Don And The Stuarts free porn video

Don and the Stuarts. I heard the birds singing, even though my windows were now closed and locked up. I hopped out of bed and looked outside. A vague green color rimmed the treetops on the street across from our house. Good, I was up first. This was going to take a while, and I wanted to be able to make breakfast for Zach before he left. But first I really had to shower. My skin felt sticky and gummy, and the makeup was starting to make my face itch. Last night I had resolved to put off today's shower until later, but I just couldn't wait. I went into the bathroom that I had claimed as mine, and unclipped my hair pieces. First I washed my face thoroughly. It took several tries to get all that gunk off. My eyes were weeping from the stinging chemicals. Was I doing this wrong, or did every girl suffer silently like this? Finally my face was bare. Ugh, I looked so plain. Pain versus plain, that was where the conflict came. I ran the shower super hot, steamy. First I just stood in there and let the steam open up all my pores. I could almost feel them opening. Then I lathered up and scrubbed all over, with one of those plastic bath poufs. Then I did the whole thing again. I especially wanted to soften the skin on my ankles, knees, wrists and elbows. My fingernails felt funny; oh yeah, they were fake. I wiggled my fingers and the nails seemed securely anchored so I left them alone. It would take special remover stuff to get them off; it smelled nasty. I had seen some with Sis' things. Maybe tomorrow. Now I rubbed some lotion on my rough spots. Was I doing this in the wrong order? I had no clue; I would have to do some research. Finally I toweled off but I was not done. There were exfoliants and toners and moisturizers. Once again I felt like my skin was glowing, maybe even a little bit more this time. I didn't know what to do with my toenails so I just trimmed them and shaped the cuticles. Back came the hair clips. I combed and brushed very carefully first, so that they would look just right. I was getting used to the feel of them pulling and tugging on my hair. Then I checked my look in the mirror. Better; the clips really did make my face look better. Putting the black bathing suit back on, and the black nightie over it, I left the bathroom to go back down the hall to my own room. "Hi there, bright eyes!" "Yipe!" I yelped, and jumped. Zach was right behind me. He was all dressed and ready to go; was I too late to make breakfast? But he said he had time. We both preferred hot tea to coffee, so I put on the kettle and started with the cooking. Grease the cast iron frying pan. Get out some corned beef hash, spoon it out into four equal portions, make a dent about the size of a poached egg in the top of each one. Heat the hash through. You have to judge when it is heated enough without getting browned yet; that's when you break an egg into each dent. Salt and pepper each egg. Turn the heat down a little and put a glass lid over the pan. As the egg whites get milky, turn the pan one way and the other so that the hash does not get too brown in any one spot. If each egg looks like the others, you have succeeded in cooking each portion evenly. Toast in the toaster, good simple salt rising bread, made with only flour, water and salt. Simple and natural. Butter on the table. Jam. Plates, forks, knives, mugs...oh, and spoons for the tea. Take the lid off; it looks just about right. Stack the toast on a bread plate. "Wheeeep!" The kettle was ready. Hot water in each mug, and a choice of three kinds of tea. I took a spatula and gingerly lifted up one corner of a hash portion. Good! It was just lightly browned but not too much so, yet the yolk was firm enough that it would not run all over. Plate the hash, two portions for each of us. There! Perfect! "Everything ok?" I asked, expecting praise. "Looks great, smells great...got any sugar?" Drat! I seldom use sugar. I should not have made assumptions, I had been thoughtless. Oh well. "Why so glum?" "Oh, nothing." "Come on now...." "All right, here it is. I wanted to do everything perfectly but I forgot the sugar!" To my horror and embarrassment I found a tear sliding down my cheek. What the-? "Aw now, it's great. You're going to get a fine meal from Mom today, but don't let her fool you. For breakfast it's toaster waffles, or food bars. Honest! Don't tell her I told you. But if you wanted to spoil me, you have succeeded!" He grinned and so did I. Why had I acted so stupid about that sugar? Zach looked at the kitchen clock, stretched, patted his stomach and said, "Well, time to go; my papers will be waiting for me on the loading dock...unless, that is, you've got more breakfast hidden somewhere?" Now I was upset. "What? That wasn't enough? I can maybe find some fruit to cut up, I think I might have seen a Danish in the fridge...." "Aw now, can't you tell when I'm kidding? That was my way of saying I was too full to take another bite." Zach's habits might take a little getting used to, I realized. So he thanked me for my hospitality, and I thanked him for his help and his protecting presence. Then he took off, with his clothes from yesterday in a garbage bag tied to his handlebars. So I had something like three hours now to myself. I looked out the patio door; the yard and pool looked fine, no sign of vandals or intruders. Humming to myself, I went to Donna's room for my makeup. I would have to make a list of what I was using so I could make it up to her. Then I stopped. What if when I put on my top it messed up my makeup? Better get the outfit in place first, and then do the makeup. The plaid plum and gray dress was already laid out, ready to put on. First of course the underthings, with their silicone enhancements, the magical shapely panties that added so much (and subtracted too), and a molded microfiber bra, gray, with a pair of those silicone pads. The dress fit well, once I had added those enhancements. It flowed in supple smoothness down my front, emphasizing the curves I didn't really have. I twisted one way and another and the skirt part whirled around gracefully. It settled neatly over what appeared to be my hips. I wet my lips. Why was I getting so into this? It had to be more than just expressing myself. I did not want to consider that question too deeply. I did not, in fact, want to consider it at all. So instead I got busy stealing and carefully applying more of Sis' makeup. I had to be careful not to get any on the dress. Eyelids light above, darker smudged below. The theme today would be plum, to go with the dress. I used a dark gray liner with a little glitter like mica in it, which I thought looked sort of dressy. Volumizing mascara. Whoa, that stuff loves to clump, what a hassle. Pink inside my lower lids. Ouch, but it was worth it for the effect it gave. Cheek color to match, make it visible but not too obvious. Blend all in, dust with a little powder. Fill in the lips with a creamy "dusky rose", topped with three dots of gloss. Smack those lips around. Check in her mirror, perfect! I grinned at the pretty girl there. It was hard not to grin at her, she seemed so warm and friendly. Just for a test, I tried swinging my arms around in circles in different directions. Good, everything stayed in place, especially on my chest. The white Mary Janes were not exactly dressy, but they would have to do. Sis did not have anything else in her wardrobe that would work. I wondered whether she had worn those shoes with this dress? I remembered to look for a matching purse. There was a white one, but it seemed to be made out of rope or string or something. Nope, it seemed too casual for this outfit. Then I saw a grayish purple one ("mauve"?) that seemed to go just right with my dress, as I held it up to the skirt. I smiled. It felt so reassuring to know that all the parts of my outfit had been pulled together so well. Finally I messed with my hair, moussing and teasing and spraying. It still looked a little too short, but really not bad, and all the parts fit together so that you could not even tell where the extras had been clipped on. It was a good thing our hair color was so similar. Too bad about those green nails, but they would be so hard to remove. I was not sure enough about my ability to color them over or I would have tried it. But what if I failed? What if the color showed through or the polish wouldn?t stick to the plastic (or whatever it is) material. It would look worse than ever. So I just left them alone. I checked the clock. Whoa, where had the time gone? These preparations took an incredibly long time. I had never realized, all those mornings I had been impatient with Sis. Mrs. Stuart had not come yet so I decided to make a batch of my fake Waldorf Salad to take over there. I put a container of whipped topping into a bowl with some apple bits. I also cut a celery stalk lengthwise into three and then crosswise into bits. Salted pecans and peanuts went into a freezer bag, and I smacked them with a hammer until they were crumbled. Then I dumped them into the bowl and stirred everything together. The sweet and salt combined to make an unusual flavor, and no one could ever guess how simple it was to make. Beep! She was here. I quickly washed up, checked my look in the mirror, grabbed the salad and my purse and dashed out the door. As I hopped in, Mrs. Stuart said, ?You didn?t have to go to all the bother of making a dish, after feeding Zach all weekend!? ?No trouble?, I said. ?I love to make food.? She smiled at me. They had a big house with a gate across the drive and a thick privet hedge. ?We needed a place with plenty of room for both our offices and workshops?, she explained, ?and we do need security because our materials are so costly.? I figured she was trying to explain to me that they were not trying to act impressive by living in this big fancy house. The driveway curved in front of the house; there were flower beds on each side. Mrs. Stuart dropped me off and went to park the van out back. I was afraid of dropping the salad, so I nudged the doorbell with my elbow and waited for somebody to answer. The man who opened the door was taller than average, tan, with laugh lines around his eyes. ?Welcome!? he said in a pleasant baritone, ?I?m glad to see you in person! Zach has done nothing but talk about you since Thursday morning.? ?Dad! Knock it off!? came Zach?s protest from another room. ?Dear, are you teasing that poor boy again?? Mrs. Stuart asked as she came in another door, but I noticed a quirky grin on her face. She was wearing work gloves and had a bunch of fresh picked flowers in her hand. ?Can?t help it, he makes it so easy!? the man laughed. He gently took my elbow and guided me into a long room. Lights hung overhead, reflecting off the dark walnut table in the center. On either hand were sideboards with mirrors; underfoot was a hardwood floor and an oriental carpet. Mrs. Stuart arranged her flowers in a cut glass vase in the center of the table. ?May I put this down here?? I asked nervously. ?Yes, please! I?ll be right in with the viands,? Zach?s mom replied. She brought in a plate of veggie sticks and pickles, then warm bread and butter, then green beans with slivered almonds, then roasted potatoes, and then a hefty roast of beef. It was dark on the outside, rubbed with some kind of seasoning, but pinkish in the middle. Half of it had been sliced up, the carving knife and fork were on the platter in case we wanted more. The roast was nestled in some kind of brown sauce, which I eyed curiously. ?Au jus?, she explained. I figured that meant the juices from roasting, but I tasted wine and spices too. My salad was passed around and everybody ate it approvingly. Everybody but Dexter, who had his own menu. He sat with his mom and dad on one side of the table and Zach and I faced them on the other. ?What would you like to drink?? his mom asked. ?Tea please, black, with lemon,? I responded. ?That?s how I like it too,? she nodded. ?Zach here has to have a ton of sugar in his, though.? ?That?s because he?s trying to sweeten up his sour disposition,? Mr. Stuart put in. ?Dad!? ?See how easy it is?? his dad quipped. I had a little of everything, and when I said it was all perfect I was not exaggerating. ?So, now that the serious eating is done, can we talk over a piece of cherry pie?? his dad suggested. It was a crusty oozy hot cherry pie, beautiful to look at. I tried a bite or two but was so stuffed I could not finish. Zach?s mom fretted, ?Is something wrong, dear?? ?Oh not at all, it?s just that I am so full! Can I maybe save the rest of this for later please?? ?Sure can, I?ll just put some plastic over it.? ?How will I tell it from the other pieces?? I asked but Zach laughed, ?What other pieces?? I looked and saw that the only crumbs left were being eagerly consumed by Index (Dexter). ?So can you tell us a little about yourself?? Mr. Stuart asked gently, as she passed around a dish of sugared nuts. Index got a cookie.. I glanced nervously at Zach. How much did I dare to tell? My stomach felt like I had swallowed an ice cube. But Zach comforted me by reaching over and patting my hand. ?Go for it?, he said. ?You are already a big hit here, you know.? So I told them the same things I had told Zach, about running, and liking swimming but not being very good at it, and about Mom?s brokerage, and Sis at camp, and the trouble with the nasty pool guys. Mrs. Stuart sighed. ?It?s a shame.? She said, ?All alone in a new place and something like that happens.? Smiling, I replied ?But I wasn?t alone, was I? Thank you Zach.? I gave his hand a squeeze under the table. He blushed. I asked about their work and interests. Mr. Stuart started out as an artist, and got into architecture after some of his windows became famous. ?It?s a living,? he said. ?There is still some art involved, but mostly it?s business. So to relax, I visit old battlefields. I?m a history buff.? He told me about some of the local historical points of interest. ?We were planning to ride around and see some of those this afternoon, take a bike tour of the area,? Zach put in. ?Maybe I can drive you both around?? his dad suggested. ?I can point out old foundations and stone walls that you would not be able to spot from the road. There?s an old mill race, all silted in and grown over now. Even the forest preserve has a couple old wells, covered up. There are no signs, because they do not want curious kids poking around and getting into trouble.? ?But if you help these two poke around and get into things it will be perfectly fine, right?? Mrs. Stuart teased. ?I presume it will be perfectly fine since I sit on the commission for the preserve,? he replied, sounding a little hurt. ?Actually he is the resident expert on the history of that area and no one could be safer than when with him,? she said. ?At least one of those wells was part of an old farmstead once, and he has persuaded the city to clear some of the brush there and put markers by the foundations of the house and a couple other buildings and the site of a root cellar. He has drafted a series of sketches showing what it would have looked like, and the commission will mount them in a kiosk out of the weather.? Her eyes glowed with pride as she smiled at her husband. I turned to her. ?I wonder if I could guess what your hobby is, Mrs. Stuart?? ?Feel free; go ahead and try.? ?Well, a hobby I believe should be something completely different from your work, a refreshing change of pace. Now, your work is done indoors, it involves a lot of meeting and discussing with people, and fine hand work. What a contrast then to find an outdoor activity, away from people, where you could get your hands dirty? Maybe rock climbing or exploring caves? Or how about?gardening?? She gasped. ?Amazing! It?s like meeting a psychic!? ?Or a magician,? Mr. Stuart said. ?Zach certainly seems to be under some kind of spell.? ?Watch it, Dad!? ?Seriously though,? Zach?s mom said, with a warning glance at her men, ?how did you guess?? I grinned impishly. ?There were the reasons I just gave, plus I noticed all the flower beds on the way in, and then you came in the other door with your gardening gloves carrying some of your own flowers, which you arranged for us to enjoy. Elementary, my dear Stuarts.? ?Can I show my gardens to you now? I would love to do that, and then I can give you a quick tour of my cottage.? ?Cottage?? ?It?s the small building out back where I do my actual work. It?s entirely surrounded with flowers and fragrant bushes and specimen trees.? ?Would you mind if I showed off my studio first?? Mr. Stuart asked. ?You know how I like a little nap after dinner, but first I would like to give my own tour.? And so it was settled. So while Zach helped his mom clear away and clean up, his dad led me up a wide sweeping staircase to the second floor. His rooms were all along one side. ?Northern exposure,? he explained. ?Can?t beat it.? The first room had a desk and chairs, a filing cabinet, a computer. Just like any generic office. The next had many big flat tables with designs and blueprints spread out over them. There were drafting tools, and models, mockups that showed how a house or building would look in three dimensions. In the corner were materials, big rolls of paper, dowels, fabric. There was a metal cabinet with many drawers filled with things like chalk, string, hardware and so on. As we entered the third room, I gasped. There, leaning sideways, was a sunburst of brilliant color. Radiant sections of glass met to form an image that seemed both natural and abstract. Another image leaned against the opposite wall, this one more subtle and dreamlike. ?Oh, they?re gorgeous!? I breathed. ?My second love,? he said quietly. ?After Ann and the boys, it?s what I live for.? I walked up for a closer look, but not too close. These pieces combined a sense of massiveness with a feeling of fragility. ?I?ll bet it takes forever to make one of these,? I mused. ?Yes, it used to. Now it only takes half of forever.? He showed me a freestanding frame. It had a white glassy panel along one side, things like rollers along each edge, a light source of some kind, and a bunch of electronic wires and cables. ?Watch this,? he said. On a table nearby there was a complex control panel. He pushed a button, and a noise came from the frame, a hum. He slid some levers and twisted some dials, and a pattern of heavy black lines appeared, like a mosaic. Then he filled in the sections of mosaic with colors, all by using the controls. ?It cost a fortune,? he said, ?but just see how quickly I can bring my ideas to life!? It was the head and shoulders of a young lady, a bust. She looked a lot like Sis, only older and prettier. ?It?s you,? he whispered. I put my hand over my mouth. Me? But?.Who am I, what am I? ?Are you upset?? he asked. ?I can erase it.? He touched a button and the image disappeared. ?Oh no!? I exclaimed. ?It was so beautiful!? He smiled and touched a button; the image reappeared. ?A good computer man always saves his work first,? he quipped. ?Here is Radiant Sunburst, for instance?, and sure enough there was that first image I had seen. ?This next is Dawn of Battle, a commission from a military museum. The finished piece is all ready to install.? ?But how do you even get these precious pieces moved safely down the stairs?? ?Carefully, very carefully.? He seemed always to like joking around. ?Are you done showing off up there? It?s safe to come down now Dad, the cleanup is all completed.? That was Zach. :Like father, like son? ?I believe Ann would like to show you her own studio now,? Mr. Stuart interpreted mildly. I thanked him very much, and the two of us went downstairs together. ?Would you mind a little walk through my gardens?? Ann Stuart asked. ?Not at all, I?d love it.? ?Through here then. Watch out for rough cobblestones, they might snag those nice shoes.? There were border plantings around the house, and Boston ivy. Then came the walkways, cobbled paths curving here and there. Smaller plantings were along the edge but deeper in were some huge things. ?Mullein,? she explained, ?a favorite for English gardens. Here is Amaryllis.? Flowering trees nodded overhead, and there were other curiosities. ?This is a Weeping Beech.? ?It?s fascinating! But what?s with the branches?? ?..?They are meant to droop down like that, they hang low to provide a canopy. It can be quite private underneath, just like a large leafy tent. Go ahead, take a look! Just be careful not to let the branches dirty your outfit.? So I parted some branches and peered inside toward the trunk. The green light filtered in; it felt very peaceful and roomy. Even clean; I expected messy fallen leaves but saw very few. I imagined old fashioned lovers meeting here for a moment of privacy. Whatever had brought that image into my mind? I hurriedly pulled my head back. I was blushing! ?These trees were perfect places for a romantic rendezvous,? she commented, just as if she had been reading my mind. There was much more to see, including a clutter of rakes and other tools which had to be moved out of the way. Finally we arrived at the cottage studio. It was yellow with white gingerbread trim, very cute. Inside there were four rooms, two on each side of a short hallway. One was a business office, with desk, chairs, laptop, phone, and filing cabinets. The others had mannequins, pictures, swaths of cloth, different kinds of lighting, boxes, trays, scissors, tape, all kinds of things. At the end of the hall was a locked door. ?That is where I keep those expensive supplies I was telling you about. Silk. Material that has been worked with beads or sequins or rhinestones. Cashmere.? I walked around and admired everything. Her pictures and mannequins were of all ages and sizes of women, from little girls to senior citizens. You could not easily sum up her style, it was not trendy, but not traditional either. She was just herself, an individual with taste. ?Do you design, like, gowns for the Oscars and things?? I blurted out. ?Once, but I did not care for all the fuss. And those people can be so demanding, trying to order you around. I have done a few for the Tonys though.? ?This one smells extra nice!? ?Yes, it incorporates a sachet. I like to have my little whimsy.? I realized she had been walking around me, holding her head to one side, sizing me up. I began to feel uneasy. What was she seeing? ?Zach tells me you are trying an experiment, adopting the style of your sister. Is that right?? I nodded, too scared to squeak. ?Can you describe for me the sort of things you used to wear?? ?Um, ah, mostly you know, hoodies, jeans, sneaks, that sort of stuff,? I stammered. She nodded. ?So this is quite a change, hmm?? ?Ah, um, yeah?..? ?Honey, I don?t want to threaten you. I simply found it fascinating, that?s all. Imagine, starting out a whole new adventure! The things you could discover. Particularly, from my point of view, the personal style you could discover. You would not have to be a product of Grandma?s gifts and mall store sales and peer pressure. The possibilities! It is like you are a blank slate upon which a sensitive creative artist could draw. Would you be willing to partner with me? I swear I will not try to talk you into anything. We?ll just explore some ideas, try this and that, and let you discover your very own style, not coped from anyone else.? Not copied. That really would be expressing myself, making a statement, presenting myself to the world, the way Mom had said. ?You would keep whatever I made for you,? she went on, ?and my things can be very high priced. In return, I keep the creative rights, and can use your image in my materials. If you end up with professional photo sessions, you will also be compensated for that.? I grabbed a tissue out of my carefully chosen purse and dabbed at the corner of my eye. ?I d-don?t deserve this,? I blubbered. ?I?m just a dumb mixed up scrawny kid.? ?There now,? she soothed, putting a protective arm around my shoulder. ?I come on too strong when I get passionate about something. Do what you want. If you feel I can help, let me know.? I leaned over and shook my head, trying to clear my senses. I took a deep breath, and straightened up. ?I want this as much as I ever have wanted anything. I want to discover who I really am, and express that person to the world.? She hugged me tightly. ?All right then, it looks like a warm summer, shall we start with some things in short sleeves, and above the knee?? I nodded, having only a vague idea of what she meant. ?..She got out a sketch pad and began roughing out some ideas. ?This will have a low square neck, like a sunsuit with straps. I want to emphasize your small waist, like so, and then a flounced skirt to give you a little fullness. For a convenient coverup, a short jacket. How about a bolero?? I shook my head. Mom wore those, I knew, little jackets with rounded off edges; I did not want to look like Mom. ?I could make a more youthful version of course, but you are in charge, so I bow to your wishes. How about this, a more squared off look for the jacket. Still short, with half sleeves, in a light basket weave?? I told her it looked beautiful, because honestly it did. Next came a dress with a surplice top and butterfly sleeves. The gathered fabric would make my chest look more substantial. Once again the waist was emphasized, with contrasting colors for the top and skirt. The skirt part was like an upside down tulip, very flowing. ?I am thinking of dark purple there, how do you feel about that?? I told her it sounded fantastic. ?I?ll take some pictures of you now from different angles, okay? That can get us started.? I nodded, and she took out her phone and started walking around me taking photos from different positions. ?I can download these and enlarge them?, she explained. ?All right now, what size are you?? I shrugged. I had no clue. I had not even looked to see what the size was for the things I was wearing. ?Didn?t you have to know that, when you went shopping?? ?Mom always did my shopping for me.? Which was totally true. She whistled. ?So you truly will be a totally new creature. Well then, let?s measure you.? And so she got my height, and the distance from my chin to my waist, and my waist size, and then from the waist to the floor. Arm length. She had me lift my arms and she measured around my body under the arms, and then around the chest right across the fullest part of my pretend breasts, and then lower again, under the bottom band of the bra. I was afraid she would comment about the enhancers, but she never said a thing. ?We certainly have been putting you through your paces! Do you feel like you?ve worked off enough dinner to have another bite?? ?No thank you, I really was stuffed, but I could stand some more hot tea. I?m getting chilly.? ?Chilly? That?s odd?.Oh look, it?s started raining since we came in here, and it looks like quite a storm!? KABOOM! Thunder cracked, lightning flashed. ?Pocketapocketapocketa!? Hailstones clattered on the cottage roof, and on the cobblestone walk, making a new white pavement there. ?Let?s cover up with these scraps of heavy material and make a dash for the house!? she urged. So we draped the things over our heads and shoulders and dashed out the door, looking like fleeing nuns. It was raining so hard that I could barely see where I was going. Which way was the house? I couldn?t even see Zach?s mom. ?Dexter?! Get back in here right now before you catch a cold!? That was Zach?s voice! Had his little brother run out into this storm? Kids can do weird things on impulse. ?Kitty! Nice kitty!? That was the voice of Index, or Dexter, not far ahead of me. There he was! Toddling toward me, hands outstretched eagerly. But they do not have a cat. Oh no, right there between us, some kind of animal, and it was acting very strange. It was about the size of a large gray cat, maybe bigger; it was hissing and screeching like nothing I ever heard, and bouncing from side to side with a jerking motion. Striped tail, a raccoon! In the daytime? In a rainstorm? Maybe it was sick. Maybe it had rabies. And Index was running to pick it up. Without thinking I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, which happened to be one of the rakes we had moved out of the path. Whack! I smacked that coon on the head as hard as I could. Well, that got its attention. Hooray. Now what? It was rushing at me! I swiped at it again, but it jumped to attack! Grabbing the rake with both hands, I swung it like a ball bat and connected. The coon went flying, splat, into the trunk of a nearby tree. I had swung so hard I lost my balance and went down in a twisted heap on the icy path. Zach ran up and grabbed me in his strong arms, while his mom gathered up Dexter. We were all too wet to bother avoiding the rain now, so we just walked (or hobbled) into the house. Dexter was crying now. ?He?s scared by the noise and shouting, and being grabbed and all? his mom said. ?Thank you, thank you! You saved him.? And she hugged me and cried. ?Can I share my leftover cherry pie with him? Can he eat that?? ?..?Do you know your knees are bleeding, honey? But it?s so kind of you to still be thinking about him. Sure, go ahead, break it up into tiny pieces. In the meantime, I?ll get the guest room ready for you to dry off in.? So I took a paper napkin and dabbed off my bloody knees (Sis would kill me if she could see her hose now) and sat Dexter on my lap while I fed him tiny bits of pie. It was a good plan, he calmed right down. By the time he got done, his mouth and chin were as red as my knees. Mr. Stuart said, ?Thanks, that was just what he needed. I?ll take him now; please go on up, Ann is waiting for you.? Zach?s mom was at the top of the stairs. She cleaned me off with a soapy washcloth and insisted I get out of the torn pantyhose right there. She checked me all over for bites or scratches and was glad to not find any. She did have to brush my sore knees pretty hard to get the little stones out of my broken skin, but I understood why that was necessary. Then she patted my legs dry and put some salve on the wounds. ?Here is our guest room; there?s a robe in there that should fit you. If you can hand me out your clothes, I will wash and dry them.? So I went in, and there was a fluffy pink robe. I do not much like pink, but it looked warm and comforting so I was glad to strip and put it on. There were slippers provided as well; bunny slippers, of all things! And pink, too. Oh well, at least these things felt good. I handed my dress out the door to her, and my bra. I was embarrassed about the enhancers so I just dried them off and put them in the deep pocket of the robe. My panties I kept, and washed and rinsed them in the bathroom that was attached to the guest room. I patted them dry as well as I could before putting them back on. I just couldn?t let her wash them. I checked myself in the mirror. My eyes needed fixed, the mascara had run, and my hair was mussed but at least the clip-on extensions had not come loose. I came down to find that Mr. Stuart had prepared some nice hot Reuben sandwiches for us. I was hungrier than I had realized, after that adventure, and was glad to join them at the informal kitchen table. Mmm, hot tea. Zach had tea too, but of course he added lots of sugar. He was shivering. So was his Mom. From fear or exhaustion or excitement? Or just from the hailstorm? ?That robe suits you? Mr. Stuart said. ?Yeah, you look a lot better in it than Cousin Vickie? Zach quipped. ?Now now, she?s family after all,? his mom said. ?When Vickie and my sister visit, the kids are always pulling pranks on each other. Still, I like to think or hope that underneath it all there is still some familial affection.? Mr. Stuart said. ?..Zach just snorted. ?Well at least she had the good sense to leave her robe, so it would be here for emergencies? he replied. He told me that Dexter had escaped both of them while they were cleaning up, and it was raining so hard and there were so many different paths that it was hard to find him. ?Did I k-k-kill that poor sick creature?? I dared to ask. ?It probably does not have long to live anyway, but, short answer, no,? said Zach. ?It was twitching around when I went back out, so I turned a wheelbarrow over it and put a heavy stone urn on top of that. We?ve notified animal control, they should be here soon. You sure you weren?t scratched or bitten? They?ll want to know.? ?Nope, I?m really fine except for my knees.? Dexter was whimpering again. ?It?s been a long day for him,? his mom said, ?and now he?s too tired to shut his eyes.? ?Say Dexter, would you like to hear a story?? I asked. ?But I don? wanna sleep!? he replied. Clever kid, he knew what was up. ?All right, I just wanted to tell a story, that?s all. Would that be okay?? He looked doubtful, but then smiled up at me and nodded. So I took him off to the couch and held him on my lap. ?You feel nice?, he said, cuddling down. ?So do you? I said, hugging him gently. So I told him the old folk tale of the Musicians of Bremen, which is fairly long and involved, with lots of different animals in the lead roles. But when I got to the part where the rooster scares off the bandits by pretending to be a judge and shouting ?Bring the rascals to me!? I whispered his part instead of shouting, because the little guy was sound asleep. I handed him over to his mom, a warm little bundle, and she handed me my clothes, all warm and dry. I went back up to change, and felt better once I had slipped the forms into my bra. Nobody had seemed to notice their absence, but then the robe was big and fluffy and not at all form- fitting. I used a brush in the guest room bath to neaten up my hair, and added a dab of color to my lips. Downstairs, Mr. Stuart handed me my shoes . Well, my stolen shoes. ?These are perfect! But they were soaked, and dirty! How did you salvage them?? I exclaimed. He beamed with pride. ?Old Navy trick. Stuff ?em with newspaper, dry them with a hair dryer, and then spray all over with silicone spray.? Good old silicone, I thought to myself. We chatted a bit but then all decided it was time to call it a day. And what a day it had been! Zach?s mom drove me back in her van. ?Thanks again for everything,? I said as I got out. ?No, I should be thanking you, and I do mean it,? she said, looking straight at me. ?You are a remarkable young person.? Was I? I waved goodbye and unlocked the door, locking it again behind me. I checked the readout on the security system, but apparently nothing had happened while I was away. I turned on the radio just to have some sound to fill up that big empty house. I carefully took off the outfit I had been wearing; it was in perfect condition, all but the gray hosiery but I could replace those. I carefully put the dress and shoes and purse away, and then the underthings. Now I was just me again, just little old Donny. I went into the bathroom and removed the hair clips, placing them in a drawer. Then I used some makeup remover, and then soap and water, and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until my face was naked. I looked at myself in the mirror. What would Zach say if he saw me now? Would his mom have any nice words for me, if she realized who and what I really was? It had become obvious to me that they all thought I was a girl. I had told them my real name, but they just acted as if I was some little sister trying out her big sister?s look. They would not treat a boy the way they treated me, none of them would. To Zach, I was not just a guy, a buddy, no, there was obviously something more going on there, something I was not used to. And both his folks, treating me like I was something precious. Making artwork out of my image. Making fine designer outfits for me. No way would they do that for good old Donny. Me too, I had been acting like a girl. I had said, ?That?s cute? and ?I love that? and ?poor thing?, and I would never ever in my life have talked like that. Not before last Friday. When I adopted my sister?s look, I basically stole her whole personality, her energy and bounciness, friendliness, and even her vocabulary and way of speaking. I had imagined I was expressing myself, finding my own style, choosing my own face to present to the world. But I was a phony. It was all stolen from Sis. At the very best, I was nothing more than her clone, nothing original about me at all, nothing that was really me, to express, to present to the world. I had told Mom that Sis had been a fake when I found those enhancers. But Sis at least grew up to look like what she had been pretending to be. I never would do that. I would never grow up to be a woman. I would always be a fraud. Or a scrawny ugly nobody. In so many ways it had been a great day, one of the best days of my life. I lay down face first on my bed and cried myself to sleep.