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Adam pulled into a shallow parking lot in front of a solitary commercial building uncomfortably close to the street. The wind almost slammed the Escalade's large door into Kelly's face as she tried to open it, as a merry prelude to wrecking havoc with her hair and dress. She hurried inside ahead of her brothers and mom, hoping to salvage at least some of the time she had spent styling her hair. Consequently, she burst into the photo studio in something of a rush;, only to run almost headlong into her father and a tall young man with a large, professional- grade camera hanging from his shoulder. Kelly stared at the photographer for a full second before she blurted, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Bradley Moore's eyes crawled over Kelly's figure before he answered, "It's my studio. Where else would I be?" That arrogant, condescending, worthless piece of shit. He HAD to know that he would be taking my picture today. Why didn't he say anything? Kelly glared at him in obvious anger, so obvious that even her Dad recognized that something was wrong. "Do you two know each other?" While the evil, smart-ass side of her brain ached to say, "Yes Daddy, I fucked his brains out,"; righteous anger overlaid with fear wiped out Kelly's ability to appreciate irony. Bradley replied, "I went to Ellison, Mr. Johnson," diplomatically neglecting to add, "with Jason." "Your mother didn't tell me." Her Dad deliberately looked back and forth between Kelly and Bradley, clearly trying to defuse an uncomfortable situation. Meanwhile, Adam walked in the door, saw Bradley, Kelly and his Dad; and abruptly stopped, almost causing Pete and their Mom to run into him from behind. Her Dad's eyes locked onto Kelly, and he finally said, "Bradley's mother is part of my prayer group. She told me that he owned a photography studio." Of course Dad would use this damn studio. How many times has he told us, "Always do favors for your friends and acquaintances; you never know when you need one back." Kelly felt her face go slack with resignation. "Fine, let's take some pictures." I hope to God that Mom didn't pick up that there's more to my reaction than me freaking out over running into someone who knew Jason. Kelly purposefully strode toward Bradley's "living room" set, clearly intended for family portraits. Her Mom and Dad sat down on a small loveseat in front, while Pete and Kelly flanked Adam right behind them. Bradley looked through his camera sight, then straitened up and grinned. "Ummm...Kelly...maybe you'd like to brush your hair?" Bradley produced a large hand mirror from a small cabinet right next to his camera setup and brought it to Kelly. Reaching down to the floor for her purse, she pulled out a wide-toothed brush and went to work on her hair. Adam and Pete stared at her proficiency. I can do girl-stuff! Get over it! Bradley clicked away as Kelly steamed. He seemed to enjoy looking at her through his camera lens, as if she were somehow in his power. Just when she thought it could not get any worse, Bradley asked her Mom, "Would you like an individual portrait of Kelly?" Like hell I'm going to play fashion model for that creep. Then Kelly noticed the hopeful glance her mother shot in her direction. Suddenly, Kelly realized that her mother did not have a single picture of her. If I let this drooling idiot stop me from doing normal things with my family, why did I bother coming home in the first place? Bradley, her brothers, her Dad; none of them were really the problem. Even a year-and-a-half after surgery, Kelly's own femininity still embarrassed her. That's me, Kelly the transsexual misogynist . Forcing herself to smile, Kelly nodded her approval. "Sounds good to me." A slow smile spread across Bradley's face as he extended his hand to Kelly, "Follow me." She ignored the hand, but walked gracefully to his side, her heels clacking on his wood floor. As she drew close to him, Bradley whispered, "I was going to call..." She hissed, "Save it! Do your job." He shrugged, then continued to lead her toward a tall stool in front of a pale blue portrait backdrop. Bradley carefully positioned her on the stool, so she would look over her right shoulder toward the camera. He fussed with the ends of her hair, pushing the right side of her hair behind her shoulder and making sure the left side hung attractively. Returning to his camera, he looked through the sight once more. Not satisfied, he adjusted a nearby lamp until the light source bathed Kelly exactly the way he wanted. Finally, he said, "Smile!", and pressed the shutter. Frowning at the digital thumbnail he had just taken, he muttered, "Too stiff". He seemed just about ready to tell her to "loosen up" or some other kind of photographic drivel, when Kelly glared him into silence. He seemed at a loss how the proceed, until he said, "Let's try it without the stool." Kelly rose as he stood up from behind his tripod set-up and rapidly darted to her right. Kelly wondered if he intended to aim a fan at her hair and start playing some atrocious pop-music when she heard the mechanized whir of a camera firing off consecutive shots in rapid succession. Instinctively, she turned toward the sound, only to see Bradley aiming his portable camera at her and exclaiming, "Perfect!" He strode confidently toward her, turning his camera around to proudly display the thumbnail of the photo he had just taken. His sense of victory screamed from his posture as he loomed over her, even in her 3- inch heels. She wanted to yell at him, scream at him, think of a comment so cutting that she would demolish the obvious satisfaction he took from completing the job. But her normally active mind failed her. What does he think he won? I wish I knew. Does it really matter? * * * Kelly looked at her body as she peeled out of her "little black dress", thinking about her encounter with Brad. Clad only in a black lace bra- and-panty set, she could not help but take inventory of her "assets". You're a beautiful girl. Really. Why isn't that enough? During the long hours that Kelly had stared in the mirror before her transition, she had believed that achieving a perfectly feminine appearance would win her the happiness she craved. Now her nose was no longer too big, dark stubble no longer infested her chin, and deep blue eyes shone forth from a delicate, surgically-constructed face. Her velvet-smooth hands no longer pulsed with ugly veins from Jason's brutal weight-lifting regimen; and still, it was not enough. You're just as dumb as Jason. Kelly turned over the palm of her right hand, and felt the calluses at the base of her fingers with her thumb. No matter how diligently she filed at them with an emery board, she could not eradicate these scars from Jason's combat with rough barbells. She remembered the bleeding hands and feral screams with which Jason willed hundreds of pounds into the air, fueled by hope and self-hatred. Am I any different? Kelly desperately hoped so, because the last time she had felt this lost she had ended up with a gun in her mouth. * * * Kelly lay curled in her bed, hopelessly waiting for the 25mg dose of Prozac she had taken to clear the depressed fog from her head. However, instead of relief, she could FEEL the front of her brain pour chemical misery throughout her soul. She knew, KNEW, that she should not feel so bad. All that had happened was that she had met the guy that had used her as a sexual experiment. It was his problem, not hers. Then why am I hiding in my bed hugging a pillow to my chest? Kelly's mind drifted back to the first job she had as a woman. NO NO NO NO, she silently screamed at herself. But, her abused brain whirled, trapped in a loop. She could not stop the inevitable memory... * * * Kelly defiantly stalked into Wrigley Field Bar and Grill to apply for a waitress job. Just yesterday, her therapist had denied her surgery letter because she had spent the last year holed up in her Fort Wayne apartment, deliberately avoiding social interaction while she slowly reshaped her body and mind. She had never worked in a restaurant, didn't know crap about baseball; and, more importantly, had never worked a day in her life as a girl. She was, quite simply, utterly terrified. The young manager that interviewed her, however, seemed less concerned with her experience than he did with Kelly's surgically-enhanced chest. At least, he had spent far more time looking at Kelly's just-healed boobs than he did her application. Apparently, her surgeon's work passed muster, because he hired her on the spot. She needed a job. But, why she had walked into the maelstrom of alcohol, sports and sex that swirled in the Wrigley, she never could figure out. Maybe she wanted to prove something to herself. Maybe she wanted to jump into the "deep end" of femininity. Or, maybe she just liked the idea of someone paying her to act cute. No matter what her reason, she had been completely unprepared by the year she had spent reading "Elle" and sucking down teen reruns on SoapNet. In many ways it was the best year of her life. God, did she learn. Oh, boy did she learn. She learned what it was like for guys to be the "other" sex. She learned what "being cute" on an everyday basis meant. She learned to walk weeks on end on a sprained ankle and how carrying a trays of food could make her arms ache in a way that 400lb bench-presser Jason could never have imagined. Her work uniform consisted of a button-up replica Cubs jersey (cut for a boy), short short cutoffs, and a smile. As her new work-friend Jesse put it, "Big hair plus big boobs...equals big tips!" Of course, long, golden- tan legs didn't hurt either. Despite Jesse's motto, Kelly learned that earning big tips had a lot more to do with attitude than raw looks. Oh they helped, make no mistake; but that first month, when Kelly had been so lost, so out-of-place, she barely earned more than her base pay. Her co-workers simply assumed she had come from a tiny, bible-belt community lost in farm country. Kelly never bothered to correct them, only grateful that her co-workers had created a rational explanation for her awkwardness. Kelly watched the other waitresses flirt and chat with regulars, watched them accept heavy arms hung casually across their shoulders or around their waist, calling them "sweetie" or "hon" or "darling". Eventually, she learned how to do it herself. Monkey see, monkey do. Drunk men called her "tease", "bitch", "cunt", "whore" and "slut" because she failed to swoon at slurred, obnoxious sallies. She learned to ignore it all. The stark reality, however, was a far cry from her childish fantasies of casually manipulating men with her feminine whiles. She lost fifteen pounds while she worked at the Wrigley, dropping from a too-angular 138 to a soft 123. Instead of the better treatment she expected, the customers seemed to become more obnoxious the better she looked. Of course, her tips did get bigger. Despite it all, she came to like some of the regulars. For every rude fat guy, there was a cute, charming one. She even started thinking a few of them were "hot". And then there was Evan. Evan, who made completely average physical stats (5'10, 180lbs. brown hair, brown eyes) completely un-boring. Evan, who with easy confidence stripped away all but her last, desperate "you're a customer" defense. Evan, who made her wish the future would hurry up and become reality so she could find out what she had been missing her whole life. Evan. She trudged (and waitresses do little else but "trudge") through summer, fall and winter until she finally quit, just before boarding a plane for Thailand. To Kelly, flying half-way across the world to change her sex felt metaphorically proper. In fact, Thailand did not feel strange ENOUGH. To Kelly, it would have felt more appropriate if Thailand had been located in the Southern Hemisphere, because winter would have been summer; or if the sun rose in the west, or had the sky glowed burnt orange instead of baby blue. No matter. Despite the prosaic luxury of her Bangkok hotel suite, Kelly would be "one of the girls" for the rest of her life. Kelly returned to the Wrigley on a glorious spring day five weeks later. She wore a pale yellow cami and a flirty white skirt, with a cacophony of bangles encasing her left wrist. As she had hoped, Evan was perched in his favorite stool: right in front of a 50-inch plasma tuned to a Cubs spring training game. They have to be picking it up from MLB.com. Oh God, who freak'n cares? Evan's hungry gaze roved over her multiple times before he smugly reminded her, "I'm not your customer anymore." She unconsciously leaned back, looking up at him with gleaming eyes, and delicately swished the floor in front of her with one dainty foot. Finally, she smiled and said, "I know." He draped his arm around her in response, gently caressing her bare shoulder with his possessive right hand. "Can I buy you a drink?" "Sure. A Blue Hawaiian, please." Because it matches my eyes. I'm so twisted. Despite her self-condemnation, her drink choice DID have another purpose besides pure vanity. Part of her hoped that if she held a big blue glass against her face that he would look at her big blue eyes rather than the necklace that rested just above her cleavage. Kelly wasn't an idiot. She knew exactly where this was headed. She was, however, the girl. All she had to do was to slip onto a bar-stool, cross her legs, and wait for him to make his play. Unless he completely botches it, the only real question is if I can stop myself from screaming "YES!" when he asks. To Kelly's utter annoyance, Evan seemed perfectly content to watch the game. She fluffed her hair, pressed the inner half of her calf against her knee to make her curvy legs bulge, and even loudly sucked at the dregs of her Blue Hawaiian with her straw. Nothing worked. Why couldn't Abner Doubleday have drowned in a pond before he had a chance to invent baseball? Evening turned into night. Bar patrons wandered out the door. Working friends and acquaintances stopped to say "Hi". All she could really do was to keep smiling. Finally, he asked, "Would you like to go to Tiffin's for some pie?" It took all of Kelly's willpower to answer with a demure, "I'd love to." Kelly grabbed her purse from the bar and headed for the door, before Evan could find something else to distract him. She also wanted to make sure he got a good long look at how perfectly the flirty skirt framed her ass. She lightly grabbed his left wrist and pulled him along behind as she confidently strode toward the exit. Just as they reached the door, Kelly turned and gave a cheery wave to her disposable friends, and walked into the cold night. Twenty minutes later, Kelly sat across from Evan with a large piece of peach pie between them. The way she molested her fork with the tip of her tongue should have been criminal, but Evan never considered filing a complaint. Abruptly, he tossed a twenty on the table, waved at the waitress, and pulled Kelly out the door. His insistent kiss pressed Kelly's back against the passenger door of his cobalt blue Lexus. The hard bulge that throbbed against her belly made his intentions perfectly clear. She whispered, "My place." He immediately released her and stomped around the front of his car to pull open the driver's door. Sir Galahad, he is not! But, she intended no malice. In his rush, Evan had neglected to open the passenger door for Kelly; but the oversight only made her giggle. His failure seemed due to anxiety rather than any lack of chivalry. The too-long drive home and the giddy walk to her apartment were really nothing more than a pleasant blur, and her next strong memory was nearly losing her virginity in her foyer. She wrestled free just in time, and then turned and slowly led him to her bedroom, gracefully shedding her clothes on the way. Beat that, Hansel and Gretel! She was completely naked by the time she turned around to him inside her bedroom, back-lit by the neon glow that shone from her aquarium. She didn't have a single moment to burn the scene into her memory before he hurled her onto the bed, only bothering to pull at his shirt after he had her completely pinned beneath him. Once he finally pulled free of his clothes, Kelly eagerly spread her legs. And.... Oh God, that HURTS! Unfortunately, her fresh-out-of-the-factory vagina wasn?t producing lubrication quite up to spec. Evan seemed completely oblivious to her distress; he simply kept pumping into her. Surprisingly, he finally found a happy place where Kelly began to feel far more pleasure than pain. And then it happened. Jason's deep voice screamed "OHHHHHHH" as Kelly came close to her first non-self induced orgasm. His every muscle hardened into steel as he pulled out of her in a flash. A rough hand grabbed Kelly by the throat as he pressed his face nose-to- nose with her, the gold cross he wore about his neck resting on her cheek. He snarled, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!?" Kelly's panicked, roving eyes searched the ceiling for nonexistent answers. "I...I...I..." she stammered, until his open palm slammed into her headboard in rage, rattling the porcelain unicorn collection on her nightstand. "TELL ME!" "I'm...I'm...I'm..." "WHAT!" Kelly pitched her voice as little and as high as she could, "...a transsexual." He sat up in her bed, dazed and confused. While Kelly softly sobbed in her bed, uncertain spasms rippled across his muscular chest until he finally decided how he should react. Gently, it seemed, he pulled Kelly up from her warm mattress until she stood naked before him. He screamed, "YOU FUCKING FREAK!", and smashed his hard right fist directly into her nose. His fists crashed into her in a whirlwind of hate, demolishing the face that Kelly had spent more than $40,000 to create. Even after she had curled into a defensive ball at his feet, he kicked and stomped at her until she could feel no more. An indeterminate time later, she woke to find herself lying nose-first in a pool of her own blood. The faint bubbling of her aquarium filled her otherwise silent apartment. In the dim light, Kelly saw white shards at the edge of her vision. Her suddenly throbbing mouth told her that Evan must have knocked out one her her teeth. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, not even bothering to make any pretense at not crying. Belatedly, she realized a tangled hank of hair clung to her face, pasted there by dried blood. Dimly, she recalled Evan grabbing her by the hair and slamming the back of her head into the bedroom wall. She groaned, then managed to crawl to the bathroom on her hands and knees, her still-bubbling nose trailing blood on the parquet floor of her bedroom. Kelly slithered over the side of her bathtub, and lay flat on her back on the cold, white porcelain She felt between her legs with a plaintive, battered hand. The acrid scent of semen on her finger told her that Evan had cummed inside her before he beat her into pulp. Guess I'm not a virgin anymore. She turned the cold water tap with one perfectly-manicured foot, hoping to forestall some of the bruises that Kelly knew had to be blossoming under her abused skin. She shivered in the tub, as she watched the water slowly turn a sickly pinkish brown as the dried blood that caked her body slowly dissolved. She tolderated the cold as long as she could, until she finally popped the drain. Numb with both cold and emotional overload, she turned on her side as the tub emptied. Curled in fetal position, she fell into desperately necessary oblivion. * * * Kelly lay in her bed, her pillow stuffed in her mouth to muffle the grief that she could not let herself feel two years ago. The front of her brain throbbed worse than before, and she wondered if the damned Prozac would give her even a little bit of help. Evan, Brandon, Bradley. Three times isn't an accident, it's the beginning of a pattern. You can't keep sleeping with guys the first time you meet them. You'll either end up walking street-corners or in a morgue. Why do I keep doing this to myself? * * * Kelly did not find any real answer the next few days, but she did, however, resolve not to hide her "Kelly" habits any longer. Over the next few days, she performed her normal belly dancing routine to "Shimmy" on Discovery Health, drooled over the guys on "Grey's Anatomy" and shamelessly played Christine Aguilera CD's on her parents stereo. But even the afternoon Christmas shopping trips with her mom, did not really help. Oh they were fun. She learned to interact with her mom in a whole new way by participating in the quintessential female bonding activity. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, Kelly simply could not screw up the courage to ask her mother's advice about her sexual dilemma: not when her mother was just becoming comfortable with her daughter. Despite this severe restriction, Kelly still greatly cherished these days with her mom. They searched clothing racks, jewelry displays and makeup counters together, slowly discovering each other's tastes. They shared latte's at Starbucks, and browsed through books at Barnes & Noble. They even went to a nail salon together. Through these seemingly trivial activities, the two gradually learned to relate to one another as women. As pleasant as these days were, Kelly began to dread the coming weekend. Kelly's various Uncles, Aunts, cousins and even more distant family branches tended to gather at her parents' large house just before Christmas. Many times, they even brought friends. Of course, Kelly fully expected this year's gathering to be a closed family lodge to deal with "Kelly the Transsexual". Lord, will it never end? * * * Kelly sat in her parents spacious den on Saturday afternoon. She had carefully dressed in white capris, a sleeveless emerald green top and matching ballet flats. "Tequila Sunrise" played on the TV, in the forlorn hope that a little bit of Michelle Pfieffer's classy and competent character would soak into her personality at the 11th hour. Kelly could not help but think about the scene from Peter Jackson's King Kong when his captors had introduced the caged beast to New York society. Stop it! Just stop it! If you insist on thinking of yourself that way, how can you expect them to act any different? Adam watched her from the sofa and apparently recognized her anxiety because he said, "Don't worry, sis," glancing at Pete for support, "we have your back." Despite Adam's assurance, Kelly did not feel any less anxious. She knew she would be on display and she could do nothing more than act as "normal" as she could. How her relatives reacted would be up to them. Moments later Aunt Sara, trailed by her two daughters, carried covered dishes of home-made food into the room. Oh great, Cruella de Ville and her prot?g?s. Aunt Sara's two daughters, Brenda and Katie, were everything that Kelly wished she could have been when they had all been in High School. Brenda was a year younger than Kelly, and Katie two. They had been pretty and popular cheerleaders, with honey-blonde hair, good grades and bushels of friends and boyfriends. When they had all been teenagers, Brenda and Katie had pretty much pretended that Jason did not exist: even though they had all attended Ellison at the same time. Somehow, she doubted that becoming "Kelly" had won her any points with her elitist first cousins. Kelly uncomfortably recrossed her legs in her wing-chair, waiting for the first blow to fall. Brenda blurted, "YOU'RE SO PRETTY!" What!?! Kelly's hypertrophied emotional armor forced her to believe that Brenda had merely set up some kind of cruel reversal. Shut up Jason, let the girl talk! Aunt Sara looked at her oldest daughter with appalled shock. Meanwhile, Brenda and Katie hurriedly set down their dishes on the nearby sofa table, and rushed toward Kelly. Kelly barely had time to rise from her seat before Brenda and Katie greeted her with serial hugs. You're so pretty!?! Did Brenda really just say that? Brenda continued, "I love your hair. I wish I could get mine to hold spiral curls like yours." Kelly knew she should return the compliment, but Brenda's "welcome to the sisterhood" greeting had left her dumbfounded. Katie turned to her sister and added, "She must live in the gym to have legs like that." "I know. It's not fair." She. Katie called me she! Kelly spotted a sparkling ring on Katie's left hand and asked, "Is that what I think it is?" Katie's beamed a happy grin in Kelly's direction while Brenda answered, "Little Sis got engaged three weeks ago. His name is Whit, if you can believe it, and he's disgustingly nice." Katie proudly chirped, "He just made junior partner at Barnes and Thornburg." "Talk to him for five minutes and he makes you think that even lawyers can be socially acceptable, with adequate training." Katie elbowed Brenda's upper arm. "Stop it! He never says anything but good things about you!" Brenda snickered. "Seriously. He seems like a good guy. I couldn't be happier for Little Sis." Kelly enviously agreed, "Sounds perfect." An abashed Katie retorted, "Well, he's short. He's only 5'8"." Brenda glanced at the grandfather clock, then mouthed a silent question at Katie who nodded her agreement. "Kelly, we'd like to stay and chat but we really only dropped by to help Mom with the food. Katie and I have an appointment at La Dolce..." Oh great. I knew it was too good to be true. Katie helpfully added, "It's a spa." "...and we were wondering if you would like to come along." Obviously, Brenda and Katie had carefully planned an escape from their cousin, Jason the perverted tranny. Probably after hearing horror stories from their mom. Something pretty drastic must have happened after they walked into the room. I wish I knew what it was. As much as Jason would have liked to believe that his frivolous cousins had merely decided that "she" looked good enough to belong, Kelly sensed something much more significant had occurred. The only way I'm going to find out is to go with them. Kelly promptly answered, "Sounds good to me." * * * Kelly and her two cousins spent a leisurely afternoon enjoying mud-pack facials, Swedish massages, and finally ended up in a small sauna wearing nothing but white beach towels. Over the course of the afternoon, Kelly learned that Brenda worked at the "Bored of Trade" (in Katie's words) as a commodities broker, Katie had returned to U of I to become an architect after interning at the Indianapolis Museum of Art, and absolutely nothing about why they had befriended her. Shrouded by billowing steam, with sweat oozing from her pores, Kelly finally asked, "Please, don't take this the wrong way... "...but, WHY ARE YOU BEING SO NICE TO ME?" Kelly's question hung in the air for a few agonizing moments as Katie looked uncertainly at her sister, until Brenda began, "I suppose that's a fair question... and I know you deserve an answer, but... that's difficult to explain." Am I going to get an answer or not? Kelly must have glared at them, because Brenda immediately laid the fingers of her right hand on Kelly's forearm as she leaned forward, "I'm not trying to avoid the question. I just don't know where to begin." Brenda's eyes roved around the small wooden cubicle until Katie blurted, "Do you even REALIZE how Jason used to LOOK at us?" Katie locked onto Kelly with a belligerent stare, intentionally opening her eyes as wide as she could. Brenda reluctantly nodded her agreement. "It was pretty creepy, Kel. Really." Kelly felt her soft body tense as her mouth opened in shock. They had to understand... Brenda emphatically shook her head. "You don't need to say anything." Glancing at Katie for support, she continued, "I think we all know your reasons..." "...now," finished Katie. "Of course, we didn't know; and..." "WE THOUGHT YOU WERE PERVING ON US!" Brenda gulped, then nodded. "Yes. That's what we thought." "And turning yourself into He-Man the Steroid Freak didn't help!" Brenda cringed at Katie's last impulsive outburst, but was not about to undermine her sister. Instead, she tried to smooth the edges as much as she could, "No. That just made ...Jason... an even bigger threat." Kelly wanted to object--to come up with some reason, some mode of logic, that would turn teenage Brenda and Katie back into the stuck-up bimbos that Jason had always considered them. Her treacherous brain, however, thrust forward a memory from a shopping trip nearly three years ago... * * * Nearly a year after Kelly started hormones, she decided to have facial feminization surgery and breast augmentation. Her breasts were everything Dr. Altar's computer had promised. But, as the bruises healed on her battered face, relentlessly unremarkable female features emerged from the bandages. Despite that disappointment, Kelly brimmed with confidence. As she strode through the mall, people regarded her with routine courtesy. No more whispering. No more faces screwed up in double-takes as she walked past. No more mothers protecting children until they had retreated to a safe distance. Today had been the first time Kelly had dared to buy clothes in public since she started hormones. Before today, she had ordered her clothes online; then lied about it to her therapist. The new-found freedom intoxicated her. Not only did Kelly purchase clothes, shoes, and jewelry; she also allowed Sephora's MAC counter to work their magic. As the middle-aged Asian technician carefully powdered, painted and primped her face, Kelly learned something that she had yearned for, but never really expected. I can be beautiful. Soon afterward, Kelly emerged from the mall wearing her new face and carrying double-armfuls of over-stuffed shopping bags. Perhaps it was fatigue, retail euphoria, or frazzled nerves which relaxed too soon that caused her abject negligence. Whatever the reason, Kelly heedlessly walked into a dark parking lot. She had hauled her bags half-way to her car before a swaggering shadow slurred, "Hey baby," in her direction. The predatory greeting rocked Kelly free from her blissful beauty dream. Kelly stopped, uncertain how to reply. Five big shadows swarmed from the back of a distant pickup truck. An instant later, the cab light popped on as the driver opened his door and joined the rush. Tim McGraw wailed western angst from the truck's throbbing stereo. The guys gathered under the light from a lonely parking-lot safety lantern, about ten feet from where Kelly now stood. They were young, probably in their early twenties. Large belt buckles glittered at every waist, with cowboy hats and boots unevenly distributed throughout the group. Suburban cowboy chic. Belatedly, Kelly realized they had probably come from the last showing of "The Dukes of Hazard" which was playing in the mall multi-plex. Apparently, after the movie, the guys had decided to "have a few"; probably before seeking girls to hook-up with. Until I dropped into their laps. Brilliant. Rapid fire comments rang out in a rough cacophony: "Hang out with us." "What's your name?" "Wanna a drink?" "Hey, sweet-stuff." As their opening salvos whizzed past her, Kelly realized she had committed an elementary tactical blunder: never stop walking! "We just want to talk." "Come party with us!" "We won't hurt you!" Abruptly, Kelly scurried away, retreating toward the welcome darkness, as her hard flats clacked on the hard asphalt. The guys groaned with collective defeat. As her steps took Kelly steadily away, they tried woo her back: "You've never known liv'n..." "..until you you've had lov'n..." "FROM A COWBOY!" they chorused. Drunken laughter followed. After their singing failed to halt her flight, the cries turned abusive: "Dyke!" "Cunt!" "Bitch!" "Whore!" Just as Kelly goosed the key-less entry to her bright blue Mini-Cooper, a single set of heavy footfalls suddenly rang out behind her. Kelly ripped open the driver door, blindly hurled her packages toward the passenger compartment, leaped into her seat, and slammed the door. Kelly's panicked right hand repeatedly jabbed at the ignition, until the key finally slid home. As her engine screamed, the guy who had run after her pounded on her window, spewing incoherent words that her car's safety glass thankfully muffled. Finally, Kelly's over-revved Mini-Cooper shot from its parking place, and hurtled free across the lot. Kelly's hands continued to shake on her Mini-Cooper's leather steering wheel, until she lost herself in the safety of Saturday night traffic. * * * As Kelly's consciousness jolted back to the present, she could not help but notice the earnest, apologetic expressions Brenda and Katie directed her way. They were scared! They were only teenagers, and they were scared. Can I really blame them for protecting themselves? Brenda rose from the smooth wooden bench and locked the sauna's narrow door. After throwing the bolt, Brenda tossed her towel into the corner. Katie followed suit moments later. We trust you! Kelly could not refuse such a gesture. Her towel quickly joined the oher two in the corner. After their impromptu bonding ceremony, the three friends sat in silence until Kelly asked, "What changed?" Katie brigbtly answered, "You, of course!" A chorus of high pitched giggles cascaded through the small room, which progressed to howls of laughter. "YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT!" A gasping Brenda tried to calm down enough to answer, but failed. Finally she managed, "It wasn't really that simple." "When we heard what you intended to do, we talked about it, the whole family talked about it, well...we still thought of you as Jason the creepy perv." Katie clarified, "We thought you were a frustrated sicko, who did it to get more sex!" Brenda added, "And Mom's Thanksgiving report didn't help." "Anyway, when we saw you in the den, you were nothing like we expected.." "...you were classy...and tasteful... and wearing clothes that we would wear..." Brenda continued, "And you looked so sad. Like you were expecting us to pull out whips and start scourging you on the spot. Yet, you sort of had this pathetic little hope that we might accept you." "You looked like someone who really needed a friend." "So Big Sis volunteered us." "And I'm glad I did." Brenda, Katie and Kelly fell silent once more, more wrung out by the intense intimacy of the last few minutes than the dry heat of the sauna. Impetuous Katie could not resist one more revelation. "Kelly, I don't know if you're really a girl in the mystical, cosmic sense..." "But, you sure as hell act like one..." "Which is good enough for us!" finished Brenda.