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An Old Friend By Aleisha James Author's note: this story is similiar in theme to The Birth of Clarisse. I am, I suppose, working my way through some traditional tg themes. I hope you readers enjoy the journey. "Hello Jack" The words drew my attention from the sports section of the newspaper I had been reading, while sipping a cup of coffee at my favorite coffee bar. The speaker was a tall, strikingly attractive young woman whose face was partially hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses. Her auburn hair was gathered behind her head by a ribbon. She was wearing a light beige jacket and matching skirt, with a white silk blouse. I was no expert in women's clothing, but she seemed expensively dressed and immaculately turned out, a marked contrast to my own casual appearance. Today was a Saturday, and while I expected to drop into the office later, for now I was on my own time, intending a leisurely start to the weekend. I had not expected to be accosted by such an elegant vision. Especially by someone I had, to my knowledge, never seen before. I pushed my chair back and struggled to sit upright. I began to rise to my feet. "I'm sorry. I can't quite place you" "Sit..sit" she said, as she pulled back the other chair and sat in one smooth movement, during which my eyes were drawn to her long, tanned legs. She must have seen the direction of my gaze, but her only reaction was a quiet smile as she placed her elbows on the glass table-top and rested her chin on the back of her linked hands. Manicured nails extended from graceful fingers, while perfect teeth gleamed behind her slightly parted lips. I settled back into my chair, wondering what was going on. She seemed in no doubt about who I was, while my brain was whirring at a mile a minute trying to figure out who she was. I have never been very good with names, but usually I at least find that the face is familiar even if I can't place the name. A woman this attractive would surely have stuck somewhere in my brain. "It must be the lack of coffee" I said, trying to make a joke out of it. "My brain never functions until the second cup" "Why, Jack, don't you remember me? We went to school together, and we were such good friends" Us? Good friends? I was a nerd at school, one of those shy, academic students who had all kinds of trouble making friends, especially with girls. It wasn't that I didn't like girls. I was not gay or anything, but I had been terrified of them. They all seemed so beautiful, and confident while I was gawky and insecure. But while nothing about this woman seemed at all familiar to my eyes, there was a hint in the voice. Maybe I had known her at school, but I still couldn't place her. My puzzlement must have shown. She removed her sunglasses, laying them down on the table between us. She looked at me, her cool gray eyes awaiting my reaction. Still nothing. I was drawing a blank. "I'm sorry, Miss. I can't remember." She tilted her head back and chuckled before leaning back and crossing her arms beneath her breasts. I could tell that she wore no bra beneath the smooth white silk of her blouse. "I'm being cruel, my dear" she said. "There's no way you should recognize me. It's been four years since we last met, and I didn't look the least bit like this." I looked more closely. What did she mean? Had she been overweight? Glasses and bad skin, or something? Another face seemed to swim fleetingly into my mind, but it disappeared before any name rose from my subconscious. The eyes, I thought. Maybe the eyes. And that voice. "Jack, I know I'm being a tease, but I promise you, we did know each other well. I'm actually glad you don't recognize me." She rose, picking up her sunglasses and adjusting her purse, which hung on a slender strap from her left shoulder. She opened it and, with her head canted to the left, reached within it with her right hand. She withdrew an embossed business card which she handed to me. Glancing down at the card I felt a momentary disappointment. Her name was, it seemed, Melissa Symes. Neither name meant anything to me. I looked quickly at her left hand. Yes, she was wearing both an engagement and a wedding ring. I was surprised that I had not noticed the diamond before. It seemed huge, maybe a full carat, although that too was an area in which I had little knowledge. "I'll call you soon" she said. She turned and walked away before I could react. I followed her with my eyes as she threaded her way through the maze of tables towards the door. I had, as was my custom, chosen a table far from the door but by the window which ran the length of the front of the coffee-bar. I watched her walk towards a new Mercedes convertible. Once again I was treated to a flash of those magnificent legs as she opened the door and climbed inn behind the steering wheel. She backed out of the parking stall with a smooth, confident motion before driving away without a backward glance. The mystery of who she was, and how I had known her before, stayed with me all day. My stint at the office was completely unproductive so I ducked out early and returned to my condo. A trip to the storage locker and an hour of sorting through boxes in which I had kept all kinds of things which perhaps should have been discarded produced a high school yearbook and some photographs from college. She had not said where we had met, but if our last encounter was four years ago than it would have been at college. I looked through the yearbook anyway.. perhaps we had met in high school and then only encountered each other briefly later. Maybe she had been a girlfriend of a friend, or more accurately, given my limited social circle, a girlfriend of an acquaintance? None of the high school girls whose smiling, hopeful faces looked out of the glossy pages of the yearbook looked like Melissa Symes. There were only two Melissa's. I vaguely remembered one of them, but there was no way that 'my' Melissa had ever looked like that. Besides, I doubt that I had ever exchanged more than a few words with either of the two Melissa's I saw in the yearbook. The photographs from my college days were of no more help. They were only snapshots anyway, apart from a set of graduation pictures in which only family appeared. My curiosity became an intolerable itch. I retrieved the card from my wallet. It was impressive in an understated way, consistent with the impression she had given me herself. Embossed and on a heavy cream-white stock, her name and telephone number were inscribed in flowing calligraphy. An e-mail address appeared beneath the telephone number. It was a local number, so I picked up my phone and dialed. My call was answered promptly, by a female voice most definitely not Melissa's. The speaker had a slight Mexican accent. "The Symes' residence" I heard. I identified myself and asked to speak with Mrs. Symes, only to learn that Mr. and Mrs. Symes were out. When asked to leave a message, I mumbled that I would call back tomorrow and hung up. Fortunately for my peace of mind, my curiosity diminished the next day, and Monday was too hectic for me to spend much time on anything other than the demands of the office. Arriving home mentally exhausted that evening I grabbed a beer from the fridge. Twisting off the top, I took a large swallow while checking for messages on my machine. Melissa had called, saying that she would like to meet for lunch the next day, where she would tell me all! She suggested an Italian restaurant two blocks from my office, which I suspected was no coincidence. I complied with her request to call to confirm, leaving a message with the Mexican-sounding woman who I assumed was either a maid or a housekeeper. The call piqued my curiosity again and I flipped through the year book one more time. I still came up blank, but there remained this tantalizing feeling that I really did know her; that somehow I had known her quite well. The more I wrestled with my recalcitrant memory, the stronger the feeling became. So it was that I was anxious to meet her. I left work early and got to the restaurant shortly before noon. She had made a reservation, but had yet to show. I sat at the table in the far corner of the room, watching as it slowly filled. I declined the opportunity to order a drink while I waited, contenting myself with a glass of water, flavored by a slice of lemon. I saw her as soon as she came in. Even in this upscale restaurant, filled with well- dressed, affluent people who mostly kept themselves in good condition, she stood out. She was wearing a jacket and skirt combination again, but this time she was dressed more dramatically, in a tight-fitting red leather jacket and a matching skirt which ended just above the knee. The light reflected blackly from the soft, skin-tight leather as she walked towards me. I saw many of the male patrons look at her with undisguised appreciation while their female companions either ignored her, a bit too obviously, or looked at her with envy. All of this did my ego no harm. Nor did it suffer when, as I stood to greet her, she leaned into me and kissed me on the cheek. The maitre'd had followed her across the room, shadowed by our waiter. It seemed that Melissa was well known to the maitre'd and we were soon receiving wonderful service. Melissa concentrated on light talk during our meal, refusing my attempts to draw her out. The mystery was driving me crazy since with every word she spoke I felt as if I were trembling on the brink of recognition. Finally we settled back with two cups of strong coffee, the plates and dishes from our extravagant lunch taken away. She had casually instructed the waiter to put the bill on her account, waving away my half-hearted protest. We had spent so long over lunch that most of the tables were empty. I felt guilty about being away from the office but my interest in Melissa and her impending revelation more than overcome my need to get back to work. "Okay, Melissa" I said. "The mystery's gone on long enough. I know that we have met. I can sense it, but I still don't know who you are" She smiled briefly, looking me in the eyes. Her focus flickered from one eye to the other and back again. Her smile faded and a serious look came over her beautiful face. My left hand was lying on the linen tablecloth, touching the saucer of my coffee-cup. She reached out with her left hand, the diamond ring glittering under the lights. I watched her hand as it slowly reached out for mine. She laid it atop my hand before she spoke, her voice low and fraught with concern. "This may shock you, Jack. Please don't make a scene, all right?" I looked up at her. Were those tears I saw well in the corner of her eyes? "I promise" I said. She took a deep breath. I couldn't help but admire the effect that this had on her chest. "I used to be Steve Goodwin" she said. The words seemed to skitter across my brain; I knew I had heard them, I knew that she had spoken in completely comprehensible English, yet for a second the words made no sense at all. Then everything fell into place! This beautiful, sexy and elegant young woman was my former best friend Steve Goodwin! Steve and I had been friends since maybe Grade 5. We had been friends and classmates right up until our second year in college, although we had begun to go different ways by then. I had been growing out of my nerdy shell, while Steve had lagged behind. I had begun to date, even though I had never entered a serious relationship. Steve, as far as I knew, had never dated. But that didn't mean that I thought he was gay. It was more as if he simply had no idea how to make any contacts on that level. Finally I had been able to set him up with a date, and we had gone out as a foursome. He seemed to hit it off with his date, a girlfriend of the girl I was dating, but a week later Steve dropped out without any explanation beyond a cryptic note that he needed to take a long hard look at who he was. I had been worried for him, and had contacted his parents to find out what was going on. They were protective of him. I got the sense that whatever he was doing was causing some dissension between his mother and father, but they were very reticent. I asked my parents, friends of his, but they had no more idea than did I. Very shortly after that, Steve's parents moved to a new town, and I never heard from them or from Steve again. Until now. My body had frozen in place while these recollections unfolded within my mind. The only motion would have been my jaw dropping as the implications began to sink in. "Whew." was the best I could do by way of a response, and I will be the first to admit that it was not up to my usual standards. "My name really is Melissa Symes now" she continued. "I had it changed legally two years ago, after I got married" "Married?" I asked. "Did you have the.. the operation?" I had heard of such things; of men who underwent operations intended to make them appear physically as women. I had a vague impression that legally such 'men' were entitled to call themselves female, but whether that allowed for legal marriage, I had no idea. "Not the big one. But I have had some minor cosmetic work, on my face, my breasts and elsewhere. But if you mean, do I still have the equipment I was born with, the answer is yes" I didn't know whether that was reassuring or not. Nothing about this 'through the looking glass' encounter seemed reassuring. "Are you married to a ." I couldn't bring myself to say the word, even though the answer was obvious not only from the clearly feminine appearance Steve now exhibited but also from the reference by the maid to 'Mr. and Mrs. Symes'. "Yes, I'm married, to a wonderful husband" She paused, weighing the impact of her news. She nodded as if to herself. "Look, Jack. I'm so glad that you haven't started screaming or yelling. I'm sorry I never told you what was going on before; I have really missed you as a friend, and I like to think that you would have been there for me when I started this journey" "Why didn't you tell me, then? I can't say how I would have handled it, but, goddamn it, we were friends and you cut and ran. You dropped off the face of the earth, without ever telling me. I was worried for years!" Once I started I couldn't stop. All of the hurt from his disappearance boiled to the surface and I rambled on and on for maybe ten minutes before she quietly yet firmly interrupted. "I know it was wrong. I've said I am sorry. I had my reasons, based as much in fear as in anything else. I have always held onto my love for you, as my dearest friend, even through all of the changes in my life. That's why, after I became established in my new self, I found out where you were living and working. I was so happy to find that it was in the same city. That's why I found you. It was no accident, Jack" She had begun crying softly, the tears I had seen welling in the corners of her eyes were now forming streaks down her immaculate cheeks. The sight of those tears, even more than the words she spoke with such sincerity, made me realize that I had been spilling out my long-buried pain without regard for the equal if not greater pain she.. or he .. had suffered. No matter how much I might resent his abandonment of me four years ago, I had to respect her bravery in confronting me now. Yet why had she done so? How could we return to the days of our friendship? Steve had become Melissa, a transformation I could not begin to understand. Males and females were opposites in so many ways. He had crossed over a line which I had thought was uncrossable. We spent the next hour in hesitant, halting conversation. I used my cell phone to call the office to tell them that an emergency would keep me away. The panic of yesterday's rush had diminished, so while I could sense some resentment, I knew that I could make it up tomorrow. Melissa told me that it had been the date which I had arranged which had driven him to realize that he really could not be 'Steve'. He had liked the girl, but realized with a shock that he envied her more than he desired her. He found himself watching her behavior, and that of my date, with a fascination that had nothing to do with wanting either girl, but much more to do with wanting to be like them. That realization had driven him into the college library where he had read what few books it held on the topic of transgenderism. He read an autobiographical story and while there were differences, enough passages resonated with his own experience to convince him that he, too, was a man trapped in a male body. Yet one major difference was that while he yearned to look and act as a woman, while he desired acceptance as a woman, he had no distaste for and no desire to lose his penis. He might be a virgin, yet masturbating had given him much pleasure, and he could not see undergoing the operation which would deny him such pleasure in the future. "Of course, with all the hormones, it doesn't work quite as effectively, but now that I'm only on a maintenance dose, I can still perform" My mind shied away from the implications arising from his status as a 'married woman'. While most of our conversation dwelt on her experiences, she continually probed my life as well. She seemed genuinely interested in my job, which I found challenging and which offered some lucrative opportunities. I had already cashed in one small stock option, and had enough money banked that I could afford to take a few years off if need be, and despite recent perturbations in the market, the company I was with seemed poised for bigger and better things. Melissa, as I still thought of her, was delighted at my good fortune, 'well deserved' as she put it. My personal life was not as attractive a story. Normally reticent, I found myself opening up to her as she gently questioned me. Perhaps it had something to do with the candor which she displayed in speaking of her emotions and experiences. In any event I described the problems I had had in forming any meaningful relationship with any woman. Several former girlfriends had left after telling me that I was too soft, that they wanted a more powerful, aggressive man. I had never confided this to anyone else, but Melissa was a good listener, who drew me out without ever pushing too hard. The extra hour turned into a second hour, before she looked at her watch and exclaimed. "Oh look at the time! I have to dash. My dressmaker is expecting me fifteen minutes ago! Jack, dear, I can't stay. But you must come visit me. I will call you tomorrow" She kissed me on the cheek, the second time I had felt her lips on my skin that day. I watched her sail out of the restaurant. Now that I knew her secret, I thought that I could detect a trace of masculinity in her walk, but no more than that. The two waiters standing in conversation by the bar turned to look at her as she passed. I could tell that all they saw was a beautiful, expensively dressed young woman to whom they reacted as to any desirable female. Just for a second I felt a flash of envy, but who I was envious of I could not, or would not, say even to myself. True to her word, Melissa called me shortly after I returned home from work the next day. "Jack, Stanley and I would like you to come over on Friday for dinner. I've told him all about you, and he's looking forward to meeting you. Please say yes. I know it will be hard for you to see me as his wife, but I love him so much. And I still love you, as a friend." She spoke hurriedly as if the pressure of her speech would prevent me from uttering any objections. I surprised myself with my ready acceptance of her invitation. "It'll just be the three of us. I don't want to make this more difficult than it has to be. And dress casual, Jack. And whatever you do, don't bring any wine. Stanley is a fanatic about wine and he will want to show off his cellar. Bringing wine to Stanley's house is an utter waste of time, and wine!" Friday night arrived early, or at least that's the way it seemed to me. I toyed with buying a really expensive bottle of wine to impress this fellow, Stanley, but finally decided to abide by Melissa's advice. Instead I bought a bouquet of aromatic flowers, a mixture of lilies and orchids which set me back even more than I had thought of spending on the wine. I still had trouble internalizing that my old friend Steve was living as the wife of some other man. Not merely living as his wife, but deeply in love with him. The thought of what that meant sexually, given that Melissa was still, in an important particular, Steve was somewhere I had no need to go. I had written their address down on a scrap of paper. I did not recognize the address. It took me several minutes to locate the street on the city map I had bought on my arrival in town two years ago. I saw, as I approached the street, that it was in the older, monied part of town. Wide streets with underground wiring but old elaborate street lighting, were lined by high fences or hedges broken at surprisingly distant intervals by gates of all kinds, so long as they were large. Few houses were visible from the street. Heron Street was a smaller, discreet street which looked as if it led down towards the river which I knew was somewhere nearby. 109 Heron was the last house on the right, it's double gates monitored by a camera set atop the masonry tower anchoring the right-hand side. I barely brought my car to a halt, wondering how I would make my presence known, when I heard a click and the gates began to open inwards. I drove down the driveway which curved firstly to the left and then back to the right, wending its way through a stand of large, mature trees standing amidst manicured greenery. The paved driveway, lined with white-washed cobblestones, led to a circular driveway. No other vehicles were in sight, although I could see what looked like a six car garage over to one side, partially hidden behind the house itself. Calling this structure a house was a little like calling the World Trade Center a low-rise office building. I had never been up close to anything like this. The driveway led under a portico. Not knowing where else to park, I brought my car to a stop. A young man in what looked like a bellhop's uniform materialized at my door before I had the ignition switched off. He opened my door and asked me, politely, for the keys. I retrieved the bouquet and walked towards the doors, two towering doors which looked actually quite small in context, although they dwarfed me. Given the way the gates had opened and the valet had appeared, I was not surprised when the door opened. Nor was I surprised to be greeted by a stout woman in a severe black dress who greeted me by name. I recognized the accent. This must be the housekeeper, although she gave no sign of having ever spoken to me before. "Good evening, Mr. Forsythe. Mr. and Mrs. Symes are expecting you. They are in the living room" I felt like a fish out of water, and did my best not to appear overwhelmed by the magnificence of the house. The ceiling in the foyer must have been at least three stories high, and despite the richness of the wallcoverings and the profusion of art, mostly impressionists which I had an uncomfortable feeling might be valuable originals, the overwhelming impression was of light, pouring in through the glass which dominated the wall beside and above the doorway. The housekeeper, whose name I had yet to learn, took the initiative and removed the bouquet from my grasp. "I will tell Mrs. Symes of your gift once I have trimmed them and placed them in vases" she said. I half-expected her to vanish into the interior of the house, leaving me to find my hosts myself, but instead she laid the flowers down gently on a small table standing against one wall and beckoned me to follow her. We went down a short hall to where it opened out to the right, into a huge room, in which I saw several expensive-looking couches grouped at one end, near a towering stone fireplace big enough to hold a roasting pig, with room for a side of beef. Melissa was standing next to a tall man who appeared to be in his early forties, which would make him almost twenty years Melissa's senior. He was wearing an open-necked shirt and dark pants, both of which looked so right on him that they had to have cost as much as most people earned in a month. His short hair was just beginning to show some gray on the temples, but his neatly trimmed mustache was still as black as the bulk of his hair. He strode towards me confidently, his right hand outstretched to take mine. We shook briefly as he gave me an appraising look, which I returned. "Good to meet you, Jack. My name's Stanley, but you can call me Stan." We loosened our handshake and I turned to greet Melissa. She was wearing a dark green sleeveless cocktail dress, her tanned arms slim and smooth. She had let her hair down for this evening, and it framed her lively, intelligent face, emphasizing the beauty of her eyes and the generosity of her mouth, now curved in an welcoming smile. She moved past the hand I had extended to shake hers, and took me into a light embrace, kissing me on the cheek, as was apparently to be her custom on greeting me. I smelled her perfume as we touched, it was something elusive yet beguiling. I noted that her ring no longer seemed as enormous as it had when we had met previously, but only because the its diamond was matched if not exceeded by the diamonds dangling from her long, golden earrings. More stones glittered from a bracelet on her right wrist, while a startlingly large emerald was cradled by what seemed like a dozen lesser, but still impressive, diamonds in a cameo suspended from her necklace. If Melissa wanted to show me that she had given up life as a middle-class male nerd to become an extraordinarily wealthy young woman, she was certainly off to a good start. Stan and Melissa took me on a short tour of the house, which covered only part of the ground floor. Stan pressed me to try a glass of Chablis before we began our tour. I had drunk Chardonnay before, but this was the wine after which, he told me, Chardonnay had been modeled. Dinner was served in what Melissa referred to as the 'private' dining room, which could have comfortably seated a party of sixteen. I had glimpsed the 'formal' dining room on the tour. I suspect that forty or more could have easily fit into that room. Despite the best efforts of Stan and Melissa, I did not fully relax until I was sipping an amazingly smooth, flavorful port after the meal had been consumed, and the dishes removed. The combination of vintage port and stilton cheese was something I had read about but which I had never experienced. I was learning that the truly rich may not be different from the rest of us, but the lives they led certainly were. Dinner had been superb, and my hosts had gone out of their way to make conversation. They took turns either drawing me out about my life, my hopes and ambitions or telling me about their stories. Of course I knew Melissa's in some detail after our heart-to-heart earlier in the week. What I had not learned was the extent of the adjustments which she had made in order to take up her role as Stan's wife, nor the restrictions under which she still labored. Stan touched on the topic first, after a brief history of the port which he had just poured for me. "I have two children, Jack. They are both in boarding school" He reached out to squeeze Melissa's hand, looking at her with wry smile before continuing. "Melissa is my second wife, although she is the first true love I have found. The saddest part of our arrangement is that she cannot meet my children" "Why not?" I ventured to ask, some of my inhibitions relaxed by the various wines I had sampled. "My first wife knows of my preferences in women. She may not know for sure that Melissa grew up as a boy, but I am sure she suspects. Our settlement grants me equal visitation rights for the children, but she could make life very difficult if she were to argue that I was exposing them to an immoral lifestyle" Melissa interceded. "You see, Jack, I've changed my name, but legally I'm still a man. In the eyes of the world, Stan and I could be seen as a homosexual couple, even though I know that I am a woman in all ways but one" Stan picked up the tale. "I love Melissa the way she is. My first wife won't make any trouble for me as long as Melissa is away whenever the children visit. I hold leverage because of the support payments I give her, but that leverage might not withstand court challenge if the immoral lifestyle issue arose" I could see that this was a difficult issue for them. I had seen how close the two of them were, just in the little things which go on between tow people in love with each other. They had touched frequently, without any apparent conscious intent, as we had toured the house. Their frequent glances evidenced their mutual affection, and I watched the sympathetic look on Stan's face as he turned his face towards Melissa during these last remarks. Melissa, herself, was fighting back tears. "This is the one part of our life that is not perfect" she said. "I AM Stanley's wife in all the important ways, and I would never dream of corrupting his children. It is so frustrating that I am denied the opportunity to share all of his life!" Stanley patted her hand while she used her napkin to dry her tears, smiling bravely. "But enough of all our troubles" she said, making a visible effort to regain her composure. We turned to more impersonal topics fro the balance of the evening. I declined a second glass of port, since I was already feeling the effects of all the alcohol I had drunk, and I had to drive home. "Oh, Jack. Relax, have a good time. We'll put you up tonight. We have several guest suites, with everything you might need" Melissa's assurance and Stan's prompt echoing of it persuaded me to reconsider. Paradoxically it was the emotionally loaded disclosure of Melissa's banishment from seeing her husband's children that led to a lowering of the barriers which had persisted between the three of us until that point. They had been so open with me, allowing me insight into their pain, that I felt completely at home. The trust I had shared with Steve all those years ago resurfaced, and Stanley, despite the age difference, had a knack of speaking directly, without any trace of condescension. I was thoroughly inebriated by the time I was shown the suite where I spent the night. That guest suite was about the same size as my condo, which was impressive given that my condo include a kitchen and storage area. I found a wide array of toiletries in the huge ensuite bathroom, and a pair of pajamas still in the plastic wrap in which they had been sold. I awoke next morning with a hangover, thankful that today was a Saturday. I shaved, showered and brushed my teeth before dressing in the same clothes I had worn last night and making my uncertain way into the kitchen. As with every room I had yet encountered, the kitchen was larger than life. Gleaming white ceramic tiles covered a vast expanse of floor. Stainless steel appliances filled one wall, while an enormous gas range with a gigantic exhaust hood stood against another. Morning light flooded in through the windows and two large skylights, bringing out the richness of the copper-bottomed pots and pans which hung in a profusion of shapes and sizes over the cooking area and food preparation surfaces. The housekeeper was bustling between refrigerator and cooktop, while a younger woman I had not seen before worked alongside her. The smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee filled the air. "Good to see you up!" Melissa was sitting at a table in the eating area on the far side of the kitchen itself. The eating area extended from back of the house, with glass making up three walls. I could see the grounds behind the house. Summer was in full flood, the sun shining from an empty sky. Myriad's of water droplets glittered in that portion of the lawn not still in shadow. Melissa was wearing a yellow sundress, its full skirt concealing all but her lower calves. She wore open-toed sandals, revealing her perfectly pedicured toes. She looked fresh and wholesome, and I was struck once more by how natural she looked. Breakfast was a slow awakening for me. Fresh squeezed orange juice and strong, rich coffee dissolved my headache while I ate sparingly from the various choices offered to me. Melissa invited me to take a walk through the grounds. She lent me a pair of old rope- soled sandals which seemed to fit well enough. We made our way through sun-dappled vines, tangled along old wooden supports. Flower beds in geometric shapes formed borders and passages between different areas. Birdsong filled the air. The grounds were immense, no neighboring buildings evident from any vantage point. We stood and watched two hummingbirds feeding. We were standing side by side and I felt Melissa's hand reach out and take hold of mine. We strolled slowly through the grounds, hand in hand. There was no element of sexual desire, just a sense of friendship. She may have changed almost beyond recognition, but I still felt a deep affection for her. There was an element of tenderness in my feelings which would have been out of place in our former relationship. We entered a secluded area. Verdant grass surrounded a white gazebo, while the lawn itself was bordered by a bewildering assortment of rose bushes, just now beginning to bloom. Melissa led me inside the gazebo and we sat on the stone bench. "Jack" she said, still holding my hand. "Have you ever wondered why you are still single, why you have never been able to have a long-term relationship?" My eyes shied away. A feeling of dread lurked in the depths of my stomach. I really did not want to talk about this, but Melissa tightened her grip on my hand. "Jack, dear.. look at me" She was leaning towards me, an expression of compassion and concern on her lovely features. "We were always such good friends, weren't we? Even when we were accused of being queers, we knew that we weren't. And we remained friends until I had to leave" "I know" I breathed. "I always felt comfortable around you" "It's because we were.. we are.. so much alike, Jack" "But we're not any more." "That's where I think you are wrong, Jack. I believe that, like me until four years ago, you have allowed your cultural conditioning to override the real you. I believe that you do not even know, in your conscious mind, who or what you are" I tried to pull away, my body all of a sudden stiff and tense. She put her other hand on top of the one already holding mine. I felt the gentle pressure as she tried to reassure me. "Look at me Jack" "Am I a boy or a girl" she asked. "I don't know how or why, but you are a girl, Melissa" "Of course I am. I have been comfortable with that for a long time, but it wasn't always this way. You remember what I was like growing up, Jack. I thought I was male, and I tried hard to accept the male role, but it never quite fit. I don't think that it fits you any better than it did me" That was too much, even though I had seen it coming. I pulled my hand away from hers and leaped to my feet. "I'm not like you, Melissa! I'm a man!" She looked up at me, unperturbed by my excited reaction. "Jack, you may be right. I might be misreading you. Will you agree to a little experiment? If it turns out the way I expect it to, then you agree to listen to what I have to say, and if it doesn't, I'll never mention the topic again" "What experiment?" I asked, suspicion surfacing in my mind. "When I first realized that I wanted to be a girl rather than to have a girl, I decided that the only way to find out for sure was to dress like a girl. I had never done it before, and it took some doing to get my hands on some clothes. I bought some clothes from a catalog and some on-line, even though back then there were few choices on-line. I made a mess of the sizes, but within a few weeks I had everything I thought I needed. That first time was the most liberating experience of my life, Jack. I must have looked hideous, and I had no idea how to use the makeup I had bought, but I felt beautiful. I felt feminine and a sense of fulfillment came over me. I knew then that I had been right." "You want me to dress up?" "Yes. It will be easier for you, because I will help. If you find it repulsive or offensive, then we will carry on as if it had never happened, but if you find that you like it, then you and I will have a long, serious talk, okay?" I felt and must have looked dubious. This was absurd, yet deep within me I felt both a temptation and a fear. "What have you got to lose? We're alone here, apart from the staff. Stanley left this morning; he took the Lear to the West Coast. I have my own suite, and it will be just us and my maid." "Your maid?" My mind seized upon the distraction. "Marie is a friend from my days before I met Stanley. I'll tell you all about those days as we dress. She's a transgendered girl like me. Life can be very difficult for girls like us. There are not many Stanley's about, even for real girls. So when I got settled, I offered her a job. Her partner drove taxi, so we hired him as a chauffeur. They live over the garage; and are very happy here." My uncertainty persisted, but Melissa stood, smoothing the skirt of her dress. "Come on, it'll be fun! And if it isn't, no-one got hurt!" She took my hand again and I found myself following her. We found our way back to the house. Melissa kept up a bright chatter, commenting on the pretty flowers, and her hopes for a wonderful summer, while I remained silent, caught up in an inner struggle. Should I, could I, go along with this. A frisson of anticipation crept like an icy thrill into my stomach. We entered the house via the French doors leading into the kitchen. All traces of breakfast had been cleaned up, and the room was bright but empty. Melissa led me into the interior of the house and then up a sweeping staircase. A broad landing offered choices: left or right. The walls were painted in an off-white, the deep carpet a muted beige. More art work hung on the walls. She led me to the right, down a short hallway to a closed door. She flung it open and led me into the room which lay beyond. It was the epitome of a boudoir. Tall, full-length windows were only partially obscured by the lace sheers, bordered by heavy silk drapes held back by broad sashes of the same material. An elaborate four-poster bed stood to the far right. An embroidered canopy hung between the posts, edged with delicate lace-trimmed flounces. Pillows lay piled in profusion at the head of the bed, while the bulk of it was covered by a white duvet edged in pink. The eggshell white walls were interrupted by brass sconces holding old-fashioned lights designed to look as if they were gas-burning. Mirrors were everywhere, with a large, oval one outlined by a ring of small light bulbs resting atop a huge vanity. The wall to my left was broken by high mirrored doors which I soon learned led into capacious closets. An opening beyond the closest doors led into an ensuite which put the luxurious facilities I had experienced in my guest suite to shame. The scent of flowers filled the room. I saw, with a note of pleasure, that some of the scent was emanating from the flowers which I had brought last evening. "Do you like it?" Melissa asked. "It's very ." I was lost for words. "Feminine?" she asked. I nodded. "That's exactly right". She smiled. Walking to a nightstand beside her bed she picked up the small, pink princess telephone, pressing two buttons on the handset. She spoke several quiet words which I could not make out from where I was still standing in the middle of the room. "Marie will be right with us, Jack. In the meantime, let's get you undressed. We have a lot of work ahead of us" It was too late to back out now, even had I wanted to. Some part of me was screaming to cut and run, but I had lost the power to do so. I took off my shirt and, sitting down on one of the padded chairs, I began to remove my socks. I had left the sandals behind in the kitchen. I was standing again, uncomfortable about removing my pants, when the door opened and in stepped an attractive young woman in a knee-length black dress. She wore light makeup, and had her dark brown hair pulled back into a bun. I saw that she was wearing nylons and modest heels on her plain black shoes. Her nails were painted crimson, and she wore a small engagement ring and wedding band on her ring finger. "You called, Miss Melissa?" she asked. Her voice was not as polished as Melissa's but I doubt that anyone not in on her secret would have guessed why it was so low-pitched. "Marie, this is my friend, my best friend, Jack. Jack this is my maid, and friend, Marie" She bobbed a curtsey to me. "Pleased to meet you, Jack. Miss Melissa has told me so much about you" I blushed, although why, I couldn't have said. "It's time to get on with your treat, Jack" Melissa interrupted. I finished undressing, removing even my shorts. My penis shrank, leaving me feeling even more embarrassed, but neither of the two 'girls' seemed to notice. "Let me show you how it's done, Jack" Melissa removed her sundress. I gaped as her body came into view, and she smiled. "You've seen me naked before, Jack. Remember all those PE sessions, in the locker room" "You didn't look like that then" I responded hotly. She laughed. "Can you imagine Mr. Parker's reaction if I had?" Mr. Parker had been our PE teacher for several years, a hard-bitten, tough man determined to instill his idea of manhood into his male charges. Clearly he had failed, at least with Melissa. And with me? I wondered fleetingly. Her breasts were small, but well-shaped and firm. Her nipples stood out proudly from large, brown aureoles. I could see her ribs beneath the smooth, supple flesh. Her waist was slender, just barely swelling softly above her panties. She turned through 360' before seeking my reaction. "Wow!" was all I could say. "Looking like this isn't easy for someone born as a boy" she said. "I've had a lot of surgery, and not only to give me these" She touched her breasts as she spoke. "For example, I had my lower rib removed on either side, and that meant that some of my abdominal muscles had to be shortened. It took three months of therapy for me to recover from that, but now I have a proper waist-line. I have implants in my hips as well as my breasts!" I continued my inspection of her. She was clad now only in a pair of silk panties. The lace-edged waistband bellied slightly beneath her stomach, while the leg openings were cut high on either side. What fascinated me most was the smoothness of her groin, with merely a hint of a prominence, no more than one would expect to see on a slender model. "You are wondering about my penis, aren't you?" she smiled her question. "I am wearing a gaff. You'll get to try one on in a while. It takes some getting used to, and you have to learn to push your testicles back up into your body for it to work properly, but one thing you'll soon learn is that all girls have to pay a price to look beautiful. Those of us with this something extra have to pay a little more, that's all" During all of this, Marie had been busying herself in the closets. She had already made two trips, returning each time with an assortment of clothing which I had carefully avoided looking at. "Miss Jack" she said, drawing my attention to her. "We need to go into the bathroom" "Don't call me Miss Jack" I protested. Melissa came over to me, placing both hands on my shoulders. She looked me in the eye; we were, as we had always been, the same height. Her nipples were the same level as mine, but now she wore them on her all-too-real breasts. They rose and fell mere inches away, in time with her breathing. Her scent filled the air, and I found myself losing focus as we looked into each other's eyes. "Honey, where you are going, even if you never do this again, you are a Miss! We won't call you Miss Jack, but you are not going to be male, at least not for the next while." She looked at me intently. I could not look away, nor could I protest. "I know!" she said. "We'll call you Susan!" I bowed my head, a strange combination of feelings doing battle within me. "Miss Susan, we need to go into the bathroom" This time I meekly complied with Marie's request, holding one hand over my groin as I followed her. The first order of business was for her to give me a shave. I had never been shaved by anyone else, let alone someone using a straight-edge razor! She made me sit on a high stool before a mirror, but I kept my eyes shut rather than watch as she slowly shaved my sparse stubble. She made me stand still while she rubbed a medicinal-smelling pink lotion over all my body except my face. She started the shower and told me to wait for five minutes, which she timed using her wrist watch. It was a very uncomfortable five minutes, with the sticky lotion congealing on my skin. I felt a very minor burning sensation, like the lightest of sunburns. Finally she told me to climb into the shower. I was to thoroughly rinse all of the lotion from my body. I did so, watching with a weird sense of detachment as all my body hair washed down the drain. I was left without any hair anywhere on my body other than on my scalp. I had not been as hairless since I was ten years old! Marie told me, through the misted glass shower wall, to wash my hair and apply conditioner. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought as I obeyed. Several minutes later I was enjoying Marie's efforts as she toweled me dry. I imagined that Melissa had this service all the time. Imagine, not even having to dry oneself off, but having someone else do it for you, all the time! Marie finished and then dusted my body with rose-scented talcum powder. I padded back into the bedroom on bare feet, my skin pink, tingling and aromatic. Melissa had put on some clothes in my absence, although by no stretch of the imagination was she now fully dressed. She looked confident, sexy and very feminine in a garter-belt and bra which matched the ivory panties she had been wearing earlier. She wore tan colored nylons, with lacy tops to which I could see she had attached the tabs from her garter belt. I had never seen a woman wearing stockings and a garter belt, other than in some porn magazines I had once bought. "You like?" she asked, her voice rising. "You look very pretty, Melissa" I responded. "Let's see how our Susan looks, shall we?" Her question was rhetorical. I was her doll now; hers and Marie's. The first task was to put on a gaff. This was a difficult, not to mention embarrassing experience. I tried to figure it out for myself, but ended up relying on Melissa to guide me through the process. Learning to push my testicles back up into my body cavities was painful, at least for the first testicle! I came close to quitting, but then found that once I had got then up, and had pushed my penis back between my legs, the gaff fitted snugly yet was not too uncomfortable. I expected that the next task would be to put on a pair of panties, but Melissa set me straight. "Panties first if you're going to wear pantyhose. Wearing a garter belt over your panties looks sexy, which is why I put mine on like this. I knew you would expect to see it done this way, but it really is impractical for everyday wear. How are you going to go to the bathroom?" She explained that putting one's panties on over top of the garter belt allowed one to lower one's panties without having to unfasten the stockings whenever one needed to use the lady's room. So my first article of female clothing was a garter belt. It was black, with red roses embroidered above the garters. I learned to fasten the tiny hooks in front of my body before twisting it around my waist. I found myself sucking in my belly, trying to look as sleek and slender as my friend. "Susan, honey, don't worry. We can help you out" I sat down while Marie knelt before me, holding one of my stockings in her hands. She showed me how to point my toes before rolling the stocking onto my feet and then up my leg. I stood as she pulled it up my thigh, experiencing for the first time the almost indescribable feeling of sheer nylon on smooth-shaven skin. I felt as if my leg had been encased in a cooling, but stimulating fluid. I watched as Marie fastened the garters, part of me relishing the tug on my garter belt as she pulled each strap taut. Then I sat again and this time I put the other nylon on myself, to approving murmurs from my two companions as I demonstrated that I had paid attention to Marie's demonstration. I fumbled my first attempt to fasten the garter belt, but succeeded on my second. Pulling on a pair of panties, the black silk fitting snugly around my waist, was another revelation. I looked down at my groin in awe. There was no trace of my manhood visible, and the sensations I was experiencing, even standing still, where utterly unlike any I had encountered before. I was feeling light, airy and (I admitted in some inner recess) feminine! Melissa and Marie were silent as I lost myself momentarily in my new environment. Maybe they sensed the changes within me. Who better, after all, to identify with what I was going though then? But after I had stroked my panties, feeling my skin beneath the soft, slick silk, Melissa coughed discreetly and I looked up, blushing furiously. "Susan, it's time for your first bra." "It is your first, isn't it?" she added impishly. My cheeks on fire, yet with eagerness hard to conceal, I reached out to take the bra from Marie's outstretched arms. It matched the panties, a combination of black silk and lace, with light wiring around the lower halves of the cups. "Put it on backwards, and fasten it in front of you before turning it around, just like the garter belt" Melissa instructed me. I complied, struggling to get my arms through the straps. My bra felt tight around my chest, yet was disappointingly empty when I looked down. Marie quickly changed that, with small, plastic fluid-filled sacs which she adjusted within each cup. Very quickly I had real looking breasts, or at least I looked as if I filled out my bra realistically. What a strange feeling that was! The bra felt heavy; I was aware of a tug on the straps over my shoulders and even when looking ahead I had the impression that there was something in the lower aspect of my peripheral vision. Melissa picked up my next garment: a full slip in black satin, with a bodice of black lace. She made me step into it and helped me pull it up my body. I felt goose bumps as I drew the silk garment over my legs. My slip had thin spaghetti straps, which I learned to adjust so that the bodice covered my breasts properly. I felt so wonderful as I took a few tentative steps around the room, twirling in a circle to feel the movement of my clothes across my body. I realized that I was grinning from ear to ear, as were my companions for this voyage of exploration and revelation. "All right, Susan. It's time for some makeup on that pretty face of yours!" I followed Marie to the vanity. She made me put on a short, full-sleeved satin jacket first. "This is a make-up jacket, Miss Susan. It will prevent you from making a mess of your pretty clothes" I beamed up at her gratefully. "Thank you Marie" I said, feeling unable to say any more. We spent the next half hour doing my face. Marie and Melissa took turns showing me what they were doing. I studied their actions, trying to memorize their advice even as part of me still tried to protest my acquiescence. That part of me was fighting a losing battle. Liquid foundation filled in my pores, leaving a matte canvas on which these two artists plied their trade. Soon I had color in my cheeks, the bones of which seemed more angular than they really were. Shadow diminished the size of my nose and color exaggerated the size of my eyes. My brows were plucked mercilessly into thin high arches. The thought occurred to me that they would never grow back by Monday! But it was as if the thought had occurred to a stranger, to someone other than the me sitting in that chair. Melissa and Marie chattered incessantly, a happy barrage of comments and compliments. A feeling grew inside me, a feeling that a part of me was coming to the surface after a lifetime of confinement. At one point Marie was fussing around on the vanity, looking for the mascara I was to try to apply. My eyes met Melissa's in the mirror. Our reflections gazed at each other for a second. Then I began to cry, tears streaming down my face, while all the time I could feel myself grinning so broadly that I feared my jaws would break. Melissa began to cry as well, as she knelt beside me, her arms around me and her face buried against my neck. A dam had broken somewhere inside me, and she had known it as soon as it had happened. We blubbered for a while. I sensed that Marie had discreetly moved aside, waiting for the emotional storm to recede. Finally, I was able to take a deep breath. I felt Melissa release me and stand. I looked up at her, a smile trembling on my lips. "I must look a sight!" I said. "I've ruined all the work you've done!" "So what?" Melissa said, rubbing a tear away from her eye. "You crossed over, honey. That was a girl crying; a girl who had been denied for far too long"" "Was it like this for you?" I asked. She looked serious for a moment. 'Not quite, honey. I had to find out by myself. It was more difficult, but that's exactly why I wanted to help you. Your inner self was bound to come out sooner or later, and like any birth, it hurts a lot more if you don't have any help or support" Marie nodded. "Miss Melissa is right about that, Miss Susan. Believe me, I know!" They helped me to the bathroom where I removed all the makeup before returning to the vanity. I felt a calmness within me now, and I saw that my hands did not even tremble as I picked up the liquid foundation. This time I did most of the work under their encouraging eyes. They stopped me several times when I was about to overdo my makeup. "That's the most common mistake, whether it be young genetic girls or beginning transgendered girls. Too much makeup! It's only natural that you want to use too much; you've been denied too long" Marie had to finish my eye makeup since I still couldn't quite master (mistress?) the technique. But I put on my own mascara, and looked up at them proudly once I was finished. I used a lip pencil to add to the natural outline of my lips, which I thought, critically, were too thin for my face. A rich lipstick felt creamy as I applied it carefully, kissing a kleenex once I was finished, in order to remove any excess. Marie offered me a choice of earrings. They were all clip-ons. "If you stay as a girl, Miss Susan, we'll get your ears pierced. That's when you can start to have fun with earrings!" Melissa returned form a brief, unnoticed absence, carrying what looked momentarily like someone's head on a stick. It turned out to be a wig, sitting on a stand. She put it down on the vanity. "All we need is your dress, and then the wig and shoes. Maybe a little jewelry" I rose to my feet and stepped away from the vanity. Once more I reveled in the feel of my clothes. I was acutely aware of the feel of my makeup on my face and the tug on my ears. Melissa and Marie had selected a simple black dress, with a full skirt which hung to just above the knee. "I'll never get into that!" I exclaimed. Indeed, when Melissa held it in front of her, it seemed tiny, especially the waist. She looked at me, her head tilted to one side. "I think you're right. Maybe we made a mistake not having your corseted earlier, but a corset can be very uncomfortable until you get used to wearing one" Marie helped me out of my makeup jacket and then out of my slip. I had to take it off by stepping out of it, since I did not want to muss my makeup. Then came my first corset. It had elasticized black satin panels beneath which I could feel flexible strips of some firm material. Melissa told me, while I was pulling it on that originally such strips were made of whalebone. Once I had it in place, the top resting beneath the bottom of my bra and the lower edge covering the top of my panties, the two girls moved behind me. I was encouraged to hold onto one of the posts which surrounded the bed. Then they began pulling tight the drawstrings. Each time I exhaled they drew the corset tighter. I found myself able to take only tiny breaths, and my insides felt as if they were being crushed. My tormentors refused to stop despite my pleas until I felt that another quarter of an inch might sever me in two. A mixture of amusement and resentment rose in me as I watched them try unsuccessfully to hide their mirth as they watched me struggle to pick up my slip. I couldn't bend! They overcame their laughter long enough to help me put my lingerie back on and then to put on the dress. It did fit! After the struggle of getting dressed, I found that I had regained a limited ability to bend, so I was able, carefully, to sit while they fussed with the wig. Soon I was wearing a full head of dark brown hair, cut and combed to fall in bangs over my forehead and in a sweep to frame either side of my head. I could feel it brushing the back of my neck and the tops of my shoulders. My vision seemed narrowed, since I was aware of the presence of these wings of hair to either side. Marie knelt beside me and slipped a pair of black slingbacks onto my feet. I was surprised that they fit, since they seemed to short, and too narrow, especially in the toe. "Nylons are a great help, Susan" Melissa explained. "I can get into shoes half a size smaller when I'm wearing nylons." Melissa fastened a slim gold bracelet around my right wrist. I stood and walked towards the mirrored closet doors. Melissa and Marie left me alone as I absorbed the way I now appeared to the world. Maybe there was something awkward about the way I stood, and certainly I understood that I still moved more like a man than a woman, but nonetheless, it was Susan who looked back at herself, not Jack. Susan stood tall. Her plucked arches and the carefully applied cosmetics made her eyes larger than life, while a smile toyed with her wide, generous lips. High cheekbones added a touch of sensuality. I tired smiling. Something was wrong. I tried lifting my upper lip when I smiled, to reveal more of my teeth, and to involve more of my cheeks in my smile. That looked far better: Susan smiled back at me! I turned, admiring the way the dress, simple though it was, clung to my breasts and showed off my narrow waist before flaring out in a full skirt, which swirled prettily as I turned. My legs looked good as well. Maybe, I thought, wearing even these low heels helps. I turned away from the mirror to face Melissa and Marie. I concentrated on what I had seen Marie do earlier. Yes, I could do it. I drew back my right foot about six inches, while grasping the hem of my dress in both hands. I bent (as much as I could) at the waist while lowering my head and dipping my knees. I held the pose for a couple of seconds before straightening up. Melissa and Marie broke into applause, as I smiled happily. I had performed my first curtsey, and even though I knew how archaic it was, I felt a sense of accomplishment and reinforcement. The balance of the morning was spent trying on different outfits, until I found myself tiring. We went down for lunch, which we ate in the private dining room. I had been apprehensive about being seen by the other servants dressed like this but I need not have worried. Melissa introduced me as Miss Susan, and the staff took it all in stride. I was permitted out of the corset after lunch, a meal where I had been able to eat almost nothing due to the constraint. I chose a loose-fitting sundress, large print flowers on a white cotton background. It felt much more appropriate for the weather and time of day. Melissa allowed me to wear just panties and bra, without a slip or nylons. We spent a joyful day, and my pleasure was increased when I was told that I had to dress for dinner! Back into a corset again. It seemed less restrictive the second time, although Marie swore that it was the same size as the one I had worn earlier. I freshened my makeup, with the guidance and assistance of Marie, who was serving double duty as maid to both Melissa and myself. Tonight I wore white lingerie beneath a floor-length white evening dress, with a golden belt. It had long flowing sleeves gathered at the wrist and slit on the underside. The dress was slit from each armpit to the waist and again from the knee to the floor. I felt so completely feminine as I walked around the room, practicing the sway of my hips in my golden open-toed heels. They added three inches to my height and I had to walk sideways down the stairs to dinner, clutching my little purse in my manicured hands. I was wearing long, false nails, which required extra care even with simple things. Scratching an itch on the side of my nose, for example, was a whole new experience! I wore a blonde wig to dinner, 'my' hair gathered and piled in an elaborate coiffure. I was stunned by my reflection. This was so much fun! Melissa and I had a wonderful time over dinner. She regaled me with tales of her early experiences trying to pass as a girl. I am sure that many of them were painful for her at the time, but she had an amazing ability to see the lighter side of the human condition. She told me of how she had met Stanley. She had been a dancer at a club that catered to crossdressers, transvestites, drag queens and the like, as well as to their admirers. Some of the dancers supplemented their income by private entertainment, but not Melissa. Stanley had been captivated by her and had tried to pick her up at the stage door after her act. Many of the girls dressed as men when not performing, but Melissa was living full- time as herself, which appealed all the more to Stanley. He had been annoyed at first by her persistent refusal to se him, but then he realized that it was not because she was rejecting him. It was because she thought that he was looking for an easy lay, maybe some private entertainment. He determined to persuade her to say yes to a date. So he began to treat her as he would a real woman he wanted to impress. He had never used his real name, nor in any way let on that he was wealthy, since he needed to maintain a low profile to avoid scandal or blackmail. But now he began to use some of his resources. He found out where she lived. He began sending flowers, in ever increasing numbers. He sent her expensive lingerie and perfume. He professed his admiration for her, and finally she gave in. It was to be just a dinner, she said. She would not meet him at his house nor would she go to bed with him. He took her to a quiet, intimate restaurant. They began to talk and each recognized in the other a part of themselves which had been missing. They fell in love that night, although it was weeks before she would allow him to do anymore than kiss her goodnight. She refused to live with him, despite his fervent pleas, until she was closer to her ideal of herself. That meant cosmetic surgery, which he insisted upon paying for, and extensive therapy, including speech therapy after an operation to reduce the size of her vocal cords. It was Stanley who insisted that they go through a marriage ceremony, even if it might not be legally binding. He also set up a sizable trust fund for her so that she need never feel trapped by him. It all sounded like