes."

"So that means that Jane was in on your little conspiracy, too?"

"Of course she was." Sheila said heartily as Jane's fury flared
at yet one more malicious lie, "You are really becoming quite the
stereotypical dumb blond, Kendra.  I gave her those files in case
you did something stupid like try to escape.  Jane would have
been able to use those records to get the cops to bring you back. 
Only the order sending you to Jane's lovely little delinquents'
home was real.  And I *thought* I told you to stop speaking to me
in that disgusting masculine voice.  You are NOT a man or even a
boy now, nor will you ever be again!"

"Yes, Ma'am." was the more softly inflected response.

"You have forced me to tell Jane how you just misbehaved," Sheila
said in exaggeratedly disappointed tones.  "But, I am sure she
will find a suitable punishment for your insolence.  Perhaps she
will make you ride home with one of the boys after the
cotillion."

"She wouldn't do that!"  Was the horrified reply.

"Oh, but I am sure she would." Jane could hear the smirk in
Sheila's voice.  "In fact, I am going to insist that she do just
that.  Hopefully, she knows a real Don Juan-type for you.  Oh
*HO*, but you don't like that idea, do you, Miss??!?"

"He'll find out." was the soft, tear-choked reply.  "He'll find
out that I am not really a girl. . . .at least down there."

The laugh that came through the earphone made Jane's blood
freeze.  "Why, that won't be a problem for long, darling, because
as soon as you are finished with Jane's little charm school, we
will say good bye to good old Kenneth for good.  I will have you
back in skirts within an hour of Jane releasing you.  Then, as
punishment for resisting me for so long, I am taking you to a
doctor I know of down in Mexico.  You will be a girl *every*
where within the year and you will never have to worry about
being found out as a boy 'down there', again."

"That can't be legal.  I am still a minor.  They can only do that
to boys who get badly hurt . . . down there." Jane could hear the
hard swallow.  

"So what?  There is nothing that cannot be accomplished if you
have enough money.  Until then, however, I suspect you will have
to learn what most girls do when faced with an amorous male
trying to get into their panties.  Better learn to like using
your mouth on a man, little girl, otherwise, they might be
tempted to seek . . .other pleasures."

There was a pause in the exchange until Jane heard Sheila speak
again.  "It will be a suitable posthumous revenge against your
father, don't you think, for having resisted my intention to
feminize him all those years.  Having his family line die out, -
because his son is no longer able to father children.  Do you
know what the best part of all this is, Kendra-darling?"

"No, tell me, please."

"Why, I am going to be doing this all the time from now on.  Jane
will have no choice but to take me into her little group.  Only,
I will want to make those nasty little boys into delicious little
girls - permanently.  Just like I will you."

"You are a sick woman, Mother."  

"Sick? Don't be silly, Kendra, I am not sick.  I am just a woman
who knows what she wants and who knows precisely how to get it. 
You, however, are a very naughty little girl. I think you had
better find something to practice sucking on between now and that
cotillion, darling.  I can practically guarantee you will need to
know how."

Jane had heard enough.  She walked back into the sitting room to
see Sheila looming over a cowering Kendra.  Jane wondered if that
emotion was entirely an act on Kendra's part.  Jane suspected
that there was a good deal of real fear and revulsion coursing
through her student.  True evil does that to good people.

Sheila heard her coming and spun around to face Jane.  "You have
avoided me long enough, Jane.  What you've done with this _girl_
is truly remarkable. I want to join you in your work . . .maybe
eventually open a second house under my supervision, say in
Chicago or perhaps California."

*The woman is has absolutely no conscience.  She has just spent
five minutes threatening and terrorizing her own child and she is
almost giddy about it.* Jane thought disgustedly. *How could I
ever have thought of that miserable piece of human excrement as a
friend?*

"You really think so?  Well, I will have to give that a good deal
of thought before I make such a major change of direction."

Something dark and perhaps evil, flashed in the other woman's
eyes.  "I really must insist, Jane dear." Her voice all cool,
confident persuasion.  "I just know I could add so much to their
eventual development into fine young women.  So much better than
being disgusting men."

Jane gave every indication of considering the proposal, but was
in fact watching the tense anticipation grow steadily on Sheila's
face.   "Well, Sheila, I confess I never thought to take on a
partner.  Besides, my methods and purposes are probably different
from yours, and I am not certain we would be compatible either
way.  But for the sake of argument, whatever do you have in mind
for my "girls" - what are you so certain you could _add_ that I
would want in my program?"

Sheila might have been giving a sales pitch to the board of
directors at a major corporation.  "Why, I have _vision_, Jane. 
I can see what we could make of this thing of yours, with just a
little drive on our part.  We could practically franchise your
process, have houses like yours all over the country, turning
disgusting males into perfectly lovely young women. . .or almost
women."

"Do you really think there is all that big a market for such
services, Sheila?  After all, we are not talking about a
mainstream program here.  I cannot imagine that most American
fathers would see the value of putting their son in skirts."

"Oh, I am sure that we will be very busy.  If not, we can go out
and get students if that is required.  So many boys living on the
street today.  Who'd miss one or two along the way?  We'll
consider them research and development, or product
demonstrations."

"We're just going to go out and pluck young men off the streets
and spirit them away to our little Victorian houses of
transformation?"  Jane was absolutely enthralled by this woman. 
How could she just *say* such things and seem so matter of fact;
how could she sound so eminently reasonable about this abominable
concept?  "And you think that street hardened young toughs will
simply fall in line the way my boys have in the past?  My
students have always had some type of motivation to comply with
my demands - be that jail or expulsion from school or forced
enrollment in some type of military school.  We wouldn't have
that to hold over such young men."

"Oh pooh." Sheila said airily. "Of course we will have something
on them.  They'll need food, won't they?  They'll hate pain,
won't they?  They comply or they don't eat.  They submit, or they
will be hurt.  I have become quite skilled with the single tailed
whip in recent years, Jane."  A thoroughly frightening smile
darkened Sheila's features as she chuckled softly.  "My, I almost
hope that they *don't* comply and submit - at least not at the
beginning."

Jane struggled not to let her revulsion show in her face or her
voice.  "I see.  Sheila, I have always promised that my young men
would not be permanently harmed or marked while in my keeping."

"Have to change with the times, Jane dear.  Trust me, hearing the
little darlings scream will make your juices flow.  A wonderful
rush.  Not only that, but I was just reading about this man who
fixes things for people like your young ladies, very effectively,
too.  I think a merger between him and us would be highly
beneficial to both parties.  And especially beneficial to all the
young hooligans we can get our hands on as we remove the root
cause of their problems once and for all, at their masculine
root.  Maybe I will start collecting their testicles as mementos
of their time with us."  The last came out on a dreamy sigh of
anticipatory pleasure.

*I don't believe this!!* Jane's mind screamed. *She _has_ to be
talking about that bastard who was brought up on charges for
performing male castrations without a medical degree or medical
supervision.  I just read about him this morning over breakfast. 
And she really _is_ drooling!  God, I don't believe anyone could
be that mad or that evil.*

"But Sheila, there will be older students.  One reason they
assist me with the newer students because it is in their best
interests, although late in the program they begin to see the
benefits.  I don't think any of them would willingly support us
if they knew about *that* idea."

"Don't be naive, Jane, of *course* they will still help us
because we will leave them no other choice.  Otherwise they will
be made to regret their obstinance very, very much."

"Naturally," Sheila continued, completely oblivious to the horror
on the faces of her two guests,  "we'd have to put a stop to
taking referrals from Ruth.  The legal system isn't ready to
accept the rightness of taking that step."  Sheila concluded with
every sign of rationality that made her all the more frightening
to Jane.  "But just like the parents we will have to convince
using our little R&D projects, once we have evidence of our
successes, perhaps even the politicians will see the value of
such changes."

*She isn't mad.* Jane realized,  *I almost wish she was out of
her mind because that would be easier to accept than this cold
blooded, carefully thought out plan to physically emasculate the
young men who are sent to me.*

Holding on to her fury by the barest of margins, Jane tried to
answer the other woman.  "Well, I will give it every due
consideration, but I am disinclined to do anything like that,
Sheila.  After all, how would I ensure that all my girl-boys get
the treatment they truly deserve if someone other than me is
overseeing their rehabilitation.  Not only that, but the wider
the circle of people who know about what I do, the more likely
public exposure or a failure becomes."

Sheila's eyes became cold.  "Oh, but you really need me as a
partner, Ms. Jane Thompson, Victorian Schoolmistress." She said
with a strangely frightening calm, almost reasonable voice.  "You
need me to keep the files I currently have on you and your former
students out of the national press.

"Do I *really*, Sheila."  Jane's control finally slipped and the
full measure of her fury bubbled through, "Do I really?"

Jane moved to the house door and opened it wide.  "Jane, come
back here, damn you!  I am not through with you yet.  You do not
want to make me angry with you, not while I can put you out of
busi . . . . ?" Sheila stopped as she noticed what Jane was
doing.  "What are . . ?"

Sheila's question was lost as she saw who was entering through
the open door.  "Ruth??!?"

"Hello, Sheila.  Fancy meeting you here.  Hello again, Jane,
Kendra."

"Hi, Aunt Ruth." Kendra responded, a smile on her lovely face for
the first time since she walked into her Mother's house.  "Did we
get it all?"

"Every self incriminating word, darling. The wire worked
perfectly." Ruth affirmed.  "Darryl is in the van right now
making duplicates.  Good job."

"What is the meaning of this?"  Sheila hissed.  "What are you
doing here?!?"

"Putting a stop to your abuse of this young man who, in the eyes
of the law, is still a child."  Ruth said in a low, dangerous
tone, "And to end your lying manipulation of Jane and me for your
own perverse purposes."

"You cannot prove anything."  Sheila blustered.

"Oh, but we can.  First of all, I have in my possession that file 
you gave to Jane along with all of your correspondence with her. 
You know the file, Sheila.  It's the one that could get you
charged with about fifteen counts of forgery and twice that many
counts of falsifying legal records since you admitted to forgery
when you gloated at Ken here, confessing that you made them up. 
Oh, and before you start claiming your word against ours that the
tape is real?  Jane is a witness since she watched you from the
powder room."

The other woman seemed to shrink momentarily before something
brought her back.  "You can't charge me." she retorted
confidently,  "Charging me would bring Jane's little enterprise
out into the public light.  It would destroy her silly little
charm school.  Besides, I will guarantee that result by releasing
my records on her mini-reform school to the press and the
tabloids.  You can't threaten me. You don't *dare* charge me let
alone bring me to trial."

Kendra stood and stared at the woman who was his/her mother. 
Jane, doing her level best to keep her own fury under control,
saw the deadly rage and intent flashover in those grey eyes.
"Kendra, no!  Don't do that." Jane barked as she reached over to
grab her student's arm and pull him back, out of reach of his
mother.

The moment's respite helped, letting Kendra regain her composure.
Nodding his thanks for the timely respite, Kendra turned back to
his mother.  "Trust me, mother, if you don't do exactly what
Judge Ruth tells you to do, I will go to the police right now,
dressed as I am, and press charges against you.  Are you so
stupid as to think I would let you get away with what you just
proposed to do to me and countless other guys?  In your dreams,
you sick fool."

"No, it would be your word against mine.  None of them would dare
corroborate your claims.  Jane has too much to lose."

Jane stepped up and stood beside Kendra.  "Perhaps I do have a
great deal to lose, Sheila, but I will be right there beside Ken
every step of the way.  At the police station, at the arraignment
and at court on the witness stand.  In fact, Ruth already has my
signed, sealed deposition detailing my entire operation and in
particular, my dealings with you to use against you should you
ever pull any more of your nasty little tricks with your son or
with me."

"You can't do this to me.  We could have had so much together,
Jane, playing with those boys together."

"You really don't understand, do you?  You are blinded by your
own evil desires and fantasies.  What I do to my students,
Sheila, I do in order to help my boys grow into fine young *men*. 
My goal is *always* for them to leave my keeping improved,
enhanced, and *never*, in *any* way, diminished by their time
with me.  Do you think I would continue my school if there was
the slightest, most minute chance that a vicious, amoral monster
like you might become involved in my work?"

Sheila was becoming agitated now, tears wear forming in her eyes.
"Its not fair!" she shouted.  "I just wanted to be in on the fun,
too.  After all, I showed you all about this game first.  You
should have to share with me in return."

For a few moments, Jane could only stare at the other woman. 
"Fun?," she whispered hoarsely,  "Did you really say 'fun'??" she
said, her volume growing with each syllable until her final words
were a screech of raw fury.

Before anyone in the room could react, Jane was in an all-
consuming rage the like of which she would have sworn was beyond
her.  She was on the smaller woman in an instant, her hands
closing around her antagonist's throat before letting go and
bucking Sheila's knees with a vicious backhand slap to the face.
Not satisfied with that, Jane pulled her foe to her feet by the
hair and slapped her again, this time with a forehand blow that
sent Sheila reeling backwards to the floor. 

Jane strode over to drag the defeated woman to her feet so she
could knock her down again, but was intercepted by Kendra and
Ruth, each taking one of her arms and pulling her back.  

"Enough, champ."  Kendra teased.

"Enough?  ENOUGH?  Hell no, it's not enough."  Jane yelled, still
struggling to get free so she could destroy the other woman's
evil once and for all, her feet kicking out, trying to reach the
face her restrained arms could not.    "I haven't even *begun* to
share the *fun* with that piece of garbage."

"Calm down, Jane.  We've won."  Ruth said soothingly even as she
pulled with all her strength to pull her friend away from her
intended victim.  "She can't hurt you or Kenneth anymore without
going to jail for a long, long time."

That finally broke through the red hot fury fogging Jane's mind.
She relaxed and felt the grips on her arms relax also.  Relax,
but not release.  Just as well, she thought.

"So you want to *play*, do you, Sheila.  You STUPID bitch. . .do
you want to know what I really do with my young men?  Of course
you don't.  You *want* to think that I *play* with them.  Well,
let me tell you that *play* doesn't begin to describe what I do
to those boys.  I have to *break* them, damn your unfeeling,
black soul, really shatter them psychologically before I can
begin to help them.  When you start out with a warped piece of
wood, sometimes you have to break it before you can begin to
straighten it out again.  But you, you damned fool, you sent me
your son, who is not warped at all, but rather is as strong,
straight and true as a young oak tree."

Jane's voice broke and she felt a comforting squeeze on one of
her arms. *Kenneth*, she realized through the haze of her rage,
*trying to support me.*  "Do you know what happens when you break
things, Sheila?  They *never* go back together perfectly.  That's
okay when you start out with something that isn't straight and
true to begin with, if in that breaking, you have a chance to
make it better, but that wasn't how it was with your son.  You
tried to make me break a fine, gentle human being for nothing
other than your fantasies and pleasures.  Only his incredible
strength and good nature let him survive what I tried to do to
him and come out of it still whole and not warped.  And you DARED
to USE *ME* to perpetuate that evil."

The grips on her arms immediately tightened, but Jane only shook
her head.  "I am done, Ruth.  Beating her bloody, though
satisfying, won't accomplish much and I can't find it in me to
kill even a worthless slug like her. I just wish someone would
hurt her as badly as she wanted to hurt my boys, but I won't be
the one to do it. Someone should do it to her, though, someone
really should, but it won't be me."  She nodded her head sharply. 
"No, it won't be me."

The hands holding Jane finally slipped away.  "The Hell it
won't!"  Jane bellowed as she moved too quickly to be stopped and
drove a hard right hand directly under Sheila's sternum.  The
blow had every bit of power Jane could muster behind it and
literally drove the other woman careening into the wall where she
ignominiously crumpled to the floor, wretching and fighting
desperately to get air into her lungs. 

Her self defense teacher would be appalled, Jane mused.  No
skill, no finesse, no art, but, goodness, it had certainly felt
good doing it.  

Jane smiled down at the wide-eyed, thoroughly frightened woman
with a great deal of satisfaction, even if her knuckles felt like
she'd just punched out a brick wall.  It was worth it! "Pronounce
sentence, Ruth." the calm, controlled Jane had returned from the
momentary madness of her fury.  "Tell her what happens if she
violates her parole, and then lets get out of here."

"Very well.  Sheila Roberts.  This is what you have to do to
avoid being charged with child abuse and multiple counts of
forgery and falsification of government records. . ."

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

Part 11

Several days later, Jane and her two wards were sitting on Jane's
patio, sipping iced tea.

"She'll hate living in that town permanently, you know."  Kenneth
mused.  He still had the long, blond hair, but he had changed in
male slacks and a pullover as soon as they'd returned to Ruth's
house, and had been out of skirts ever since.  "She told me we'd
move back once I'd been "reformed"."

"All the better." Jane said with grim satisfaction.  "And having
her report to that women's shelter for three hours a day and for
ten hours every weekend ought to keep her out of too much
mischief."

"I knew she was bad, especially when she sent me here with that
pack of lies, but I never understood just how truly evil she had
become until I had to sit there listening to her plans for me and
the other boys who fell into her power."  Kenneth mused.  "Do you
think the threat you and Aunt Ruth hold over her will be enough
to keep her off your backs?"

"On one hand, it is almost sad that your Mother is not mad,
Kenneth, because there is a chance that someone might be able to
help her.  However, in regard to your question, I think it is to
our advantage that she is sane.  Her entire motivation is her own
self interest.  The case against her is iron clad so long as you
and I are both willing to drop our masquerade and testify against
her.  She doesn't want to go to prison any more than you wanted
to go to that nonexistent boys' home.  She'll keep her mouth
shut.  After all, there are no men to abuse in a women's prison."

Judge Ruth had sentenced Sheila, albeit quite illegally, to
twenty five hours of week of public service until Kenneth reached
his twenty fifth  birthday.  The threat of the depositions,
records and tapes were her parole against taking retaliatory
action against Jane or Kenneth.

"I know all that, Aunt Jane, but there still is a chance that she
will release those records.  She may be sane and self interested,
just as you say, but I am not sure she is completely rational on
the subject of you and me.  For me, I don't care, but I worry
about all the boys you might not be able to help."

"Don't worry, dear.  I'll find a way to help them, whether I can
continue in my current fashion or not.  But I won't stand by and
let her get off without seeing justice done - for you and for me. 
If need be, I will face her in court."

"As will I."

Darryl gave both Jane and Kenneth a very dirty look.  "Aunt Jane,
if you were going to punch her lights out, couldn't you have
given me a little warning?  How am I ever going live it down when
I have to tell my grandkids that I missed out on seeing their
great step-grandmama play John Wayne?"

"John Wayne?  Me??"  Jane burbled, highly amused.

"Sure." Darryl replied.  "I *heard* everything through Ken's
wire, mainly a really loud *thunk* followed by the sound of
Sheila tossing her cookies.  That "I won't do it - the hell I
won't" line is right out of one of his Maureen O'Hara movies. 
McClintock, I think.  And YOU had to do it when I couldn't see
it, darn you Aunt Jane!"

"Smile when you say that, pilgrim."  Jane retorted in a horrible
John Wayne imitation.

"Ummm, Aunt Ruth?  Wrong cowboy."  Darryl observed with a sly
grin, "I think it was Gary Cooper who said "Smile when you say
that."  Although maybe the Duke did say "pilgrim" . . .
sometime."

They were still enjoying the tension release of laughter when the
patio door opened and Marie hurried. "Jane?  Judge Ruth is on the
phone.  She says it is important."

Jane picked up the portable phone beside her deck chair and
answered it.  "Jane?  I've got a live one for you.  He reminds me
so much of David before Beth that it makes my heart ache.  Tell
me you'll be able to take him on now that Kenneth isn't in the
program.  Please?"

Jane looked over at Kenneth, smiled just a little sadly and shook
her head.  "It won't work, Ruth.  I have made a commitment to
Kenneth that includes retiring Kendra for good. Having a male
around would just encourage the new student to believe that he
wasn't completely alone in that frightening new world of feminine
behaviors and fripperies.  That early feeling of isolation is
critical to what comes later."

"I have an idea on that score." Ruth plunged on, "Kenneth could
stay with me.  You know he's been talking about being a lawyer
like his Aunt Ruth."  Jane smiled at the pride in her dear
friend's voice.  "I could get him a part time job interning here
at the courthouse so he can see how things happen in the real
world.  An internship like that would go a long way toward
getting him into one of the better law programs, too."

"Ruth?  I have to speak with Kenneth, first, and I also need to
think about it.  I have been thinking I might need a vacation
from all this after the last few.  I haven't been exactly
successful of late."

"Jane, this boy *needs* you!"

"He may need something I can no longer give him, Ruth.  I need to
think about this.  I will get back to you in the next day or so,
all right?"

Reluctantly, Ruth finally agreed and hung up.  Jane returned her
gaze to the young men seated next to her.  They were both staring
at her intently.

"I am sorry, Aunt Jane, if you feel that you failed with me."

"Kenneth. . I . ." 

"But you *didn't* fail with Kendra, Aunt Jane!"  Darryl said
intensely.  "In fact, you succeeded far beyond what I thought was
possible."

Jane turned her schoolmistress glare on her ward.  "And just
*how* did you come to that conclusion?"

Darryl grinned, not at all bothered by her look.  "In about two
weeks, you took him from being Kenneth to being Kendra, and
Kendra was so perfect, so . . .let's see, what did you threaten
me with?  Oh yeah. . .so adorable, winsome and sweet, that his
own mother did not recognize him.  That's about as good as it
gets, and you pulled it off in less than three weeks."

"But it wasn't the same."  Jane protested.

"No, it wasn't." Kenneth said quietly.  "It was better.  Remember
I told you it was a game, Aunt Jane?  That it did not threaten or
change the real, essential me?" Jane nodded.  "That was the
truth.  Another truth is that now that I am no longer being
threatened with lifelong dressing, I have found that I can
actually enjoy the game . . .  in moderation of course."

"Oh, of course in moderation." Jane retorted, laughing softly.

The gamine grin on Kenneth's face was pure Kendra.  "Of course. 
Not only that, but the looks on Sheila's face when you told her
who I was, and when you knocked her on her butt were priceless,
memories I will cherish forever.  I would never have had them if
not for you and Kendra."

Jane did not want to discuss it further.  "Ruth wants to send me
another boy.  I told her we'd have to think about it.  She said
you could go live with her, Kenneth, since if I do take him on,
the only way you could stay with me would be as Kendra.  Darryl?"
she asked the other boy.

"Same answer, Aunt Jane.  Count me in.  I believe in you one
hundred percent."

Tiredly, Jane rose to her feet.  "I need to go for a walk and
think a bit, boys."  Both boys rose and kissed her on her cheek.

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

It was a very introspective Jane Thompson who strolled aimlessly
around her home.  The simple truth was that she was afraid to
take on this student.  Just as she had been before Kenneth had
arrived on the scene, only more so.

That time she was simply afraid of failure.  This time she was
afraid she might lose her own soul.

Jane had always known that there were people who played dominance
and submission games or sexual games using the props and tools
she used with her young men.  Having thought about that a great
deal since leaving Ruth's house, Jane could understand how it
such games could become an obsession, and how an obsession could
go beyond the pale and become an evil, twisted thing.

A thing that could consume a person's soul, leaving nothing but
the evil behind.  As it evidently had with Sheila.  Seeing that
evil, up close, had given Jane pause.  Could *she* fall into that
abyss, too?  Could Jane end up as evil as Sheila?

Great God above, but she did not want to *ever* become like
Sheila.  Yes, she enjoyed her games with the boys, enjoyed
watching their fearful looks and embarrassed poses, and if she
was being completely honest, some of those games even excited
her.  Is that what finally ate away Sheila's soul?  That
excitement that fed upon the harsh emotions her program was
designed to spark in her young men?

How could Jane continue to put her young men through her program
of terror and humiliation now that she knew what was possible?

Jane couldn't seem to find the answer, so she kept on walking,
kept on trying to find a solution she could live with.

Jane made her way around the grounds, and found herself thinking
of all the be-skirted young men who'd made a similar trek on
their way to being given their femme names.  She walked into her
little English garden and saw Old Tom lovingly pruning one of her
climbing rose plants.  He saw her and instantly, his old lined
face broke into a smile.

"Missus Jane!  How are you doing, Ma'am?" he asked in his usual
pleasantly gruff tone.

"Hello, Tom.  I am fine," she answered pasting a smile on her
face.  "And you?"

"Doin' fine, Ma'am. . just fine."  Then he looked at her more
closely.  "But, maybe you don't look so very fine.  You look like
you're carrying a lot of weight on your shoulders."

"I'll be fine.  I just have to decide if I am going to take on a
new student or not."

Tom returned to his pruning. "I surely do respect what you do
here, Ms. Jane, helping those young folks like you do.  Must be
hard, too, deciding what boys to take in and what boys not to
take in."

Jane felt as if someone had just upended a swimming pool filled
with ice water over her head.  "Tom, I teach girls." she said
carefully.

"So it seems.  But I have been here since the very first, Ms.
Jane, and I have eyes.  Every time the young one brings her new
friend out to meet me and my boy, well, that new friend almost
always has a fit.  One of them slipped up once.  Not too badly,
but badly enough.  I started looking more closely then and I
think I've figured out what goes on here.  By the time one of
your lads is far enough along to make the introductions, well, if
I didn't know already, I would swear he was a girl, but the new
ones. . . well, they do try, but they don't have it all down
yet."

Stunned, Jane could not even find the wit to try to dissuade him
from his unfortunately correct conclusions.  "Why haven't you
said anything?  Does any one else know?"

"Because it really wasn't any of my business. Still, I figured
out pretty quickly that those boys were here to learn manners. I
suspect they must need a whole lot of learning if you have to get
them into girl clothes before they'd learn anything.  They do
seem much nicer, more mannerly, when it's their turn to make the
next set of introductions.  And no, I haven't told anybody - Like
I said, it isn't anybody's business but yours."

"Does. . .does your son know, too?"

"That one?!?" Tom snorted.  "He's too young to notice anything
other than the young missus having pretty legs, or that she
smells really good or that she looks very nice in her pretty
dresses and make up."

"You've known all this time?"  Tom nodded.  "And you don't think
it is an evil thing to do to those boys?"

The old man gave a bark of laughter. "You aren't an evil woman,
Ms. Jane.  I've seen you watching over those boys when you think
they don't see you for a lot of years now.  You're right careful
with them and you seem to keep getting new ones so somebody must
figure what you do is important.  I remember that time the little
red haired one fell down and broke his leg. God, he was pitiful, 
laying there in the driveway just screaming his lungs out.  An
evil woman would have thought of herself first.  You had that
little fella in the hospital before you even took the time to
wash the makeup off him."

Still amazed, Jane could only shake her head in wonder. She
remembered that boy, too.  It had taken some mighty fast talking. 
Fortunately, she'd already enrolled that boy in Deirdre's
children's theater so she'd been able to explain the cosmetics
that way.  Her nurse friend had cut the girlish undies off the
boy before anyone else had seen them, but that was as close as
she'd ever come to having a boy publicly revealed. "I see." she
said softly.

"You worry about being evil, too.  The really evil folks I've
seen, well, they just don't worry about being evil.  They just
are and you aren't.  I figure it would be a real shame if you
thought you could help that young fellow, but didn't try because
you worried too much about being evil.  Awful lot of bad things
out there for boys these days.  Too darn few good ones.  You're
one of the good ones, Missus Jane." he said with a sharp,
emphatic nod of his head.

Jane's heart warmed and tears prickled against her eyelids at the
words of this old man who had evidently been more a friend to her
and her boys than Jane had ever realized.

"Tom?"  The old gardener looked up from his pruning at Jane. 
"What happened to your homey, down east New England accent all of
a sudden?"

A wide grin split Tom's face.  "Oh, it's still there, Missus,
when I need it.  When you first came here, I decided to give you
a bit of show during the interview.  Then, the young'uns started
coming along and I just kept using the accent.  They just kept
coming, each one expecting me to sound like I had when he'd first
been introduced to me.  I was sort of stuck."

"You are a very sweet man, Tom.  I really do appreciate your
support and loyalty all these years, even though I never knew
until now just how supportive and loyal you truly were." 
Carefully, so as to avoid the sharp thorns of the trellised rose
bush, Jane bent over and pressed a kiss to Old Tom's grizzled,
whiskered cheek.  "Thank you, Tom.  For your silence, your help
and your kind words."  And then she briskly left the garden in
search of Marie and the boys.  Her family had some big decisions
to make.

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

"Boys, I've decided I want to try to help Ruth's new candidate.
Kenneth?"  Jane asked.  "I made a promise to you, so the final
decision is really yours.  Stay with me as Kenneth, stay with me
as Kendra and help me work the new boy, or stay with Ruth."

"I'd like to stay with Ruth, Aunt Jane.  So long as I can come
visit you periodically."

"You know you are always welcome, dear. Just make sure any new
students are fully indoctrinated first."  Jane said warmly before
turning to Darryl.  "Marie?"

"Bring him on, Jane.  I think I am ready for anything after this
pair of clowns."

Jane smiled at her friend's joke before turning to the final
player in her little play.  "And you, Darryl, are you willing to
be Darla again for a new "little sister".

Darryl fidgeted in his seat. "Out with it, Darryl.  I won't mind
if you say no." Jane prompted, even as she held her breath
against the disappointment she knew she'd feel if he did say no.

"Oh, it's not that, Aunt Jane.  Of course I will help with the
new girl, it's just that . ."

"Darla."  Jane ordered.

"Could you ask Judge Ruth to *please* make sure we get a *real*
one this time?  I don't think any of us could handle another one
like the last few.  Just a nice, average, normally obnoxious-bad
boy delinquent you can turn into a good girl, okay?"

"Darryl, my friend."  Kenneth put in with an air of great
indignation.  "Are you perhaps implying that I am not normal?"

"If the high heel fits, sweetie. . ."  Darryl replied in Darla's
dulcet tones.

"Why you . . ."  Kenneth theatrically lunged towards the other
boy, but Darryl was prepared for such a maneuver and kept just a
step ahead of him.

Jane and Marie watched in tired amusement as the two boys went
tearing off, laughing like loons.  

"Darryl did say a "normally obnoxious bad boy", didn't he?"  Jane
asked Marie with a soft chuckle.

"It would be nice."  Marie agreed, taking a sip of her drink. 
"It definitely would be nice.  What say we go ask Ruth if she's
got one?"

The old, familiar Jane-smile flashed.  "Let's go find out,
partner."

The End and a New Beginning


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