Tales Of The Season: Kendra's Story free porn video

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. 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." 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 apologi