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School With Mrs. Stern By Aleisha James My best friend, Matt, and I had been expelled from our high school while in 10th Grade. Our parents had tried to get us into other schools and at one point we were both sent to military academies. Different ones, of course, since we were viewed as a bad influence on each other, such that separating us might curb our rebelliousness. It did not work. If anything, it urged us on to even more outrageous behaviour, as if to prove a point. Our parents were at their wit's end before Matt's mother learned from a cousin of a very special school with very special methods for instilling proper manners in disruptive young men. Results were guaranteed or twice your money back. I was not privy to the discussions that ensued. In later years I learned that the fathers had been opposed to the whole idea, feeling that it was unthinkable to rob their sons of their male identities. By then I had learned first hand of some of the influences that the School was able to bring to bear on such fathers, for it was almost always the fathers who opposed the idea. Which approach or approaches were taken with my father or Matt's I never knew for certain. What I did learn all too soon was that the decision had been made. I was still only eighteen, but by now I was a full year behind other kids my age. Not that I was dumb, and nor was Matt. Perhaps, I sometimes thought, it was because we were too smart that we could not seem to fit in. Matt was a few months older than me, but we were both mentally sharp and physically small. Maybe we over-reacted in an effort to prove ourselves to be as macho as the best of our peers. Even though I had quick reflexes, there was no way I could make any of the sports teams. I simply lacked the size to compete even though I worked out and was strong for my size, and Matt was no taller or heavier than I. We resorted to practical jokes of a style that I now see to have been really juvenile and sometimes cruel. We were disruptive in class and hostile towards authority. Real little jerks, in other words. Neither of us knew anything about the School. We only knew that it was a 'last ditch' effort on the part of our parents. I was told that my parents had seriously thought about throwing me out of home, but that my age exposed them to legal responsibilities if they did so. I was to be in the School until I turned 19, at which time I would graduate. Otherwise they would wash their hands of me. I was not happy about the situation, but there was nothing I could do. Obnoxious as I was, I did not want to run away: I had no illusions about being able to live without the considerable creature comforts afforded by my parents' affluence. The knowledge that Matt would be joining me added to my reluctant willingness to agree with the enrollment. We drove up independently of each other, my father driving our car with my mother and myself. We arrived at mid-afternoon on a warm September day. I believe it was a Saturday. The School sat on expansive grounds entered off a rural highway down a private, tree-enshrouded road. The road opened up onto a large, immaculately maintained area with short-cut lawns and well-tended flowerbeds. The broad paved driveway curved gently, affording us a view first of the southwest corner of the large brick building and then of the southern-facing front. It was an old building, reminding me of English Stately Homes I had seen in history books or magazine articles. It was three stories high, with a tall- pitched roof interrupted by clusters of chimneys. Mullioned windows marched in close-packed lines along the upper two floors, while a large entrance, with stone steps and huge double doors, dominated the lower floor. The windows lining the front of the building were much wider than those on the upper floors. Ivy clung to the brickwork, covering almost all of the exterior of the building, but kept carefully away from the glass. The driveway led in a circular fashion to the front entrance. I saw two gardeners at work tending the roses that occupied the beds to either side of the stone steps. No one else was in sight, although earlier, as we had approached the building, I had seen tennis courts set back behind it, and had thought I had made out the sight of several young girls, about my age, playing. That impression had cheered me immensely since I had not been told whether the School was co-ed. It had been a major disappointment to me when I had found that my last school, the military academy where I had lasted all of three weeks, was boys-only. The car came to a stop, my father hitting the brakes rather forcefully, impelling me forward against the restraint of my seatbelt. I looked at him reproachfully: he was normally a very sedate driver but I could see that he was upset, although determined not to show it. My mother turned her head to look at me. It seemed to me that she had a softer expression than I had grown accustomed to seeing these last few years. It was as if she were about to force me to do something that she knew I would not enjoy. Well, she was right, although I had no idea then of how right she was. I climbed out of the car without acknowledging her concern. So this was to be my new home! I stood by the side of the car while my parents climbed out. Father led the way to the front doors, and without hesitation pulled one of the doors open and led us inside. The doorway gave onto a large hallway, with an elaborately hand-railed staircase leading up to the higher floors on one side and an open door on our right. A small sign extending out from the wall above the door indicated that an office lay within. My parents led me into the office, but not before I had had a chance to form a quick impression of the interior visible from the hallway. The staircase glowed; so lustrous was the polished wood. It was dark, almost red in color. Overhead shone an elaborate chandelier, whose light was necessary despite the bright sunlight outside. The front doors, which had closed behind us, contained no glass and while I could see sunlight flooding the upper part of the staircase, obviously from windows immediately above the hallway, there was no direct light illuminating the area where I stood. The walls were half-paneled, with a cream colored flocked wallpaper covering the upper half. Portraits of women from various generations covered the walls. I saw that some were group portraits, in which several young women smiled at the artist, while others were of solitary older women. The hairstyles and the dresses depicted led me to surmise that these paintings spanned many years. I wondered how old the school was and why there were no men portrayed on the walls. My musings were cut short by a brusque 'Come here' from my father. The office door led into a small room on one side of which stood a secretarial station. The room looked old-fashioned, but the workstation seemed state of the art. A young woman looked up from the keyboard at which she had been typing. She was neatly dressed in a conservative navy blue skirt with matching suit jacket and a white blouse. Her chestnut hair was in a pageboy cut which suited her oval face. She smiled at my parents, paying no attention to me at all, which annoyed me. I responded by turning away as she spoke, pretending to be absorbed in a study of the ceiling. "Good afternoon." she said. My feigned inattention did not prevent me from listening to her. She spoke in a softly modulated voice. "Good afternoon." my father replied. "I'm Jack Garralt, and this is my wife, Cindy. We've brought our son, Kevin, to be enrolled. I believe that Ms. Stern is expecting us." "Oh yes. One moment please. I'll let her know you are here." She must have pressed an intercom button because I then heard her announce that Mr. and Mrs. Garralt had arrived with the new student. "Go on in." she said, and I lowered my gaze from the somewhat disappointing ceiling to follow my parents through the door at the far side of the small office. The room, which we entered, was far more splendid. It was obviously one of those, which fronted the building since I could see through the wide windows, which overlooked the driveway. We had to cross maybe thirty feet of deep carpet to reach the comfortable chairs, which stood in front of the enormous desk from behind, which our hostess came to greet us. Ms. Stern was, as her name suggested, a strong looking woman. She was as tall as my father, at least in her shoes, which I noticed had at heels, which must have been four inches in height. My father is not a small man, (I had sometimes wondered whether he was ashamed of my modest stature) so I estimated her true height at just short of six feet. She was slender, and looked to be about fifty years of age. She wore little makeup yet still managed to look very attractive; not something I usually attributed to old women, as I then thought of any female over the age of thirty. She too wore a conservative skirt and jacket combination, in navy blue. But while her secretary's clothes had looked modest, Ms. Stern's had the appearance of fine linen while her blouse was obviously pure silk. She wore an odd-looking brooch on one lapel, but no other jewelry that I could see. She shook hands with my parents, greeting them warmly. I expected her to do the same for me, but she stopped several feet short of where I lagged behind my parents and folded her arms across her chest, while looking me up and down. "So this is Kevin." she said. It was not framed as a question. I could not meet her gaze as she searched my face. "Turn around, Kevin." she said. I felt like telling her where to put it; but I knew that I should give this place a try. My parents were at the end of their patience and while I was equally frustrated with them, I also knew that for now they held the upper hand. I turned slowly, completing a circle until I once again faced Ms. Stern. She nodded slightly. "I suppose he'll do." she said as if it pained her to make that grudging admission. She invited my parents to sit, but when I went to join them, she told me to stand in the corner. I opened my mouth to protest but my mother reached out and placed her hand on my sleeve. "Please do as Ms. Stern says, darling." she beseeched me. I swallowed my anger and stood in the corner, examining my second ceiling in as many minutes. This one was no more interesting than the previous one. I saw out of the corner of my eye that my parents were hurriedly signing various papers, which Ms. Stern placed before them. They finished quickly and after a brief handshake they turned to go. They walked right past me, without even trying to look at me. I couldn't stand it any more. "Where are you going? You can't leave this soon! Where are my clothes? I thought this was just an initial visit!" I could see that my mother was starting to cry, while my father was red in the face. I moved to follow them, but Ms. Stern intervened. "Stand where you are!" She spoke. I had never heard anything like that voice. I had seen a program on television years ago about an eccentric Englishwoman who had a unique ability to train even the most unruly dog. She had claimed that her secret was all in her voice; that she had a voice, which compelled dogs to obey, no matter how ill behaved, they were. Well, Ms. Stern had precisely that kind of voice, but for people rather than for dogs. Drill sergeants would kill to have that voice. She had not shouted, but her voice had been raised and it cut through all my emotions, leaving me standing obediently as my parents walked out of my life. "Good. It seems as if you have potential after all." she smiled tightly. She returned behind her desk without a second glance. I saw her push a button set beneath the edge of her desk and then she turned her attention to the paperwork, which my parents had left behind. She didn't even look at me as I stood in growing frustration. I was spared having to see how long I could handle her lack of attention by the sound of the door opening behind me. I turned to see who it was, hoping that perhaps my parents had changed their minds and returned to rescue me. It was neither of my parents. A girl of about my age or a little younger entered the room. She walked quietly across the carpet until she was near the desk. She then came to a stop and waited silently until Ms. Stern raised her head. I wasn't sure of the girl's age partly because of the way in which she was dressed. The brief glance I had of her face and the degree of bust development apparent as she passed me suggested early teens but her clothes looked more like something an eleven or twelve year old might wear to a party, while her height suggested maybe sixteen. She wore a pink dress, with short sleeves gathered midway between the shoulder and the elbow, exposing pale, slender arms. The dress flared out from her waist, around which was a wide satin sash in matching pink, tied in a big bow in the small of her back. I could see that she wore several lace petticoats beneath her dress. Its hem ended at knee-level and she wore white ankle socks, with pink tassels, and shiny black oxfords. Her blonde hair was pulled back into two ponytails, held together by pink ribbons, and she appeared to be wearing no makeup, apart from perhaps a touch of pink lipstick. I was still absorbing this image when Ms. Stern acknowledged the girl's presence. I was amazed to see that as soon as the girl saw that Ms. Stern was aware of her, she dipped into a curtsey, which she held until Ms. Stern spoke. "Very good, Michelle. You are definitely improving" I saw the girl, Michelle; blush as she looked at the floor. I felt as if I were watching some play, into which I had wandered partway through. I had no idea of the plot, or of who the characters were, but I found the tableau I had just witnessed strangely compelling. "You sent for me, Ma'am?" Michelle said. Her voice surprised me further. It started out normally enough but she seemed to catch her voice in her throat as she spoke the last word, and she sounded all of a sudden like a boy! Her blush deepened as she finished and I saw Ms. Stern smile quickly, undetected by Michelle, who had yet to look up. "Still some work to do on the voice, my dear." Ms. Stern spoke. Michelle nodded dumbly. "Michelle, I want you to escort Kevin to Nurse. Nurse is expecting him. You are to wait for Kevin to finish and then take him to his room. He's in 3D, West Wing." "Yes Ma'am." Ms. Stern turned back to her work, clearly dismissing the girl who stood before her. Michelle dipped another curtsey and then turned towards me. "Follow me, Kevin." she said, before walking out of the room. She didn't glance behind her to see whether I had complied; it was plain that she could not conceive of anyone not doing whatever Ms. Stern wanted. I risked a look towards Ms. Stern. Without pausing in her work or even looking at me, she spoke again, using the same Voice, which had so profoundly affected me earlier. "Go!" was all she said, but it was all she needed to say. I found myself walking in pursuit of Michelle even before I was conscious of any intention to obey. Michelle was already partway through the door into the entrance by the time that I caught up with her. She paid no attention to me as she turned right and led the way down a long, paneled corridor broken by a series of closed doors on either side. She stopped in front of a half-glassed door, on which was stenciled the words 'Nurse's Office'. She tapped on the glass and, without waiting for an answer, opened the door and stepped in. I felt as if I had to follow, resentment mounting over Michelle's lack of attention. Michelle stopped before a steel-frame desk behind which a thin, austere-looking woman in a nurse's uniform sat, completing some paperwork. I almost bumped into Michelle, she had halted so abruptly. We stood silently for several seconds. 'What's going on here?' I wondered to myself. 'These people all act so strange. This nurse woman is pretending that she can't even see us. What a load of crap!' I was about to vent my feelings when the nurse looked up, a smile on her narrow, bloodless lips. "Ah, Michelle. You've brought the new student. And you're looking much prettier now, Michelle." Michelle curtsied just as she had for Mrs. Stern. "You may go now. But wait outside until we're finished." Michelle nodded and squeezed past me to leave. Her clothes brushed lightly against mine, but my focus was not on the departing girl but on what awaited me from 'Nurse'. Nurse looked me over dispassionately before commanding me to strip. My protest died unspoken and I obediently removed my jacket, shirt, shoes and pants. Hanging my clothes on a couple of hooks on the wall just by the door, I turned to my inquisitor expectantly. "I told you to strip. That means all of your clothes. Don't worry. I'm a nurse. You won't be showing me anything I haven't seen many times before." I blushed as I nervously finished undressing, turning my back on her as I removed my shorts. All too soon she told me to turn to face her. She stood and walked around her desk, a stethoscope in hand. I was made to breath in and hold my breath several times while she used the cold instrument to listen to my chest sounds. Then she made me do some physical movements, squatting, bending and so forth, all the time under her clinical gaze. She eventually nodded and turned away. I stood uncertainly, and began to ask whether I could get dressed. She cut me off. "No. We're not finished." She was working with something, which I could not see, since she had her back to me. She took something out of a glass cabinet and fussed with it. Then I saw that she was holding up a huge hypodermic, which she then filled with a pale, colorless fluid from a small vial. She turned back to face me. "Turn around and bend over!" I obeyed, stammering a question. "W... what are you injecting me with?" "Don't be a sissy." was all she said before she gave my left buttock a cursory wipe with a ball of cotton wool dipped in what I assumed was an antiseptic. Then came the sharp, stabbing pain of the injection. It seemed to take a long time for the syringe to be emptied into my cheek, but I was then permitted to stand up and get dressed. "That is your initial shot. You will start to feel the effects in about ten minutes. You will feel warm and relaxed. It's important that you lie down when that begins to appear. Michelle will take you to your room now." I was dismissed. Nurse made it evident from her conduct that I was expected to obey without asking any questions. Michelle was standing almost at attention in the hallway as I exited the office. She looked at me and nodded briefly, but without uttering a word. She took off back down the hallway through which we had come, heading ultimately for the stairwell leading up from the entry hall. The late afternoon sun was still streaming in the upper floor windows, and I had to squint as we made our turn on the first landing midway up to the second floor. I was struck by the absence of anyone else moving in the building and ventured to ask Michelle where everyone was. It was as if she was deaf: she ignored me completely. Ordinarily that kind of attitude would have caused me to yell at her, but I was feeling so intimidated by the treatment I had received so far that I said nothing. We continued up to the third floor where the landing led into a short corridor, which in turn met a long hallway obviously running the full length of the house. She led me down the hallway, treading now on a sturdy cream carpet with pink lines running along the edges. The walls were covered in the same flocked wallpaper as downstairs, with heavy wooden doors alternating on either side. Each door bore a large letter and number formed out of what looked like pink ceramic. Michelle stopped outside a door labeled 3D. I remembered that this was the number, which Mrs. Stern had announced was to be my room. Michelle finally spoke to me. "You're in here." She turned on her heels and left, leaving me standing abandoned in the empty hallway. I mentally shrugged my shoulders and turned the door handle. Within was a cheerful room, with off-white carpet, walls painted in a subtle pink hue, and a view of the grounds from a large window framed by slightly bolder pink drapes, pulled back to reveal lace sheers. A large bed filled much of the room, although there was plenty of space for the rest of the furniture. The bed occupied the center of the room, almost dividing it into two areas, which looked much alike. On each side of the bed stood a nightstand, while against each wall rested an elaborate vanity besides which stood a tall bureau containing five drawers. Two large wooden wardrobes occupied the corners on the wall through which the door gave entry to the room. A low divan sat beneath the window, covered in what looked like a heavy silk, with pink and orange roses on a white background. A pink duvet, matching the color of the drapes, covered the bed itself. It all looked a bit prissy for my tastes, like something from a girl's school. I thought that maybe this was the kind of room a girl like Michelle might appreciate. I started to look around, opening the drawers in the two bureaus and looking in the wardrobes. What I found added to my uncertainty. While most of the drawers were empty, the top two in each bureau contained identical piles of underwear, socks and T-shirts. My initial reaction was that they were girl's clothing but when I pulled out a pair of shorts, I saw that they had a normal male fly. However, I had never seen male underwear in pink nylon before! The socks were very stretchy, and felt thinner, less substantial than anything I had worn. The T-shirts looked a little small and were in a variety of soft pastel colors. I shook my head as I closed the drawers. This place was definitely weird. The wardrobes held a meager assortment of thin shirts, in the same colors as the T-shirts, and several pairs of pants. Each also held a pink bathrobe, which despite the color, looked like it would be comfortable to wear. I did not pay much attention to the clothes because by then I was feeling very warm and tired. I remembered that Nurse had warned me about this so I quickly went to the bed to lie down. Just as I got onto the bed I saw that on each nightstand there was a complicated-looking clock radio, which had a tape deck built in. A small walkman-type headset was attached to each radio and by each I saw two small envelopes. My name appeared on one, while I saw with surprise that the other bore Matt's. It seemed as if we were to share this room, but there was only one bed, which bothered me. Intrigued despite my growing need to sleep, I opened the envelope bearing my name. The message within, written in exquisite calligraphy on the heavy note- paper, told me to put on the headphones and press 'play'. I almost did not bother, but in the end I complied. I heard the start of some very soothing music before I drifted off. The room was dark when I awoke. Some light was filtering in through the sheers covering the window, so I could make out vague shapes, but all color was gone from my view, apart from the red numerals shining from the face of the radio. I was disoriented, but very calm. I slowly turned my head, taking in what detail I could. Memory returned gradually. I was in my new room at Mrs. Stern's school. I had fallen asleep after a huge injection. There was a shape on the bed beside me. I should have been startled, but something was dampening my reactions. I raised my head, aware of the weight of the headphones and the wires now pulling against me. I pulled off the now silent headphones and looked more closely at the shape beside me. It was Matt! He was fully dressed, just as I was, and he too had put on headphones. Bending closely, I could just hear the faint sound of music, with what seemed like a voice speaking rather than singing. It was a tantalizing sound, almost as if I could make out the words, but not quite. It was also a very relaxing, familiar sound, and I found myself growing tired again. I lay back and pulled my headphones on again. I pressed 'play' and immediately the music filled my ears. I drifted off to sleep once more, with a smile on my lips. Morning came bright and early. The alarm went off at 6:30. The sun must have been shining on the opposite side of the building, but I could see from window that it was going to be another wonderful day. I felt refreshed and full of energy. Matt woke at the same time as me, both alarms going off simultaneously. It took me a moment to reorient myself, and I could tell form the mixed expressions on Matt's face that he was having the same problem. He was still wearing the headphones, but mine must have fallen off during the night. I placed mine beside the radio while he looked at his with puzzlement. "I don't know what they're for." I said. "But the music seemed to help me sleep." He pressed the 'play' button on his radio, but nothing happened. His attempt to eject the tape was also fruitless, as was mine when I tried. My flash of annoyance quickly faded to casual acceptance. Even though I felt great, I was aware that I had slept in my clothes all night, and my mouth had a funny metallic taste to it. I needed to take a pee and to clean my teeth. "Did you bring anything with you?" I asked. Matt shook his head. "No, it was strange. My parents just left me here, without anything at all. What about you?" I explained that I had suffered the same abandonment, and it soon became clear that our experiences had been identical, even to being led around by Michelle. Matt had tried to wake me when he had come into the room, but I was out like a light, and completely unresponsive. Then he too had become very tired and so he had lain down beside me. Seeing me with the headphones on, and reading the note addressed to him, had prompted him to copy me before falling asleep. He had not woken during the night, or at least he had no memory of doing so. We talked about the fact that we seemed to be sharing a room. Neither of us was happy and we vowed to make a complaint. We had just risen from the bed to go in search of a bathroom, and maybe some place we could find toiletries, when the door opened without any forewarning. A woman I had not seen before entered. As with Mrs. Stern and the nurse, she was a tall, thin woman with a serious look about her. She seemed younger than the other women, perhaps in her mid-thirties. She wore what I was beginning to think of as a uniform: a navy blue jacket and skirt over a white blouse. She held in front of her two slim binders and two thicker objects, which looked like leather-bound journals, although I could see little of them. She spoke before I could absorb anymore of an impression. "Good morning. You must be Kevin and Matt, but I don't know which is which?" Her smile belied the initial impression I had formed of her personality. We both spoke at once; eager to ingratiate ourselves with the first sympathetic voice we had heard since our arrival. "I'm glad to meet you, boys!" she continued. "My name is Miss Jones. I am now your staff advisor as well as being one of your teachers. You may call me by that name or by Ma'am, do you understand?" "Yes, Miss Jones" we said. "Good. Now you are probably a little confused, which is normal for students on their first morning at this School. I expect that you will want to use the bathroom, which you will find two doors down on the right. You may not leave the room in those clothes you have on. You have slept in them and they will be taken to laundry. You should strip and use the bathrobes you will find in the wardrobes. Don't worry about the color. Please do not take much time this morning. There are others who need to use the same bathroom, and it is too early in your initiation for you to mix with the other students. They have all been here for several weeks, and you need to understand our rules before you mix. That's what these binders are for" She held out the binders, one to each of us. I took mine, noting that it was a normal three-ring binder with about thirty pages of closely printed paper. I started to open it when she told me to pay attention to her. She did so in a sharp tone, at odds with how she had spoken so far, and I caught a tone of the 'Voice', which had been used by Mrs. Stern and Nurse. "You will also use these journals. They are to be kept locked at all times. Each of you will use one side of the room as your own, and your journal will at all times be on your vanity. No one is to be allowed to read what you write except for me and the other teaching staff. Details will be found in the binder" We took the proffered journals. Mine looked much like Matt's from what I could see, an old-fashioned diary with a thick white leather binding and a small gold lock fastening the cover, a tiny gold key protruding from the lock. She paused, looking at us silently. "Life here can be very rewarding." she said. "I know that you have had trouble fitting in at other schools. We are different, and I think that soon you will come to appreciate that difference. But be warned: we have complete power to discipline you as we chose. There is nowhere for you to go, and no one to complain to. You obey the rules and you will be happy. Disobey and you will regret it" She left, closing door behind her. Matt and I looked at each other. "Can you fucking believe that woman?" Matt asked, his voice rising with indignation. "I don't know, Matt." I cautioned. "That Mrs. Stern, and then Nurse, both seemed tough to me. I'm scared of this place" "Don't give me that crap, Kevin" he spoke. "We've been to military school for Chrissake, and they couldn't make us toe the line. How the fuck are a bunch of women going to intimidate us?" I made the appropriate noises to show my agreement, but inside I was beginning to worry. Miss Jones had exuded complete self-assurance as she uttered her last remarks. There had been no element of threat: she spoke as if she were simply announcing the obvious and unavoidable truth. My bladder called me back to the moment and, after hurriedly stripping and putting on the bathrobe from 'my' wardrobe, I almost ran to the bathroom, which was where Miss Jones had told us it would be. It was a large room, with four shower stalls and two toilets. A long vanity contained four oval sinks with chrome faucets. There were no urinals, but that didn't surprise me given that this was an old building, which presumably had been converted into a school. It wasn't until I was brushing my teeth, after relieving myself, that it occurred to me that there had been no designation that this was a boy's bathroom, even though the school was evidently co-ed. Looking around, I realized that maybe we were in a girl's bathroom anyway. It was painted in a soft pink, and there were containers of a woman's hand lotion beside each sink, while at either end of the vanity stood glass vases containing fresh-cut flowers. Even the hand towels were pink, while the shower stalls had floral curtains and I could see several plastic bottles in each, looking suspiciously as if they contained various shampoos and conditioners out of place in a male area. I communicated my thoughts to Matt. He looked surprised but then nodded. "That must be why Miss Jones wanted us out of here so quickly. I bet they've put us on a girl's floor to try to make us nervous or shy." It seemed to make sense, but for some reason I knew that that wasn't the whole story. But worrying about it wasn't going to do any good. We showered quickly and toweled off before heading back to our room. Our clothes were gone, and we had no choice but to get dressed using the clothes we found in the bureaus and wardrobes. I felt a little uncomfortable putting on the shorts, which were cool and light against my skin. The stretchy socks pulled up almost to my knees. I chose one of the shirts, looking in vain for a plain white one. The one I ended up wearing was a pale lemon, in a silky nylon. It took me a while to figure out why I was having trouble doing up the buttons. They were reversed from the usual way! I started to pull out a pair of pale blue pants, but something made me change my mind and I selected a pair in a white cotton. On impulse I selected a thin beige belt to pass through the loops around the waist of my pants. Matt had finished dressing before me. By coincidence, he had dressed exactly as I had. I thought about saying something to him, but found that I couldn't find anything funny to say. He lowered his head, seeming far less bold than he had right after Miss Jones had left. "Maybe we'd better take a look at the rules." I said. He nodded. We picked up our binders and walked to sit in front of our vanities, our backs to each other across the width of the room. The first page bore the title: INSTRUCTIONS FOR OUR STUDENTS MRS. STERN'S FINISHING SCHOOL 'Finishing School?' I thought. "Finishing Schools are for girls!' I shrugged, oblivious to the picture I must have presented sitting there in my blouse and slacks, with my legs crossed below the knee. I had always worn long hair, except when it was rudely cut short at the military school. It was in reaction to that outrage that both Matt and I had defiantly grown it even longer than normal. No one was going to tell us how to look. So now, with it just shampooed and conditioned, even though still damp, it hung thickly to touch my shoulders. The first page continued with a brief description of the school and its purposes. It appeared that Mrs. Stern prided herself on changing the fundamental outlook of her students. She was proud to take in students who had failed to fit in at more traditional schools and through a combination of discipline, training and education to produce graduates who became not only happy, well-adjusted individuals but were a credit to their family. The next page bore warnings that the rules were strictly enforced, and that the students were expected to co-operate with the staff in the detection of infractions. 'Our students are our best teachers. None but our students truly know the temptations, which exist in each of them to refuse to accept their new direction in life. We encourage, indeed we require, that each student become an assistant not only in that student's own actualization of his or her new self, but also in the actualization of his or her fellow students' new selves.' The rules went on for pages without actually explaining anything in precise, understandable terms. However I then came to a page, which had a series of numbered points. 1. All teachers and other faculty members are to be addressed by surname and the appropriate honorific: Mrs. or Miss, or alternatively, by 'Ma'am'. 2. Each student is to obey all instructions given by any teacher or faculty member immediately and without complaint. Only in the case of conflicting instructions from two or more teachers or faculty members may the student seek clarification. 3. Each student shall, on a daily basis and without fail, make a detailed entry in his or her journal concerning the events of each day. The journal shall be kept locked at all times that the student is not making his or her entry. The journal shall remain on the student's vanity. No student may permit any other student to read any part of his or her journal. 4. Each student shall comply with the dress code applicable to that student, as advised form time to time by his or her staff advisor. 5. All infractions of these rules must be reported promptly. Any student who fails to report an infraction of these rules shall be subject to discipline at least as severe, and up to twice as severe, as the punishment accorded the student guilty of the original infraction. 6. Each student shall at all times display courtesy, respect and obedience to all teachers and other staff. 7. Each student will at all times display courtesy and respect to his or her fellow students. 8. All students will live in pairs. There will be no exceptions. Then came a section detailing rules for meals, keeping our room neat and orderly, curfews, television or video privileges, library privileges and so on. A rumbling in my stomach caused me to pay particular attention to meals. I was struck by the prohibition on speech during meals. It sounded like we were in a Trappist monastery or something! Breakfast was served in the student cafeteria starting at 7:45. Any student who was more than five minutes late forfeited that meal. I looked at the radio: it showed 7:43! "Matt, we've got to go right now if we want breakfast!" We made our way out of our room. I saw a small group of girls disappearing down the hall, turning towards the stairs. I looked behind us, but it seemed as if we were the last ones out. We could hear quiet conversation amongst the girls ahead of us, but we were too far back to make out any words as we followed them down the stairs. I made as if to catch up with them, but Matt pulled me back, whispering that maybe we should take it easy until we figured out what was going on. His earlier bravado seemed to have disappeared. The cafeteria was at the far end of the building, on the ground floor. We paused at the doorway, surveying the scene. The rules had referred to both male and female students, and of course we had seen several girls by now. What troubled me, looking over the small cafeteria, was that I could not see any males at all. There was a basic cafeteria-style food area on the left while several small circular tables occupied most of the room. About half the spaces at the tables were filled by girls just beginning their breakfast, while others stood in the line at the food service area. Nobody seemed to be talking, but that was to be expected, given the rules I had just read. There were maybe sixteen or so girls in all. Neither Matt nor I were usually backward about making our presence felt, although I know that for me at least that extroverted attitude was often a mask for a deeper insecurity. I was beginning to suspect that maybe Matt shared that problem, since neither of us made any quick move towards the food line-up. We were still standing nervously when we heard a sound behind us. "Well, boys. Aren't you going to get some breakfast? You only have sixty seconds to get in line or you have to wait until lunch." It was Miss Jones, smiling at us. "Go on, boys. By the way, you are to sit with your classmates at table 1. We keep students grouped by class, although you two are starting somewhat behind. Remember, no talking!" We joined the rear of the line. The girl in front of me glanced briefly at me, but her quiet expression did not change at all. She was dressed in much the same fashion as Michelle had been, although she was even taller than her. In fact she was several inches taller than either Matt or me, and she seemed somehow very awkward. I watched her move her tray along, and tried to figure out what was so odd about her. Looking past her, I saw that the other girls in line were all wearing identical clothes, except that their dresses were in different colors. I watched the lead girl carry her tray to the least occupied table, in the far corner. She walked funny, I thought. Matt poked me in the back, and I turned towards him. "These girls walk like guys." he whispered. I looked again, and was shocked to realize that he was right! I was about to frame my response when the girl in front of me put down her tray and reached into the small purse, which she was carrying. I saw her pull out an egg-shaped object in a dark plastic. It had a large button on the surface, which she immediately pressed. A loud beeping started, and I could see all the girls in the room look up at us. Some had smiles on their faces while others appeared upset. Miss Jones materialized before I knew what had happened. The girl in front on me immediately spoke to her. "These students were speaking. At least, I heard the one behind speak to the one in front" Miss Jones rounded on Matt. "Come with me!" she hissed. She seemed very upset, red spots appearing on her cheeks. "You too!" she said to me. She stormed out of the room. Matt and I followed apprehensively, leaving behind the trays we had just picked up. It looked as if we were going to miss breakfast. Miss Jones led us into the receptionist's office outside of Mrs. Stern's room. She bade us sit quietly. She knocked on the door and entered. It was ten minutes or more before she returned, appearing much more in control of herself. "Go in, boys. And if you know what's good for you, you will tell Mrs. Stern the truth." Mrs. Stern was in the same position in which she had been when I first saw her. She was even dressed identically. I was to learn that during school time she always wore the same uniform; she must have had many sets of the same clothes since she was always immaculate in her appearance. The next fifteen minutes were difficult. Matt tried to talk back. This resulted in his being forced to bend over a chair and receive half-a-dozen whacks on his buttocks from a formidable looking strap. I received three whacks myself for not having immediately sounded the alarm when Matt spoke to me. I was going to protest that I had neither had the time to react nor had I had any device such as the girl in front of me had used to turn us in, but I sensed that excuses would only make things worse. After our beating, Mrs. Stern made us sit in two chairs against the wall while she wrote up a report. I took advantage of he distraction to glance at Matt. He was staring at his hands, crossed in his lap. His cheeks were bright red, and I could tell that he was fighting back some deep emotion. Whether it was tears at his plight or anger at the treatment afforded us I could not say, and I was not about to ask. Finally Mrs. Stern was finished. She looked up and began to speak to us in a calm, measured voice. "It's important that you listen carefully. I will only say this once!" she began. "You were given a chance to read the rules and within minutes you broke one. You have been punished for that lapse. Your punishment was mild since it was your first offense. Next time you will really pay a severe price. And don't think that you were unlucky to be caught. If Melissa had not turned you in, she would have been punished too. We know everything that happens here. I will demonstrate this just this one time." She toyed with something hidden behind her desk and then we could hear, distorted with static, but clearly identifiable, Matt's voice whispering to me: "These girls walk like guys." The blood drained from my face. They must have microphones everywhere! This was getting worse and worse. She resumed her lecture. "You are quite right: those 'girls' do walk like boys. They are trying their best to overcome that problem, but it requires a lot of effort, because, you see, they are all boys." She stopped, looking closely at our reactions. I heard Matt gulp, but neither of us spoke. Mrs. Stern smiled to herself. "Good boys. You are beginning to learn how to behave." "There are no female students here at all, although soon we may have a number of girls in our student body." Our incomprehension must have shown. "In our School, we define a student as a girl if she has wholly adopted a feminine approach to life, and has taken upon herself a self-image as a girl. Such students will go forth from here as accomplished, beautiful, and self- assured young women, destined for a fulfilling life, usually to be the wife or mistress of some lucky man, but sometimes to be the loved companion of a true female. In any event, they are dutiful, obedient daughters, nieces, or granddaughters to those who entrusted them to our tutelage. Others remain at heart male, but even, and perhaps especially they will, while our students, exemplify the feminine in their approach to life. This training enables them to learn the self-discipline to act responsibly in their future endeavors. Their family will welcome these young men back into their lives, and the students will benefit immensely in their relationships with others. Whether you chose to become girls or to remain males will depend upon you. Either way, you will each learn to act in an appropriate, feminine manner for the duration of your stay. You must choose more appropriate names for yourselves. Name choosing is important. Kevin, you must select a name for Matt, and Matt, you must choose Kevin's new name. You shall find lists of acceptable names in your room: neither shall consult with the other before announcing the names, and thenceforth you will each respond only to your new name. Appropriate clothing will also be made available to you." This was more than I could stand and I stood up. "There's no fucking way this is going to happen, you witch!" I sensed Matt getting to his feet as I made a run for the door. I pulled it open only to find my path blocked by Nurse and two heavy-set men in blue overalls. "Out of my way! I'm getting out of here!" I yelled, as I tried to force my way past them. One of the men grabbed me, with immense strength. Within seconds I was in a painful headlock. I felt a sting on my buttock and realized that Nurse had given me another shot. My world went warm and fuzzy as I lost consciousness. Dear Journal This is my first entry as Tammi. Celeste chose my new name after we had recovered from our foolish attempt to escape yesterday. The instructions for this journal allow, indeed require, me to be honest. I will not get punished for anything I say here, unless it is a lie. My feelings are not a lie, so even if I hate someone, and write bad things about them, it's ok unless I make up a story. I don't like being Tammi, and Celeste doesn't like her name either. I really would like to write 'his', because Celeste is really a boy, but we are not allowed to refer to each other, or to ourselves in the masculine. Anyway, yesterday was a really short day, since we were out cold until late afternoon. I woke up with those headphones on again, but try as we could, we couldn't get the tape to play while we were awake. I have a nasty feeling about what's on those tapes. We were both starved yesterday, and we sure kept quiet at dinner. It was weird, sitting there in those silly, faggy clothes, at a table full of boys all dressed up as girls. They've all been here for three weeks. I'm sure most of them were fairies before them got here, 'cause real boys couldn't get that femmy so fast unless they wanted to. Neither Celeste nor I will give in like that. The 'girls' at the other tables were even worse! There's no way... Mum and Dad will come get me out of here soon. They either don't know what's going on or they are just trying to scare me. If it's the former, then this place is in big trouble when dad finds out. If the latter, then I bet I'm out of here inside a week. Matt too! I just wish they'd feed us more! And this morning, we were forced to use the bathroom with our classmates. They all act weird, like they are embarrassed to let us see their bodies. They're guys, for crying out loud, just like us. They aren't shy amongst themselves, just when Matt and I are around. At least we're not wearing dresses yet, even if we are wearing these faggy charm bracelets. We have to keep our journal key on it! ----- Dear Journal I'm really, really sorry that I called Celeste by her old ugly boy name yesterday when I wrote in here. I learned my lesson today! That's why this entry will be short: it hurts to sit down, even though I am wearing really soft clothes. In fact, I'm wearing a dress. This is awful!" ----- Dear Journal This is my fourth day now and I still feel very resentful of what's going on. All of the clothes we were given when we first arrived have been removed. Celeste protested because even though they were blouses rather than shirts and slacks rather than pants, at least they were close to being boy's clothes, if we ignored the colors and fabrics. That got her another dose of punishment. I'm ashamed to admit that I told on her when she complained to me. We each have on of the buzzers now, and a purse in which we keep our things. It's been difficult to get used to not having pockets, and I keep forgetting my purse. Anyway, I think Celeste resents me for telling on her, but I didn't have any choice. She must know that everything we say is overheard, and I would have got into trouble myself. Sometimes I think that she is being too selfish! Then I realize that we're in this together. We just have to hold on until our parents rescue us. We're still behind the other students and I hope we stay that way! I forgot to mention earlier that we are taking classes with the other students. There are only four other students in our class; eighteen all told. I had thought that they were all sissies before they came here, but maybe I wasn't being fair. Michelle was the first one to speak to us after our first class together. We are allowed to visit each other's rooms and each class group has a lounge where we can watch television or listen to music or play games. Conversation there is almost as open as our journals, so long as we obey the rules. Anyway, I learned that Michelle was punished repeatedly for the first two weeks. She didn't tell me that, because she's really trying hard to be sweet and obedient now. Her roommate, Lisa, told us while Michelle was in the powder room, and Celeste made some remark about how she thought Michelle had adjusted so well. Lisa is quite different from Michelle, who is very quiet, although friendly. Lisa is perky; with a pretty face... did I just write that? Well, it's true. Lisa does look good as a girl. She's been using makeup for a full week! That's one of the classes: using makeup. I had never known how complex that could be; what with worrying about the time of day, the season of the year, the occasion that you might be getting ready for, etc. Other classes are in fabrics, clothes design, home economics, English, flower arranging and so on. I had hoped that the English class would be like something we'd take at a normal school, but it's not. We have to read these trashy romance novels and then have discussions in class about the novels from the heroine's point of view. I think it's really sick to make us pretend to identify with some clueless girl's passions for some over-blown stud. Sometimes all of us get together for a class, but mostly we study in small groups, because, we are told, we are so far behind real girls and we have to work hard to overcome our masculine backgrounds. Two months went by in a blur. Each day I wrote in my journal. Each day we learned to smile and pretend to be happy to respond to these names we had been forced to choose for each other. Each day we learned more ways to pretend to be a girl. We were punished for the slightest deviation from approved behaviour. I could barely sit after I made the mistake of sitting in a chair with my legs apart. The requirement that we turn each other in or suffer worse ourselves made us all vigilant and quick to criticize each other. We gradually learned our lessons, and much of the routine became just that. But some things remained painful; such as the waxing we underwent every second week to remove all unsightly body hair. That really hurt! Although, I had to admit that the feel of my clothing on smooth skin was kinda nice. Meanwhile Matt and I had worked out a system to ensure that we preserved our inner masculinity no matter how we acted to the world. We knew that we couldn't talk to each other except to pretend that we were fitting in. It was Matt who worked it out. One day, as we were making our bed, his hand brushed mine under the mattress as we were tucking the sheet in. He was pretending to be upset with my sloppiness and was showing me how to do it properly. I felt him push a scrap of paper into my hand. I knew enough not to react. I kept my fist closed until I found a reason to go to the bathroom. We suspected that most of the surveillance was audio rather than by camera, but we were never certain. Our guess was that the toilet stalls were properly the least likely place for a camera. His note, torn from one of our classroom notepads, read: "Kevin. Destroy this after reading. I am still Matt; you are still Kevin. Let's send a note to each other every week, so we can keep up our hopes no matter how they make us act" Thereafter we swapped small notes every week, doing our best to hide what we were doing. I thought that we had got away with it. I also used the privacy of the bathroom to masturbate, making sure that I kept quiet. I never had the nerve to ask Matt if he did the same, but it helped me retain my sense of manhood. The classes were all simple, often repetitive, but for some reason I never got truly bored or annoyed. It wasn't that I was happy. It was that after the first few days all my emotions seemed dampened somehow. On those few times when I thought about it, I imagined that our very limited diet might account for it. If it were not for the vitamin pills we took every day and the injections Nurse gave each week, I think we would all have been malnourished. Despite all, Celeste, as I was forced to call Matt and as I couldn't help but begin to think of him, and I hung on to our hopes that our parents would rescue us. This hope allowed us to absorb the increasing humiliations of being forced to demonstrate in class how we had learned to use makeup, or to talk about the latest difficulties in which our 'favorite' heroine had found herself embroiled in the current novel. It enabled us to watch an endless string of 'chick flicks' from the past and then to endure, and even participate in, discussions in class about the 'issues', which the female lead had had to overcome. I noted that none of the movies showed strong female characters; all of them needed and relied upon a man to save the day, with the exception of Mae West. Elocution lessons and intensive training in deportment, the former with the use of audiotapes and headphones in addition to instruction from a speech pathologist, and the latter with videotape playback accompanied by harsh criticism, soon had us unconsciously walking and talking in a feminine manner. We continued to sleep with the headphones, to the point that it felt abnormal to lie down on the bed without reaching for them. I never did find out why we had to wear them, although I did wonder whether our passivity was in some way induced by whatever played in our ears each night. We almost never saw any male figures, the only exception being the outdoor staff. We sometimes saw husky young men gardening or performing some maintenance task. We played some game or other outdoor activity every second day, and each 'couple' was required to find flowers or other objects for art class or our flower-arranging course. It was on one of those outings that we came closest to speaking to real men. We were walking in silence, as we usually did when alone. In company we had to keep up a pretense of being happy, chatty girls, so it was a relief to just walk quietly. We rounded a corner of the building and almost bumped into a pair of young men carrying coiled pipe and tools. They were as startled to see us, as we were them. We had learned that the men kept their distance from the students. These guys looked to be in their early twenties, tall well built and muscular. It was a warm, sunny afternoon and they had been working hard. Sweat glistened on their arms and what we could see of their chests beneath their muscle shirts. Celeste stared at them as if transfixed, but I was humiliated. They must know what we were, I thought. Sure enough, one of them blushed while the other seemed to be suppressing a snigger. I reached out and tugged on Celeste's sleeve. She seemed to give herself a shake, and then nearly pushed me over in her hurry to distance herself from the two men. We ran back around the corner. She stopped and covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. I hugged her, uncertain why she had responded so dramatically. I had felt ashamed, but it wasn't my fault, so I knew that it was no big deal. I tried to draw Celeste out about her reaction, but she brushed me off. I wrote an entry in my journal, which I rarely did about what we did when alone together. Nothing seemed to come of it and as the weeks went by I gave it less and less thought. We had learned obedience quite well by then; I had not been seriously disciplined for three weeks by the time that the next major change in our routine came about. I was sitting at my vanity, wondering whether I should use a coral-pink lipstick today or maybe a more vivid shade, something like the crimson I had seen Shania Twain wearing in that Revlon ad. None of us wore much makeup... most days it was forbidden but it was optional on weekends, and I had drifted into the habit of using makeup to improve the way I looked. Celeste had pretended that she didn't need makeup, but yesterday she had succumbed and spent hours doing her face. She claimed that it was to practice for a test we were going to have next week, but I could tell that she enjoyed looking at herself in the mirror when she was finished. If she was just practicing, why did she leave it on after she had finished? Right now she was wearing just a hint of eyeshadow and a trace of lipstick, lying on the bed on her stomach, flipping through the pages of the latest Cosmo, on which we were to be quizzed on Monday. I craned my neck and saw that she was looking closely at an ad which seemed to feature, as its main character, some young stud in blue jeans, a bare, muscular torso and a belt hanging undone. I looked closer at her and realized that not only had her taste in magazine ads changed, but that her body had also changed a lot over the past couple of months. She was much slimmer than she had been, but at the same time, surely her butt had never been that round? Intrigued by the recognition of these changes I looked more closely. She was wearing a white knit sweater, with short sleeves, which ended just beneath her shoulders, and a yellow skirt, with a knee-length hem. She wore white stretch socks and a yellow ribbon holding back her hair. Her arms appeared smooth and soft, although perhaps a trifle heavy. Wait a second! She used to have firm, well-defined biceps, as did I. We had prided ourselves on our working out, and now the results of those endless hours of training had almost vanished. Her legs, too, showed few signs of the male she had been. Sure, her calves were a bit heavy, like her arms, but they were rounded, hairless and without muscle definition. I looked down at my own bare arms and realized with a muted pang of dismay that I must look much the same. I shrugged. 'Nothing I can do about it' I mused. I decided to take a closer look at what Celeste was reading. Climbing on the bed, I nestled down beside her. She looked up at me and smiled, opening the magazine wider so I could see. "Look at that!" she said. The model was certainly cute, with clear blue eyes, his haircut so as to look casual, yet you just knew that hours of preparation had gone into creating that look. He gazed confidently out of the glossy paper, as if ready to spring off the page and sweep us off our feet. 'Cute!' I thought. I leaned over and whispered in Celeste's ear. I was risking punishment if I was caught or if Celeste turned me in, but I was scared. "It's just pretend, Matt." I said. "Remember, we're only pretending!" She pulled away. I saw tears start in her eyes before she climbed off the bed, the magazine now closed. She put it down on the small stack of other magazines. It was then that the door opened and Miss Jones came in. We had become accustomed to faculty members walking in and out of our room without notice. Only fellow students were required to knock and await permission. "Hello, girls!" she said. "Hello Miss Jones!" we echoed, bright smiles on our faces. I stood and began to curtsey, and I saw Celeste scramble of the bed to make her obeisance. "No need to curtsey today, girls." she informed us. I sat down, my hands folded in my lap, while Celeste adopted a more formal position than she had previously had. "Today marks a milestone in your progress at Mrs. Stern's School!" "Your parents will be visiting this afternoon. Mrs. Stern believes that you have made sufficient progress that you will not embarrass either the School or yourselves. What do you think?" Celeste and I exchanged a rapid glance, before both looking back at Miss Jones with what we hoped was the correct expression. "That sounds wonderful, Miss Jones!" I said. Celeste nodded. "We will try our best, Miss Jones!" "I'm sure that you will, girls. But it's a big occasion for the two of you and while I know that you will be ready, Mrs. Stern wants you to see Nurse right now. Afterwards, I'll take you to a special lesson we have set up for you" We nodded our acceptance of this instruction and, waiting until she left, we made our way down to Nurse's office. I wanted desperately to discuss this opportunity with Matt. Our parents were coming. All we had to do was reveal to them what was happening. Surely they couldn't want us feminized like this? Surely we were almost free! Matt/Celeste went in first. He came out quickly, rubbing his rear. Another of the injections was in store! Sure enough, Nurse was brief. "Lift your skirt and drop your panties, Tammi." she said. I obeyed and after the customary swab with disinfectant I felt the jab of the needle once more. Miss Jones reappeared from wherever she had gone in the meantime. We never knew when or how any of the teachers might find us. I had expected to be taken back up to the third floor, which was where all of our rooms were. We sometimes had classes on the second floor, but we never went below there except for meals, visits to Nurse (or Mrs. Stern, which always meant punishment) or our daily sessions outdoors, either playing games such as volleyball or croquet or gathering flowers or similar activities. But now we went downstairs! I had not even known that the house had a basement, although that should have been obvious. We were taken to a small ante-room on the far wall of which were three heavy metal doors, open to reveal within each tiny room a large chair, which looked like a dentist's chair on steroids, festooned with leather straps. Beside each chair, and somewhat in front of it, stood an equipment rack bearing several unrecognizable devices coupled together by coiling cables, the whole topped by a small television monitor. I balked briefly, but the habit of obedience was too strong and I obeyed the command to enter the room on the right and sit in the chair. I glimpsed Matt/Celeste as he entered the room on the left. Did I look as frightened as him, I wondered. The chair was so big that I had to climb into it, smoothing my skirt beneath me. A woman I had never seen before followed me in. She was wearing a white lab coat. She reached across me and I could smell Pears soap as she strapped me in. On