College Bound free porn video

Standard warning and disclaimer: All characters are fictional. If you see yourself, buy a new mirror. Contains subjects some people may find offensive. If you are one of them, why are you reading this? Protect your kids. If you are worried about them reading this sort of material, please censor free speech and use a safe surfing program such as net nanny. Or better yet, teach them early and lovingly to understand and accept different lifestyles. Before they learn from bad experiences. All constructive comments are welcome. Please e-mail to me: [email protected] or [email protected] Finally, this is a piece of adult fiction. If you are underage, or if you find it offensive, please go elsewhere. Quickly. College Bound By Samantha Michelle Copyright 2001 In early August, the economy collapsed where we had lived all our lives, thanks to President Clinton. It was, to most, just another round of military base closings. But in our little part of the world, it was a death knell. So Mom and Dad added two and two, got a negative one, and took a government buyout on our home. Three weeks from the day we knew they were shutting down the base, we had said hurried good-byes to all our childhood acquaintances, and were on the road, looking for a place to replant ourselves. Everything, and I mean just that, was in storage. We carried only the essentials, like our cats and their litter box, in the motor home. Priority one was finding Mom a new job. Which was not easy for a middle-aged woman with a family. Dad could not survive in an urban area. Mom did not want to live out in the sticks. My sister Stacey and I just wanted to get on with our lives. Six weeks later, it was with great trepidation that we greeted the announcement that both Mom and Dad had gotten really good job offers way out in New England. After five days travel, we arrived at a small town near the Vermont-New York border. The mountains were beautiful, and the area seemed nice, but really conservative: Laura Ashley girls, and guys in cardigan sweaters. We found a nearby motor home park, and were told to visit the local high school while the parents went for interviews. Stacey, the organized one, grabbed copies of our transcripts and school testing, and I grabbed our backpacks. A quick check of the net (via land line at the RV park) said great weather. So I put on my best knee-length cutoffs, tennis shoes, and Roadkill Caf? T-shirt. Stacey opted for her hand-decorated Carhart coveralls, a tank-top, and combat boots. Exactly what we would wear on a normal school day. The six-mile walk was refreshing, and people were actually pretty friendly. We were both surprised when a village cop pulled up to us, and asked nicely why we were not in school. Stacey pulled out her ID and driver's license, and explained that our parents were in town for a job interview, and we were hiking to the high school to see what it looked like. He offered us a ride, but we said after a couple of weeks on the road, the walk was fine. As he drove off, I heard him call in that the two girls were visiting town. Stacey and I looked at each other. She giggled, and I frowned. Why was it that just because I was skinny and had long hair everyone thought I was a girl? But the weather was too good to spend the day annoyed, so we headed for the school using a map I had printed out. When we found it, we stopped and stared. Stacey's "God, it's awesome!" was an understatement. It was three stories of ivy-covered brick and granite, and looked like some sort of big-time university. I gawked, and got worried. "I hope they don't mind a couple of country bumpkins like us tarnishing their hallowed halls." "Country bumpkins in the top tenth of a percent, you mean." She giggled. "And besides, I think my bumpkins are pretty good." She posed, and I would have hit her if she had not turned and trotted for the entrance. Once inside, there was no mistaking where the principal's office was. Even if they called it something different. The bronze plaque said "Headmaster's Offices." Quaint, I thought. Stacey introduced us to the secretary/receptionist, who looked at us like we needed baths. Or flea powder. She made a couple of calls, and we were invited to wait a few minutes. She said the assistant headmaster would be happy to meet us, and give us a tour. I almost turned and ran when a dour-looking woman with a military air introduced herself as Headmistress Rothveldt, and invited us to her office. It was like entering a time-warp. All real wood, straight, high- backed chairs, and oil paintings adorning the walls. Her voice was much more pleasant than her appearance. "Celia tells me that you two have accompanied your parents on a job-hunting expedition, and want to know about our school." We both nodded. "Well, Hanover Academy, although a small public school, has been a leading college preparatory school for nearly one-hundred years. We take great pride in the caliber of our programs and students. So we strive to give our students the best possible background for entering top business and financial curricula at Ivy League institutions." She frowned. "Coming into a new school in the middle of the semester is difficult for many students. Because of our exceptionally high standards, most transfer students find themselves woefully unprepared. Almost all must repeat one or two complete grades before they are ready to progress and matriculate." I snickered, and she gave me a withering look. "Young lady, proper respect for one's superiors is highly emphasized here. I hope your previous academic achievements are significantly more suitable than your bearing and attitude." Now I was upset. "Pardon my faux-pas, madam, but first I am a young man, not a young woman. And second, it is my hope that your academic standards are, as you put it, significantly more suitable than your hospitality." I could, when I wanted to, speak relatively formal English. And she was stepping on my toes. She stared at my hair, and at my sister. "She, well, he, is a boy under that unmanaged mop?" Stacey almost fell off her chair laughing. "That is the best description of his hair I've heard in ages. And yes, I'm afraid I must acknowledge this pest is my younger brother." She looked at the woman. "But in all fairness to him, we are unused to your formalities. And his concern for your academic standards is justified." Stacey opened her folder, and handed the woman copies of both our transcripts, and our test scores. The shocked look on her face was a missed Kodak moment. She read everything twice. "These cannot be real. This says you are a junior and have completed over fifty semester hours of university courses with honors?" Stacey smiled. "And this ragamuffin is starting as a high school freshman, but has completed Calculus one, and two university science classes with straight A's?" "Hey, like if I didn't have to drop all my plans and move, I would be in Calculus two. If I have to spend much more time on the road, I'll have the darn text finished out of boredom by October." She looked at us, and I swear I could see the aura of a migraine forming around her head. A dirge beeping from Stacey's pocket signaled a cellphone call. That really upset the woman. Stacey answered, and mumbled several "Yes, Mom's" before ending the conversation. She looked at me, and the woman, and shrugged. "Well, I guess we better start the paperwork to attend." I stared at her "Mom and Dad both took the positions offered, and said we would be able to start school once we find a place to live." I gave her a high-five and a hug. I wanted to have friends again. Inside I cringed, because I'd had so few before. The woman, shaking her head, excused herself. I could hear raised voices from out front. When she came back, she asked us to accompany her to meet the headmaster. So we dutifully got up, and I wondered if Mom and Dad should have asked us before accepting their new jobs. The headmaster looked like a retired politician. But there was no mistaking his sharp, careful appraisal of each of us as we entered. He was introduced as Doctor Hamilton. The woman handed him our transcripts, and excused herself. Once she was gone, he smiled. "I see you have both impressed and appalled Mrs. Rothveldt. She seems to disbelieve these transcripts. You are certain they are accurate?" We nodded. He looked them over. Pulling out a pad of paper, he scribbled on two separate sheets, and handed one to each of us. "Here is a quick test. If you know the material, it should take you no time at all. If you don't, it will be obvious." We handed them back to him in about five minutes. I had to really think about one question, and was glad I was working on the Calculus two book. Stacey seemed unfazed. He looked each one over, and smiled. "You've proved your point. You are both academically superior students, with exceptional potential. You will find the classes here to be well within your abilities." He looked at us again. "Now, for what is probably more important to you, what do you want from our institution?" That was totally unexpected. Stacey was far faster than me at replying. "I am a performing arts and history major. I play several instruments, act, and am planning to become a teacher. I'm also interested in almost everything, and want to take another foreign language, and spend my first real college year studying history and music in the British Isles." He chuckled. "We place a high value on the arts. And offer several languages." Then he really grinned. "I completed my second masters degree, in Mediaeval Literature, at Cambridge. If you do well here, I can almost guarantee you admission to any of the better universities in England or Scotland." Stacey was all smiles. He looked at me. "And what about you, young er... man. What are your goals? "I want to make friends, have fun, and study math and science and engineering. And to swim and run track." I looked at him. "And I want people to quit telling me who or what I am supposed to be, or what I should look like. I am fine with who I am, and with my long hair. For some reason most adults find a fourteen-year-old who is sufficiently self-actualized to make that statement intimidating. I just want to enjoy being me." His expression was inscrutable. But I could hear the gears spinning. He was no dummy. "You may find that there is a dichotomy between being yourself and making friends, especially among the students here. There is little question that you and your sister are going to run afoul of the Academy's dress code. How well you fit in with the other students will be a test of your ability to adapt to a far different environment than you have previously experienced. I see no reason to mislead you. The atmosphere here is highly competitive in all venues. Academics is but one area where you will have to swim among the sharks." I stared at him and I wondered what new quirk fate had tossed into my already rocky path through life. We heard a bell ring, a real bell, and he looked at a clock. "Since you are guests at this point, I will invite you to partake of lunch, on the school." Stacey, starving as usual, agreed for both of us. We got a lot of strange looks from the students. Who looked strange to us. All the girls wore skirts or dresses. The guys wore slacks and dress or polo shirts. The longest hair I saw on any guy barely touched his collar. And he looked like a musician. The lunchroom looked more like a dining room. The atmosphere was subdued; none of the ruckus we were used to hearing. And the food was real. Dr. Hamilton was watching us. "Quite different from the other schools you have attended?" Stacey nodded. I was just staring. "I've been to weddings that were less formal." She shook her head. "I might have one outfit that would fit in." She looked at me. "Sam doesn't even own a pair of slacks." Suddenly she giggled. "Do the parents look even more formal?" He nodded. "Wait till you meet my Dad. His idea of formal is to put on a pair of Levi's without holes." Dr. Hamilton cringed. "So what do your Mother and Father do?" "Mom is an office manager and executive secretary. Dad is retired from the military, and when he can, he teaches at a university or does engineering and consulting. Or gives the local government hemorrhoids." Stacey giggled. "Our last school district had a policy that when he arrived for a conference, they were to call in reinforcements." Dr. Hamilton looked a bit green. We heard another bell. "That is the cleanup warning. Please place your trays on the conveyor next to the serving area, and meet me back at my office." We nodded, and waited until the rush was over before moving. "Stacey, I don't think I like this place. Everyone is so formal and stiff." I gave her a hug, and she held me for a minute. "Sam, I don't think we've got any choice. Mom seemed really happy when she called, and you know we have to settle down soon. And we both know this is a better school than our last one." I nodded. Schools attached to military bases were not bad. But they were not great, either. "With the move, Mom and Dad won't be able to afford a private school, and I have an awful feeling that any private school around here is even worse than this." I wanted to be back in the Midwest. But wanting was not getting me anywhere. So I held Stacey's hand as we made our way back to Dr. Hamilton's office. He and the first lady we met, Ms. Roth- something, were waiting for us. "Mrs. Rothveldt is in charge of registration. Because school is already in session, I recommend that you attend as many classes as possible while you and your family are getting settled into the area. You can go to classes on an audit basis until you are able to attend full-time." "Here are the school information packets, and other information about the district and our programs." He handed Stacey two large folders. "Unless you have any questions for me, I will turn you over to Mrs. Rothveldt for the rest of your orientation. Welcome to our school." We shook his hand, and he ushered us out of his office. We followed Mrs. Rothveldt to a conference room, where someone had spread forms and other papers in two rows. "Can I please have your transcripts and test scores?" Stacey handed her the copies, and she matched them to individual elements of each row. "Do you have current school physicals, and hopefully copies of your immunization records?" Stacey dug further in her pack. Like I said, she is the organized one. Mrs. Rothveldt looked extremely pleased. "Excellent, you have almost everything needed." She motioned for us both to sit, and she handed each of us a listing of classes. "Normally class selection here is made by the parents. It is obvious from your transcripts that your parents let you make your own choices. Since you are unfamiliar with what we cover in each class, please select the classes you wish to take, and I can describe what is covered. Some classes are full, and of course the classes must not conflict." We stared at the lists. "Do you have some scratch paper?" She handed us several sheets each, and pencils. Stacey finished first. "Is there a local college or university where I can take some advanced classes?" Stacey was looking at Mrs. Rothveldt, who nodded. "The nearest school is twelve miles away, but is primarily a religious seminary." Stacey and I both cringed. "Stacey, I am aware of your advanced work in mathematics and several other areas. I would recommend that here you concentrate on the social and political sciences, language, music and the arts, and classes in personal grooming and deportment. They will help balance your skills, and provide you an excellent background for the international studies Dr. Hamilton says are your goal." Stacey nodded, and went back to the list. I handed Mrs. Rothveldt my list. I had checked the times, and it looked it would work. She scanned it, and crossed off two courses. "Chemistry two is filled. And you must be sixteen to take fencing." She checked the other entries. "How is your formal writing ability?" I looked at the floor, and Stacey snickered. "He can't tell a participle from a parsnip." I glared at Stacey. "Then Samuel, I recommend that you begin with an introductory grammar and exposition course. Our school places a very high emphasis on effective writing skills." I groaned. I hated English. She looked at me. "You will find the advanced Physics course a bit simplistic because of your mathematical skills, but enjoyable. The American History course is required by the State, but ours is much more in depth than most, and many students test out of equivalent college courses as soon as they complete our offering." "We require that each student complete at least two years of a foreign language. However, starting in the middle of a semester is not recommended. So I will not approve your selection of Russian at this time." I nodded. I had expected that to bounce. "Let me go through and show you what I recommend." She handed me her recommendations, and checked and approved Stacey's courses. Her ideas were actually pretty good, especially with her notes about what would follow for next year. I wanted to argue the "personal grooming and deportment" entry, but it was obvious that I would have to take those classes, and soon. "What is this physical education class about?" "All students must take physical education unless excused for medical reasons. Individual sports such as weight lifting are available as electives, but don't count. Because of your other classes, the only boy's class available is a series of competitive sports. Football in the fall, basketball over the winter, and baseball in the spring." "I hate football, basketball, and baseball." I looked at the class list. "What about this one?" She actually giggled. "Aerobics? Only girls take advanced aerobics." "A lot of guys who swim and run track do aerobics in the off- season to stay limber and in shape." Stacey nodded. "So that is the class I want." "There is a specific exercise uniform requirement..." "I suspect there is a specific clothing requirement for breathing." Mrs. Rothveldt gave me a withering look. We agreed to disagree, and she was chuckling as I was signed up for aerobics. She collected some papers from each row, and placed them in an envelope. "These are for your parents. Please have them complete the marked areas, and bring them in when they are ready to formally register both of you." She smiled at us. At least it looked like a smile. "I suspect it will be an interesting year." We headed for the hall, clutching our information packets. Stacey looked stressed. "Well, Sis, what do you think?" "I want to go back home." I gave her a hug. "Me too." We left and started our hike back to the motorhome. When we got back Mom and Dad were waiting. They took one look at our faces, and their smiles disappeared. "Okay, what's wrong?" "We want to go home." Mom and Dad looked pained. "Everyone here is stuffy and formal and no fun." "Your mother and I have both signed three-year contracts, in positions we really like." Dad paused. "So it looks like you two will have to do your best to adapt to the local school. Your mother and I are looking forward to settling here." "Stacey, Sam, please, we know that moving to a new area is hard, and we didn't want to move, but we really had no choice." Mom gave each of us a hug. "We'll work with the school to try and make the transition easier." Mom cooked up dinner, and after showering, Stacey and I curled up together and fell asleep. For once I was glad of the cramped quarters in the motorhome; I needed the snuggle. By the weekend we had looked at several dozen houses, and surprisingly found THE house. It needed some repairs, the type Mom and Dad liked to do, and was much bigger than our old place. Because the house was empty, and we were going to pay much of the cost in cash, Dad was able to get a really good deal, and an agreement for immediate occupancy. So on Monday we started to move in, and wired up a connection for the motorhome. Tuesday Stacey and I sat down with Mom and Dad, and went over the paperwork from the school. We were sick. Boys were expected to wear slacks, dress or sports- shirts or polo shirts, and dress shoes unless the weather required additional protection, when galoshes and raincoats or winter coats were recommended. Girls were to wear conservative skirts, below the knee, and blouses, or an equivalent dress. Low- heel pumps were the approved shoes, although conservative heels were acceptable. Then there were the grooming requirements. No gaudy jewelry, no unnatural hair coloring, no outlandish hair styles such as cornrows, Mohicans, or spiked hair. When we reached the part about length, I screamed. "No Way!" Boy's hair was to be maintained no longer than collar length, and for boys, ponytails, braids, and ducktails were forbidden. So were earrings other than small plain studs. "Sam, when we grew up most schools had regulations like these." Dad was trying to calm me down, and I was not cooperating. "I will not cut my hair for any stupid fascist school." I was hopping mad. "I will tear their damn school down brick by brick, and break each brick into little pieces. I'll..." "You will watch your language, young man, or have soap for lunch." Mom looked at me. "Don and I will talk to the school." Dad nodded. "So what else do we need to know about your new school?" We went over the remaining paperwork. Suddenly Stacey started to giggle. "Um, Sam, I think that your hair is going to be the least of your problems." She handed me a sheet marked "Aerobics Class Uniform- Advanced". When I saw what was making her giggle, I turned green. "Opaque tights, and a conservative, long-sleeved leotard will be worn by all students, as will supportive undergarments to maintain a modest appearance. Leather dance slippers, not ballet slippers, are required. Leg warmers, sweat bands, and hair bands may be worn if desired, and of suitable coloration and design." When Mom saw the list, she snickered, and Dad looked upset. "Sam, this list is for a girl's aerobics class." "They don't have a boy's class, and the only other gym class was competition sports, like football and basketball." They knew I hated those sports. I was not physically aggressive, and had been roughed up too many times. "I bet Sam will look really cute in a leotard and tights." Stacey was grinning at me. "It's not funny. How would you feel if you had to wear only a jock strap and trunks to gym?" She grimaced, and covered her chest. "So don't make fun of me. I'm certain everyone else will." "I will take you both to school tomorrow, and speak with the principal about these requirements." He looked carefully at me. "However, Samuel, I suspect that the tights and leotard requirement is legitimate." He looked at Mom, who nodded. "Nancy, I want you to take them shopping this afternoon, and get them both a couple of school outfits. And get Sam one set of whatever is required for the aerobics class." "But Dad..." "Samuel, altering your body, which includes cutting your hair, is one thing. Requiring you to wear specific clothing is quite different. So if they require slacks and a dress shirt, that is what you will wear." "Maybe he should go for a skirt and blouse, then he won't have to worry about his hair, except to keep it neat." Mom gurgled, Dad sputtered, and I sat there with my mouth open. Stacey quickly blurted out. "Hey, I was just joking!" I got up and ran out to the motorhome, and curled up on the couch. That was where Stacey found me. "Sam, I was just kidding." "You know how much trouble I've had because people thought I was a girl. I can't help the way I look, or sound." She curled up around me and we snuggled. "Maybe I should just run away." "Like you would get very far around here?" I nodded sadly. I was still upset when Mom came and got us, saying we would eat lunch while we were out shopping. I was surprised to find that the village had a wide variety of nice shops. There was also a shopping center, which Mom wanted to avoid. Stacey quickly found three really nice skirt-and-blouse combinations on sale, and then matching shoes. I wound up with two pairs of slacks and four shirts that Mom assured me would be somewhat comfortable once they were washed several times. Shoes were a problem, until I found a pair of walking shoes that looked dressy. Lunch was at a small bakery. It put McDonald's on my avoid list. Their food was wonderful. When we visited a dance and theatrical supply to get me the tights and leotards, it got ugly. The sales lady first addressed me, in a strong French accent, as "miss", and then stared, and finally chuckled when she was told by Mom that I was her son. "He's so precious. Does he have a gaff to go with his new leotards?" We looked at her. "A gaff is a special type of underwear that keeps his private parts hidden, so he will look proper on stage." I almost died of embarrassment when the sales-lady had to measure me for the leotard and tights, and instruct me how to put on and adjust the gaff. She added a matching sweatband to the outfit to keep my hair out of my eyes. When I came out of the dressing room to look at myself in a full- length mirror, Stacey gasped out "Oh My God!" Mom stared at me like I was painted green. When I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw the teenage girl staring back at me, I froze in shock. "I told you he was precious. So few boys look that feminine, that natural, without far too much makeup and assistance." We all looked at the sales lady like she was daft. "Only one thing is missing." She went to the back of the shop, and returned a minute later carrying a small box. Treating me like a statue, she pulled the top of my leotard out, and careful stuck two cool, wiggly objects on my chest, then repositioned the leotard. "Ah, that is so much better." I now had small, prominent breasts, and looked almost as old as my sister. I stood up straight, turned slowly, and stared at the girl looking back at me from the mirror. The resemblance to my sister was incredible. My lower body, lean and well muscled from years of swimming and track, gave me the figure of a young female athlete. "Sam, are you okay?" Mom came over and hugged me. I wasn't sure what I was. "She is so pretty, much more poised and graceful than most of the young women her age that come here for exercise clothes." "I am not a girl!" I managed to find my voice. "No, Mon Cheri, you are a young woman. I can see it in your eyes. You are still too young and na?ve to understand." She turned to Mom, who was still holding me. "I will sell you the breast-forms at cost. Consider them an investment in her future." "Mom! I'm a boy. B O Y. Boy!" I started to jump up and down, and my chest jiggled, so I crossed my arms under "my" breasts, and glowered at them. Stacey was having trouble staying composed. "Sam makes a much better looking sister than she does a younger brother." Stacey snickered, then added "I wish my legs looked that good." "Stacey, leave your sister, I mean your brother, alone!" "MOM!" Stacey pinched my bottom, hard. "Ouch!" "And she's got a cute butt." She giggled, and dashed out the front door. Not thinking, I ran after her, threatening assorted mayhem, starting with strangling her with her ponytail. I caught up with her near the end of the block, and was going for her when an older woman grabbed me from behind. "Young lady, this is a public street, and you should be ashamed, acting like a ruffian, and running around indecently dressed." She wrapped her sweater around me. "Where are your parents?!" Stacey, who by now was thoroughly confused, pointed up the sidewalk, where Mom was rapidly heading our direction. The woman kept a firm grip on me until Mom arrived. "Your daughter seems to have forgotten about behaving and dressing appropriately in public" Mom stared at her, then at me. "Sam's no..." Stacey kicked Mom. "Ouch!" "SAMANTHA, my little SISTER, the nice lady is right, you really should be wearing at least a bra with that outfit." I gurgled and turned red. Stacey turned to Mom, who was rubbing her shin, and trying to comprehend what Stacey was saying. "Sam is just so impulsive, she chased me without thinking. I'll take her back to the theater shop." I had my mouth wide open, as Stacey grabbed my arm, and steered me back towards the store. I whispered as loudly as I could "You called me Samantha! I'm not a damn girl..." "Unless you want to explain why you are a boy with tits, I suggest you shut up and play along. That woman looks and acts like she owns this place." "I..." I shut up. She was right and, well, it was all too weird. When she hauled me in the door, the sales lady was waiting, and smiling. "Sam, I mean my little sister SAMANTHA here, was grabbed by a really stuffy old lady and told that it was indecent to be in public dressed this way. So do you have a skirt and bra that will fit her, so she can go back out without creating a ruckus?" My system went into overload, and I was unable to say anything intelligent as I was re-measured, and fitted with a lightly padded bra and a thin wrap skirt. Stacey looked out the door, and announced that Mom and the woman that had grabbed me were having a long and animated discussion as they headed this way. I wanted to crawl in a hole and pull the dirt over me. The worst was yet to come. The sales-lady sat me in a chair, and pulled out a set of shoes with high, blocky heels from under a counter. "Someone left these here a long time ago, and they were too nice to throw away. I think they are the right size..." When Mom and the older woman finally returned to the store, there I was, in a total daze, being tutored in how to manage heels. They both stared at me. So the sales lady made an announcement. "She really is a striking young woman, your daughter, and high spirited. I am certain she will prove quite a challenge when the young men come flocking to your door." Stacey broke out in giggles. I just barely managed to make it to a chair before I fell. "It's been a great pleasure talking with you; I never expected to meet my husband's new office manager and her lovely daughters out shopping. I must tell William about our conversation." The older woman gave Mom a hug, then kissed each of us on the cheek. "Bridgett, put whatever these delightful young ladies desire on my account, and make sure they are instructed in proper manners and attire before they depart." The sales lady curtsied deferentially to her. "I will be honored, Lady McWorter". The older woman smiled, and departed. Mom barely made it to a chair herself. "I see you and your daughters have met and impressed THE Lady McWorter." Mom stared numbly at the sales lady. "Angeline McWorter is a legend in this area. She and her husband are fabulously wealthy, and Lady McWorter is the driving force behind the return of old-fashioned courtesy and institutions here. She can make, or break, any business or organization with a wave of her hand." "I'm dead meat. When she finds out I'm not a girl she will have me tarred and feathered, and burned at the stake, and..." "I told her you were a boy, and she seemed absolutely entranced by the idea you could be so convincing." I goggled at Mom. "When I told her you were willing to dress in the leotard and tights because it was the only way you could take aerobics instead of football, she said she wished more boys were gentler. But now I don't know what to do. She invited the three of us to tea on Saturday, and emphasized that Samantha, not Sam, was invited. And her husband owns the business where I will start work on Monday." The sales lady spoke up "Well then, I would recommend that you find your daughters suitable outfits for the tea, and not worry. Now, since she has said that she will pay for whatever you desire..." When we finally headed home, I wondered if I was trapped in a soap opera. Or a horror movie. We had spent almost an hour at the theatrical shop being drilled on proper posture, grace, and attitude. I think I had it easier than Stacey. It was all new to me. She had to unlearn bad habits. Then we went dress shopping. Stacey was all enthusiastic about her new clothes, and Mom was muttering about the cost of having to get me both boys and girls clothes, and on top of it, having to buy both of us formal dresses for Saturday. Even if the exercise stuff, of which Stacey and I now had plenty, was free. Stacey said my dress was killer. I told her if anyone from school saw me I was gonna get killed. She told me they'd be asking me for dates. I said they would be bringing their dates to the hanging. "Both of you listen up. Before Saturday we will have to get Sam's hair and nails done, and we need to talk to your father about whether Sam is going to school as your brother or sister." "MOM, I AM A BOY, REMEMBER?" "You are shouting. Angeline seems to think you would do better in school, especially with your hair and feminine appearance, as a girl. I can take the pants, shirts and dress shoes back before the weekend, and can get my money back. What do you think, Stacey?" I sat with my mouth open. This could not be real. "Sam will make a great weird little sister. She's been kind of a pain as a brother, so..." "You can't do this to me, I'm not a girl, it's against the law, it's unconstitutional, it's..." "It's time you looked in a mirror." I stared at Mom in horror as she handed me the mirror from her purse. And stared even harder at the girl in the mirror staring back at me. I was silent the rest of the way home. When Dad got home, Mom collared him and told Stacey to go out to the motorhome and make dinner. I simply found a quiet corner where I could contemplate what was happening. I was still wondering what I had done to deserve being tortured when Dad came out and collected me. When I saw he was frowning, I wanted to run. "Your mother and I need to talk with you about tomorrow." "I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL AS A GIRL!" I jumped up and down, with my fists clenched at my sides. Just like me sister used to. And I was wearing a skirt, leotard, and a bra. He frowned again. "I talked to the school after you three went shopping." I shut up fast. When we collected on the floor of the dining room to eat, I noticed Stacey was very subdued. Dinner was simple and good. Stacey could cook well. So could I, but refused to, saying it was women's work. I thought I felt the ground quake. My world was getting shakier and shakier. After dinner we all helped clean up, and went back to the motorhome. "Sam, your father and I have discussed your school situation, and frankly, we don't know what to do. According to the school, they will not waive their dress regulations for anything other than medical or religious reasons. And you have neither. If you were a senior, they would have considered a temporary waiver, but as a freshman, they were adamant. And they have legal opinions supporting them." I sat and looked at my skirt. "Apparently Angeline McWorter called them after she met you, and also checked on the regulations. She was rather emphatic, and they apparently agreed that if you registered as a girl, they would not argue, and you could keep you hair long. For some reason she seems very interested in your attending the school as a girl." "Don't I have any say in this?" I was afraid I already knew their answer. "You can choose to cut your hair and join in with the rest of the male students in sports. Or you can dress and act like a cultured young woman at school, and dress the way you want after school. Sort of like wearing a uniform. Neither of us like the idea, but your mother did point out you do make a rather attractive girl." "MOM!" She smiled. Stacey's smile read: "Told you." "You have until ten tonight to decide. Your father recommends a scissors. I'm not so sure. You have never been comfortable with the aggressiveness of most boys. And spending some time as a teenage girl might teach you more respect for women." They got up and left me with Stacey. The look on her face had turned to one of sympathy. "Sam, you know you have always tried to be macho, and failed miserably. My friends have always thought you were gay, the way you look, move and act." I stared at her in shock, and she nodded. "I didn't want to tell you, because I knew how much it would hurt. And I do love you, little brother. But I meant it; you look a lot better as my sister than my brother. And I think you would find being a girl a lot easier." "I'M NOT GAY!" It came out squeaking. "I like girls. I can't help it if I look and sound a little like one." I started to sniffle. "And here everyone is telling me I should be a girl, and..." "No, you don't have to become a girl. We're not going to cut your thing off." I doubled over at the thought. "But there is nothing wrong with acting like a girl. We're a lot more fun than a bunch of stuffy boys whose whole purpose in life is trying to get into our underwear. And I can guarantee you a soft dress is a lot more comfortable than slacks and a dress shirt." "Oh My God, you mean that boys would be hitting on me and..." She giggled. "You'll need a stick to beat them off, as cute as you are." I wanted to die right there. We argued the pros and cons of by going to school as either a boy or a girl until almost ten. Talk about a no-win situation. With short hair I could be Samuel, a little kid who would get buried in the pecking order, especially because I was both non- aggressive and so far ahead academically. Visions of ivy-league school hazings made me tremble. As Samantha I could keep my hair, and most kids would avoid me, figuring I was weird. But people would think I was gay. My stomach churned as I realized they apparently did anyway. And girls would never date me. The problem was, they wouldn't date me now. It was almost ten when Stacey asked me what I had decided. I pulled out a quarter. "Heads I'm Samantha. Tails I'm Samuel. You flip it." She gave me a scared look. "That bad?" I nodded. "Okay." She gave it a mighty flip, and when it quit bouncing, she looked at the coin. "Well, little sister, we better go tell Mom and Dad they have a second daughter." I quietly fainted. When I woke up, I was snuggled against Stacey on the motorhome couch. The clock was beeping softly. "Time to get up, Stacey." She tried to pull her pillow over her head. I tickled her, and she screeched. I made it into the house ahead of her. When I reached the kids bathroom, I realized I was wearing a nightgown. It wound up in a heap, and after necessaries, I started the shower, then heard the door open. "Hey, like some privacy, please!" "Sorry Sis, but you need my help this morning." The shower door opened a bit, and she handed me a razor and shaving cream. "Do your legs and pits. And don't argue or I'll do it for you. Then put on the clothes I brought for you. And don't throw your nightgown on the floor." I wondered if I should try to drown myself. I decided it would take too long, and with my luck, I would just wind up barfing soapy water. When I got out of the shower Stacey inspected me, and after making disgusted noises re-did my pits. While I stood there beet red and naked. Even though she was also naked. I had not seen her completely without clothes in a long time, and it caused a very embarrassing reaction. Which made her giggle. I dressed while she showered. She insisted on brushing and braiding my hair, and did something to my face with makeup. When she added lipstick, I whimpered. I really whimpered when she put the lipstick in the purse Mom had bought me. Along with tissues and a bunch of other stuff. Mom and Dad met us when we came downstairs. There was a look of concern on their faces, and a tear in Mom's eye. "Don and I will take you to school this morning. Breakfast is ready." She looked carefully at me, and shook her head. "I know you are my son, but I can't tell you weren't born a girl." Dad was nodding. In the two-inch blocky heels, I swayed when I walked. I used a napkin, under threats, at breakfast. My aerobics stuff was in a gym bag. Stacey and I wound up in the back seat. She was looking at me with concern. "Sam, are you going to be okay?" I shook my head. "Just play it by ear. And act the way I always have, but nicer." I stuck my tongue out at her. "Careful, someone may take you up on that." When it finally sank in, I turned red. We got there early, and I found myself comparing Stacey and myself to the other girls. We looked just like them. And no one seemed to give either of us a strange look, other than that reserved for "new kids". When we entered the headmaster's offices, the secretary gave me a weird look, but said nothing. We wound up in their conference room with Ms Rothveldt and Dr. Hamilton. Apparently I was expected, as a girl. "I see that Angeline was right. She looks better than most of the freshman girls." I stared at Ms Rothsveldt. "Angeline called both Dr. Hamilton and me last night, and told us what you were going to do." She and Dr. Hamilton waved us into our seats. Dr. Hamilton began "This is a small village. By tonight most everyone will know Sam's story. I don't envy her the next four years. But I respect her choice. I'm not sure I could do what she is doing. And I will do my best to make her stay at this school as pleasant as possible." He looked at me. "Have you decided on a name?" I nodded. "Samantha Michelle McNeil. Or Sam. That way I won't get confused when I'm being Samuel when I'm not in school." He nodded. "We have arranged for you to have a key to the handicap washrooms. They are all individual, so you will have appropriate privacy. For aerobics class, the instructor will show you where a semi-private dressing area is located. We will expect you to respect the other girls' privacy as well." I stared at him. He was addressing me as she. "Um, Dr. Hamilton, I am still a boy, despite the clothes..." "For this to work, when you are at school, you are a young lady. You will use only the feminine pronouns when describing yourself. I see no reason to deceive you; this is going to cause quite a stir in these stuffy halls. How much you tell the other students is up to you, but remember that this is a small community, and most of our students are very intelligent." Ms. Rothsveldt got up and handed us our official schedules and sheets showing our lockers and combinations. "The first bell is in ten minutes. I recommend you find your lockers, and get ready for class. You will find the books you need in your lockers." She turned to me. "Samantha, I wish you the best of luck. You are going to need it." Stacey and I excused ourselves. At least our lockers were adjacent. By noon I had learned that the local students were as competitive as gladiators, and that my dress was more comfortable than dress slacks. And that most of the students were actually smart enough to hold intelligent discussions. I mused as I headed for the lunchroom that if I could just be my male self, I could maybe enjoy the school. I met Stacey and several other girls at the lunch table where she was holding me a spot. "Samantha, meet Angie, Ruth, Tabitha, and Wanda." Angie and Wanda were, well, girls. Ruth was a big, athletic girl with short dark hair. Tabitha was an attractive, pale girl about my size, who had beautiful, long, silver-white hair. "Girls, meet my younger sister Sam." They looked at me like I was fresh off a banana boat. Angie piped up, "At least you have a younger sister. I'm stuck with a stupid younger brother, and he is such a pest..." I choked on a piece of lettuce. "Um, don't they..." Stacey was pale as she shook her head. "I think I better go..." "No!" Stacey grabbed me. And took a deep breath. "You are going to find it hard to believe, but my sister Samantha here is really my brother, Samuel, who was given a choice of coming to school as a girl or cutting her hair." Their looked changed to one of skepticism. "So don't make fun of her. Everyone will soon know the story." She hugged me to her as they looked me over. "No way. Not a chance." Tabitha was studying me intently. The others simply shook their heads. "How old are you?" "Fourteen. How old are you?" "Fourteen, and a freshman. And if you are a boy, I'm a duck." "Start quacking." We stared at each other. Then the bell rang. That ended any discussion. It was obvious that being late was not a good idea. I finally arrived at the ballet studio for aerobics, my final class. When I found the teacher, she gave me a really strange look, and then directed me to a small dressing room at one side of the studio. Inside there was a common area, and individual changing cubicles. I tried not to stare at the partly dressed girls as I dashed for an empty cubicle, and changed. When I joined the rest of the class in the studio, I discovered Tabitha was already there. She came over and examined me from head to toe. "I win!" I shrugged and shook my head. "Prepare to quack." She gave me a funny look. "Class, attention please!" The instructor, a Ms. Kormanski according to my schedule, got everyone's attention. "We have a new student with us today. Samantha McNeil. Please come over here, Samantha." I started to shake, and carefully worked my way over to her. "Samantha is a special student here." She looked me over, and seemed confused. "I have been advised by Dr. Hamilton that Samantha is really a boy, who has chosen to attend school here as a girl so she will not have to cut her hair..." she looked at me again. "I am a boy, Ms. Korminski. Please do not make fun of me." Tabitha came over, and started to flap her arms and quack loudly. That totally confused everyone. I tried to escape, but Ms. Korminski grabbed me, and whispered in my ear "Are you sure you are really a boy?" I gave her a disgusted look, and nodded. "What do you want to be called?" "Sam." She nodded. "Class, attention please!" It got quiet. "Please treat Sam like one of you while she is in our class. I will not tolerate any harassment or improper behavior. Now line up, and we will go through our warm-up exercises." She worked us like we were training for the decathlon. I knew I would be sore in the morning. But it also meant that everyone was too busy to bother me. The moment I entered the dressing room after class I was grabbed by several older girls. "Okay sister, no one is going to pretend to be a boy for special privileges, and get away with it." I tried to struggle, but they were bigger and stronger than me. So I quit fighting. As they carefully peeled me out of my soggy exercise clothes, I wished for a quick and painless end. There were a lot of giggles when they found the padded bra with the silicone inserts. When they finally pulled off the gaff, there was dead silence. Followed by a mass exodus. In ten seconds there were only three of us left in the dressing room. Tabitha, me, and the girl who was holding my gaff like it was alive. I reached out and grabbed it, and she ran out the door. I quietly pulled it back on, and ignoring Tabitha entirely, got everything back into position. In the cubicle I re-dressed, and came out to find Tabitha waiting for me. "Please, forgive my not believing you, I..." "You were not one of the people stripping off my clothes either. So go away and leave me to my misery." "Is there anyway I can apologize?" I looked at her. "Yes. Kill me so I don't have to face another day like this." I waved at my dress. She hung her head and sat on a bench, crying. I wanted to tell her she deserved whatever she was feeling, but it just wouldn't come out. So I sat next to her and gave her a hug. She hugged me back, and I started to cry. That was how Stacey found us. She had heard a little about what happened when she got on the bus, and was afraid I had been hurt or would run away. So she was searching madly for me for quite a while. I filled Stacey in on what had actually happened while Tabitha changed. "And they just went silent and ran away." She held me while I shook again. Together they escorted me to the Headmaster's office, where Stacey used language I had rarely heard even from Dad to get someone's attention. The three of us wound up in Dr. Hamilton's office. When I finished describing what happened, he looked sick. "I never expected any of the students here to act in such a criminal manner. The girls who participated will be identified and expelled. I wish I could do more, but that will be up to you if you or your parents want to press criminal charges." "No. Please do not expel them." Everyone stared at me. "They did not injure me. And something like this was bound to happen." I looked at Dr. Hamilton. "I am an intruder into their space. What they did is wrong, but if they are expelled, everyone will blame me, and no one will win. Can they just be just be put on some kind of suspended sentence, and then maybe this can all blow over?" "But they stripped your clothes and underwear off and..." "Stacey, I was scared silly and embarrassed. Not injured. Now everyone will know that I'm really a boy, and will just leave me alone." I paused. "And no one had better complain if I use the girls washrooms or lockers after this." That made Tabitha giggle. "Samantha, if that is what you want, I will place them on sixty days probation, and have their parents provide a written apology." I shook my head. "The apology won't change anything. Just make sure they understand that what they did was unkind." He looked at me strangely. "I can tell you the names of those that took part." We all looked at Tabitha. She pulled out a notebook, and started writing. When Dr. Hamilton looked at the list, he scratched off one name. "Tabitha, you were the only one brave enough to stick around. Unless Samantha insists, you can consider your participation in the event and the punishment closed." I nodded. He looked again at the list. "There are going to be some mightily upset parents this evening." He looked thoughtful. "Since you three missed your busses, can I drive you home?" We all nodded. It turned out Tabitha lived about a half-mile from our new house. Or was it new cabin. Her house was three times the size of ours, and her front lawn was big enough for a football field. When we got to our house, the car was not there, so we thanked Dr. Hamilton, and headed inside. On the door was a note saying Mom and Dad would be home late, and to fix ourselves dinner and do our homework. Stacey grabbed me as I headed for my new room. "Sam, are you sure you are going to be okay?" I shook my head. "No, I'm going to be miserable, and lonely, and hate life. But right now I am going to take a long, warm shower, eat, and try to manage my homework. And see if I can find a reason not to just kill myself." I grabbed clean panties and a nightgown from the piles of clothes in my room, and headed for the bathroom. I was still mulling my future when I headed downstairs and found Stacey had cooked up a frozen pizza with lots of extra hamburger and stuff, and put out sodas for us. "Feeling better? I nodded, and tried to figure a good way to sit on the floor in a nightgown. "Lift the skirt, and when you are seated, let if fall free." It worked. "And if the floor is cold, find something to sit on." I looked at her, and then realized how thin the panties were. Her warning made sense. By the time Mom and Dad got home, we were finished with our homework, and I was curled up against Stacey on our bed in the motorhome, sound asleep. In the morning, Stacey almost had to use a fork to get me moving, and I dreaded what I would find when I got to school. It didn't help when Mom said we both had appointments at a beauty salon after school, and she would be picking us up. Stacey whispered in my ear that she had not told them about yesterday. I did not want to bring the subject up. As bad as the butterflies were in my stomach, it wouldn't be the only thing. We were one of the earlier bus pickups. When Tabitha got on the bus, she came dashing back to where we sat. Several other kids had given us funny looks when they got on, so I knew that most everyone had heard about yesterday. "Samantha, I was afraid you wouldn't be coming to school and..." "I might as well face the firing squad now." She and Stacey gave me concerned looks. "And I would have to tell Mom and Dad why I wouldn't go to school, which would probably be worse." Stacey nodded. Tabitha pushed me over against Stacey, and they tried to make a hug sandwich out of me all the way to school. Stacey was my sister, but I didn't know anything about Tabitha, and yet she was treating me like her friend. I started to get a headache, and decided to close my eyes and quit thinking. It almost worked. I started to shake when the bus pulled into the parking lot. I almost peed myself when I saw Dr. Hamilton head for me. He told Stacey to go to her classes, and asked me to follow him to the conference room by his office. When we entered, I tried to turn and run. Inside were the girls who had stripped me after aerobics. And each was accompanied by at least one very upset adult. Dr. Hamilton blocked my escape, and steered me towards the podium. I saw Tabitha being escorted in by Ms Rothsveldt. "I am going to keep this short and to the point. I spoke with each of you, and your parents, last night. Based on what happened, school rules allow me to immediately expel each of you for a year, and turn the matter over to the police for further actions." Several of the girls moaned and cried on their parents, who looked distressed. "And I was planning on taking exactly those actions, but someone interceded on your behalf." That caused a lot of staring and mumbling. "Samantha, the student that was assaulted, has requested that no one be expelled or suspended, and that the police not be involved." He motioned to me, and I managed to nod despite my nervousness. "She, and I am using the feminine pronoun intentionally, has been brave enough to take on the role of a girl at school to keep from cutting her hair. Last night she pointed out that expelling the girls who assaulted her would not solve anything. She does not want vengeance, which sometimes seems to be a way of life in this community." A lot of parents looked at the floor. "So I am placing every student involved on sixty days probation, which will be removed from their records if they stay out of trouble." There were gasps throughout the room. "And I expect that from now on every one of the students involved will treat Samantha with significantly more respect and courtesy than they normally give their fellow students. That is all I have to say on the subject. Now head for your classes. You can apologize to Samantha at aerobics class this afternoon." Dr. Hamilton took my hand, and escorted me to his office. "You did a lot of people a great service by deciding not to press charges or demand expulsion. With an offense like that on their records, it would be socially devastating, and would probably prevent them from entering any of the better universities. You have impressed some important people. I hope that you have made the correct choice for yourself." He got up and shook my hand. "Good luck. If you need help, or need someone to talk to, my door is always open." The second bell rang. "Now get to class." I was the last one seated, and everyone was staring at me. Before anyone started harassing me, the teacher got the class's attention. "What you have heard is probably correct. Samantha," she walked over and had me stand, "is actually a boy, who has chosen to attend school as a girl rather than cut her er... his, hair." There was a lot of mumbling. "So simply treat her as another girl in the class, and you won't wind up visiting the headmaster." She smiled weakly at me. "Besides, Samantha is already well ahead of most of you in academics, even though she is only fourteen." That got a lot of discussion, as this was a class of sophomores and juniors. Finally she decided to take control again, and started on yesterday's homework. It got quiet fast. A similar pattern followed in my second class, which was an all- girls class on grooming and deportment. Tabitha was in the class, and it soon became obvious that I was in deep trouble, at least academically. When they started on the day's lesson, which had to do with proper responses to a young man's advances, I wound up with my head in my hands, whimpering. This caused the teacher to intervene. "Samantha, please pay attention." I looked up. "Even though you are gay, when dressed as a young lady you a will be expected to manage appropriately in social situations." Everyone looked at me as I goggled at the teacher. I tried to respond, but all that came out were squeaks. Finally Tabitha goosed me, which got out an "AWK!" followed by my going into a coughing fit. Several of the others pounded me on the back, and one girl got me some water. When I was back to breathing again, I managed to get up and face the teacher. "I'm not gay. I know you don't understand, but I really like girls, even if I have to dress like one." I was ready to run from the room when Tabitha gave me a hug. The teacher looked skeptical. "Look, get off her case, please?" She hugged me tighter. "Just think of her as a really quiet lesbian who grew up a tomboy." I think my eyebrows went into low orbit. She gave me a kiss. Everyone started encouraging noises. "Hey, I've got a really cool idea!" I managed to pry my lips away from Tabitha and stare at one of the Laura Ashley types. "We're supposed to pick a class project, right?" I had no clue, but there was verbal agreement from many of the others. "Why don't we make turning Samantha into a real girl our project?" That got conversations flying. I looked in horror at Tabitha, who whispered in my ear "Don't argue. With all the girls working together, you'll learn real fast, and anyone interfering with their project will be lucky to get away alive." "But I'm not a lesbian!" She gave me another, longer, more involved kiss that made things really fuzzy. As I came up for air, the room was silent. The teacher was staring at us with amusement. "One of the first lessons Samantha will need is on what forms and displays of affection between young women are considered in good taste. And I think making her the class project is a wonderful idea." I tried to object, but Tabitha got close and personal with her next kiss, and I overloaded. When she finally released me, all I could manage was a smile. At lunch Tabitha and I sat with Stacey and several girls I had not seem before. Stacey went into a giggle fit when Tabitha told them what had happened in our last class. "Any boy stupid enough to mess with her now will wind up as guacamole." The other girls, who apparently already knew about me, agreed. Calculus 2 was the first afternoon class. I was the only student that was not at least a junior, and looked like a little kid compared to the rest. So I got bombarded with comments, especially of the "go home little weirdo" type from some of the guys, until the teacher decided it was time to act. "Class, it appears you have a problem with Samantha's appearance. Get over it. She is here to stay." I cringed. She paused, and then put a really nasty partial differential on the board. I recognized it immediately as a minor variation of the examples that seemed to be in all the books. "Anyone want to chance solving this equation?" There was dead silence. "Samantha, will you come up to the board please." I managed to get there without screaming. "Please show the class how to solve this equation, and explain each step." I managed a quiet, "I'll try, ma'am." A few minutes later I was completing the last steps, and got ready to sit down. The teacher kept me at the board. I noticed that everyone had been taking notes. "Anyone wish to challenge Samantha's analysis of the problem?" There were a lot of very sheepish looks. "Perhaps I should start grading on a curve?" She paused as several kids grimaced. "No? Well then, it is time to quit playing games and get back to studies." She turned to me. "Thank you, Samantha, for a good analysis of that equation. You may take your seat." I almost flew to my desk. The rest of the class went quickly. No one gave me any strange looks when I groaned loudly at the mention of weekend homework. I was just one of many with the same sentiments. As I got up to leave for my last class, a huge guy, one of those that had been giving me some grief, came over and blocked my path. I started to panic, but he introduced himself as Howard, and asked if I tutored Calculus. "I know that I made a fool of myself earlier, and I'm sorry. At least let me buy you a snack after school." I stared at him. "Um, I'm not a girl, and..." "And you are undoubtedly the best math student in the class and I need help or I'll get booted our of sports." He looked carefully at me. "Darn it, you're really cute. If you were a girl I'd get arrested for cradle robbing. At least think about tutoring. There are several others who need help, but are probably too embarrassed to ask." He glanced at his watch. "Oops, gotta get to class." He dashed off, leaving me staring at him. I almost jumped out of my skin when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It turned out to be the teacher. "Samantha, I hope you are not mad at me, but I figured they needed a kick in their egos." I nodded. "And you really are one of the best math students I have seen in many years. Please do not let the attitudes of a few interfere with your studies." I managed to nod as the bell rang. She scribbled a note, "This will take care of your being late. Good luck." I dashed for the ballet studio as fast as the heels would allow. When I got there, everyone was waiting for me. The teacher simply told me to, "Get dressed, and meet us in the studio." I nodded, and with great apprehension headed into the dressing room. Which was empty. So I hurried, and when I came into the studio, the teacher called me to the front of the class. "Class, I believe there are some of you that need to say something to Samantha." The entire contingent that had accosted me the day before came forward. I was trembling, and the teacher held me tightly. "Samantha, the other girls have, well, elected me to speak for them, since I'm the one that came up with the stupid idea to prove you were really a girl trying for favors." She swallowed and several others could be heard mumbling, "Keep going, bonehead." "Anyway, we all learned a lot from you. Dr. Hamilton was right, we were expecting to get what we would have wanted: revenge. Which doesn't say much that is good about any of us." There was a general assent. Only a couple of girls seemed to disagree. "So you have my, and most of our, apologies. Which for most of us are real and come from the heart. And most of our sincerest thanks. I can't say that fo