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Foreword: This story is actually a sequel to "Crossing Texas". That story tells of a young man who, while passing through Texas, simply drank too much and awoke from his drunkenness accused of rape. He had a choice: either he could stay and work as a maid at the motel where the alleged rape occurred, or the motel owner would call in the authorities. Rather than sit in a Texas dungeon for years, the young man chose to be a maid. This sequel occurs nearly a year later. It focuses upon the young man's next choice in life: whether to return to living as a man or to continue as a woman. While "Crossing Texas" is definitely X rated, this sequel is only R rated, as it focuses more on the main character's feelings than upon actions. If you have any comments or suggestions but prefer not to post them on this website, please email them to me, Cindi Johnson, at "[email protected]". # # # # # TEXAS REDEMPTION By Cindi Johnson I was fast approaching my 33rd year, the age of Christ crucified. A wholly new life lay before me, had I but the courage to risk all. --Henry Miller, The Rosy Crucifixion Part 1 Pamela stepped from the shower and, after drying herself with the large fluffy pink towel, faced the full length mirror attached to the bathroom wall. Her auburn hair nearly touched her shoulders. First she lifted her arms, carefully inspecting her underarms for hair, but finding none her eyes gravitated to her breasts. They were, she thought, oddly beautiful. Not small, but not large either. Perky. Perfect for her slim, 5 foot eight, 120 pound female body. Then with a bit of a shock her eyes focused further down, between her smooth white legs, upon what remained of her former manhood. Manhood? She could barely recall the feeling of manliness, it seemed so long ago. The penis reflected in her mirror was small. Very small. The scrotum too small to even be seen. But there it was: her former manhood. She'd never intended it to wither away, to die. How long since it had risen in virility? Months? Pamela stepped out of the bathroom and sat at her small vanity. In the mirror she saw a girl's face, a female face, a face with tears streaming from its eyes. In the mirror she could see, behind her, a new black dress, lain carefully upon her bed, as well as her lingerie. She knew she had to hurry, as services would begin in only a couple of hours, yet the tears continued to fall. Pamela sobbed. Part 2 "Sara, help me with my zipper, will you," said Amanda as she carefully stepped into her dark green, long sleeved dress. Sara, her white bra and matching panties contrasting against the latina's soft brown skin, walked across the bedroom to assist her blond friend. Bright morning sunlight shown through the bedroom's windows. Clothes were strewn about the room. Last night the two had went out for dinner and drinks, and stayed for a few too many drinks. When they arrived back at home, their alcohol-enhanced sadness morphed into a feeling of loneliness, and without speaking, without any words, Sara, rather than going to her own bedroom, accompanied Amanda to hers, where they undressed, leaving their clothing scattered about the room and, naked, climbed into Amanda's bed. Part 3 The two young ladies, comfortably in the bed that prior evening, had taken some moments to discuss the matters which weighed upon them. "Mike didn't seem too upset tonight," Sara said to Amanda, "almost as if he didn't care." "Yes, I noticed that also. He was just nonchalant about everything. Just having a good time. Did he even once mention Roger?" "No, he didn't. Not by name, anyway. But why, Mandy? Roger was one of his best friends, maybe his best friend. I was expecting him to be crying." "I don't know, Sara. Men are just like that. Maybe they just don't feel sadness like we do. But heck, I've not spent much time with guys. Who am I to know? You're the one who is planning to marry Mike, not me." Sara began to cry. She moved closer to Amanda, turned and put her face to her, gently kissing Amanda's neck. "Don't worry, Sara. Mike's just a guy. Don't expect guys to cry, because they just don't. When they get sad, they crash cars or shoot people. That's just the way they are." "So, Mandy, what about Pamela? Is she gonna act like Mike? Tomorrow, at the service, will Michael - I mean Pamela - be laughing and joking? Maybe she should stay home. You could just tell her to clean the restaurant, or some guests' rooms. She'll never refuse your orders." "Dear, dear Sara," Amanda replied as she turned to give Sara a small kiss on her lips," that person you call Michael is now Pamela. She's not anything like your boyfriend. I doubt those two ever had anything in common. Besides, Pamela already bought that nice black dress for the service. She really wants to wear it tomorrow, to be there with us. And she'll look good tomorrow, I'm sure she will. Don't worry, Sara, Pamela's not a man. Not anymore. Was she ever really a man, Sara? I don't think so. Anyway, Pamela is now just a girl, a girl who, I think, was in love with Roger. I know, she - or he- always says that we forced her to become Roger's girlfriend, but I don't buy it. Pamela seemed more than happy to -what did she call it, "service?" - Roger. I think those actions -servicing Roger - are what forced Pamela to accept the fact that she is now a woman." As Amanda spoke, Sara licked and kissed her neck. Soon, exhausted by events, they snuggled together and fell asleep, aware that their morning would be stressful. Part 4 The door to Pamela's motel room opened and Emily walked in to see Pamela seated, naked, before her vanity, applying eyeliner. Emily was a teenage girl, beautifully young, still in high school, who worked at the front desk on most weekends. A broad smile crossed her face as she stared at Pamela's naked female body and his shrinking male attribute. Pamela, her eyes red from crying, turned towards Emily. She didn't try to hide or cover up. This constant practice of the motel staff just walking in on her, at any time, day or night, frustrated Pamela, but she had resigned herself to it. After all, Amanda had ordered all her staff to frequently "check up" on Pamela, and never to knock first. And Pamela could not challenge Amanda, could she? "Hi, cutie," Emily said with a slight giggle. She wore a plaid jumper, short to show off her thin legs, a white short sleeve blouse, and simple open-toed flats. "Wow, your breasts sure are getting bigger! Too, bad about that tiny thing down between your legs, though. That's not something we girls want, do we?" "Please, ma'am, don't make fun of me. I'm still a man," replied Pamela, her face blushing. "Sure, Pamela, sure you are. But wow! What size are your titties? They're as big as mine! Pamela looked down at her breasts and bit her lower lip for a second before answering, "No, they are not as big as yours. No way..., there just B cups, that's all..." "ONLY B CUPS! Well, that's really big for a man, I'd guess. And a pretty good size for a girl, especially a skinny girl like you. But anyway, Sara called and asked me to make sure you are awake. She and Amanda will be here at ten, and they want you to be ready to go." "I'll be ready. I'm nearly finished with my makeup. I did my nails last night. I just need to dress." "Well, "man", do you need any help from me? I've got to get back to the desk ASAP." Emily smiled as she stressed "man", but not in a mean way. Pamela had gotten to know Emily well over the past year, in fact, she'd gotten to know the entire motel's staff. She knew Emily was nice; just a happy teen, with no malicious tendencies at all. "No, Emily, but thank you for asking." Emily began to walk towards the still open door, then stopped and turned, her voice serious for once. "Pamela, I'm really sorry about your boyfriend. I only met him twice, but I remember how friendly he was. And big. And so masculine. What happened is just so..., so terrible. For you, too." Tears again formed in Pamela's eyes. "It's OK, Emily. Roger wasn't really my boyfriend..., I mean..., I don't think he was..., well maybe..., maybe he was, sort of..., anyway..., it's OK..., I'll be OK. " "But you did, you know...., you did do it with Roger?" Emily asked. "It?" Pamela, upset and confused, wasn't sure what Emily was asking. "Yes, Pamela, IT!" Emily emphasized, "Sex! All of us who work here know that you and Roger were intimate. I heard that once you two did it in the front seat of his car even as Sara watched through the car window." "Yes, Emily...., we did, yes..., so..., maybe Roger was a boyfriend of mine? Maybe he was even more than just a boyfriend, you know. He was special because..., because he loved me. Roger loved me! Even though he knew about this thing here", she glanced towards the small manhood which lay ever flaccid between her legs, "he still loved me. Nobody else has loved me..., ever." "Because you are a girl, Pamela," Emily said. "Roger loved you because you are a girl. Just like me. Just like Sara. Forget about that thing down there, Pamela, it's not who you are. Roger knew you were a girl. That's why he loved you. And you loved him because he was a man." "You're right, Emily." Pamela again began to cry. "I did love him. And he loved me. And now he's gone." Part 5 Pamela was careful as she donned her new pair of pantyhose. It always felt odd to her as she did it, as her smooth legs didn't seem like her legs, they were too pretty, way too pretty. She tucked her so-called manhood back between her legs before pulling the pantyhose over her padded panties. Next was a black slip, one she had never worn before. It took a minute to adjust the straps, then she held her black dress up in front of her, just to look at it. In a way, she longed to wear it today. The black dress would symbolize Pamela, or at least the "woman" Michael had become, and would also show to the world the femininity she'd given to Roger, and the sadness she felt when she lost him, forever. But still, somewhere deep within her, a sense of revulsion echoed as she gazed upon her new dress. This was not her. A distant "little voice" reminded her, would not let her forget, that Pamela was really Michael. A male. A man. Not Pamela. As she slipped the dress over her head and struggled to zip up the back, Pamela's thoughts went back to that evening, "the evening", when her life so unexpectedly changed. Michael's drinking. Waking from his drunken slumber to accusations of rape. He had raped Sara! But he had no memory of that, none at all. He must have been really, really drunk. Yet now her feelings for Sara were deep; she couldn't deny them. She loved Sara. Sara was so beautiful! And throughout this year-long ordeal, while - as retribution for rape - Amanda unceasingly coerced Michael into womanhood, Sara had always remained her friend, her "girlfriend", the one who most eased the difficult forced journey to what she now was: a female maid at a Dallas motel, a maid who served all, male or female, with resigned acceptance. Sara was there for Pamela when she most needed to cry, or when she needed just simple advice on her proper bra size. Sara was there, always. Her affection for Sara had grown throughout Pamela's odd year at the Paradise View Motel. Part 6 It was five minutes before ten as Pamela slipped her favorite bracelet, one made of real silver with small diamonds attached, onto her left wrist. Then she grabbed her black purse and, without thinking, flung the strap over her shoulder and walked out the door. Such female mannerisms, which when her punishment first began had seemed so odd, so unnatural, had now become automatic reflexes. "My, Patricia, you do look very nice today," Sara said as she entered the motel's lobby. "That dress really becomes you." "Thank you, Mistress," Pamela replied with sincerity. Timidly he approached Sara, who instinctively opened her arms wide and hugged Pamela, a long hug, as Pamela, unable to control her emotions, began sobbing. "There, there, young lady," Sara said softly as they hugged, "don't cry. You'll ruin your beautiful eyes. Come, my little senorita, Amanda's waiting in the car. We must leave now." Pamela followed Sara out the door. "Bye, girls!" Emily called out as they left. Part 7 The service was held on the shore of White Rock Lake, in what had once apparently been some type of boathouse, but which was now used for gatherings and small celebrations of all types. Large trees shaded the boathouse. A half dozen children, mostly Roger's nieces and nephews, played along the shore, laughing, throwing rocks into the water, totally unaware of the nature of the service. Inside the boathouse milled twenty five or thirty adults, the men dressed in gray or dark blue suits, mostly talking with hushed tones in groups of four or five, while the women, nearly all in nice dresses -although a few wore blouse-skirt combinations, milled about, setting up the food tables, making coffee, and talking amongst themselves about their kids, their jobs, and, less often, about Roger. Roger had been a happy go lucky guy who'd made no enemies in Dallas. He wasn't a deep thinker, no, but he was a likeable man. Amanda, Sara, and Pamela got in line to greet Roger's parents and his two sisters. Amanda, always the professional businesswoman, went first, having a lengthy talk about weather, the lake, and lastly, Roger's visits to the Paradise View Motel. Sara, tearing up, hugged Roger's mother, who was crying also. Sara talked about how Roger so enjoyed the Dallas night life, dancing, and then mentioned that Roger and Pamela (she looked towards me) had been very close, and in fact had considered marriage. So, it was Pamela's turn. The family warmly greeted her. "Roger and you were going to wed? Really? That's so wonderful," said Roger's sister Ann, a tall girl with light brown hair and hazel eyes. "So, Pamela, did you, when he was at the VA hospital here, did you ever stop by to see him?" "Yes," she replied. "I didn't have a car at that time, so I took the light rail down to the VA hospital. Nearly every day. He..., Roger..., was in a lot of pain then. Yet he always smiled when I arrived. He always had to have a kiss the minute I arrived," Pamela said with a laugh, but then she broke down and began to cry, to sob, like a girl. Just like a girl. Sara took her hand and led her away, outside. The brilliant blue water on the lake eventually calmed Pamela. "It's OK, Pammy. It's OK. You'll get over this. You will. There will be a future for you." Sara gazed upon a sailboat out near the opposite shore for a couple of minutes, then continued, "You'll find someone to love, Pamela. You will." Pamela, watching the children picnicking nearby, still shaken by the meeting with Roger's family and unable to actually look at Sara, said softly, "But Sara, I love you. I've loved you since I first saw you. I'll always love you. Don't you know that? Can't you see how much I want you?" Sara was surprised, not expecting this topic here, at this place and time. "Pamela," she spoke in a near whisper after a long pause, "I'm marrying Mike in about a month. You know that. Mike loves me. I love him." "But Sara, I love you too! We could be happy together. Please? Don't marry him. I'll make you happy." "Pamela," Sara said earnestly, "no! You are a girl now. A girl! A girl like me! Mike is a man. A real man. He's not like you, Pamela. Don't you get it? I need a real man. Not you. I can never love you like I love him. You're just not a man. Look at yourself!" "But I am too a man, Sara! You know I am. I had you once, didn't I?" "You had me once," Sara asked, perplexed, "what do you mean?" "You know. That night! The night I..., I raped you! After that, you are mine, in a sense..., aren't you? I mean, well, you know what I mean..." "No, Pamela," Sara said, a hint of regret in her voice, "I don't know what you mean. And that sex we had..., that rape..., well, it wasn't like that. You were really drunk. I don't know, Pamela. It may not have actually happened. Not really..." Pamela turned towards Sara, a confused look on her face. "I don't understand..." She paused, then continued. "Of course it happened, Sara..., didn't it?" She looked searchingly into Sara's eyes. Another long pause preceded Sara's response. "Maybe not, Pamela. It's not like you think. But..., anyway..., I will marry Mike. You'll be one of my bridesmaids, won't you? It'll be fun. I've already picked out your dress. Promise me you will, Pamela!" Pamela, confused and a bit stunned by this revelation of Sara's, could only stutter her answer. "Yes, Sara...., yes...., your bridesmaid? Yes..., I suppose so..., yes..., thank you, Sara..." At that moment Ann approached them and asked them into the boathouse where the brief, secular ceremony was beginning. Part 8 After the ceremony and luncheon, all in attendance drove to the VA cemetery. Pamela, being the girl closest to Roger at the time of his death, a girl almost engaged, almost, in fact, Roger's wife, stood with Roger's family nearest the grave as the pine coffin was lowered into the ground. Using a small shovel, Roger's father threw dirt onto the coffin. Next Roger's mother did likewise. When she had finished, Roger's mother handed the shovel to Pamela, saying, "My son loved you when he was alive. His love will last for all eternity." Pamela, crying, tossed one last shovelful of dirt onto the coffin, onto Roger. Next, seven Marines raised their rifles. After their 21 gun salute, Roger's friends and family dispersed, returning to their lives, while Roger joined many thousands of others, Americans and Iraqis, in their eternal silence, cast there by a cadre of feckless Republican politicians who cared not about Roger's sufferings nor Pamela's sadness. Part 9 Using her master key, Pamela opened the door to Room #121. Stained bedsheets were strewn across the floor, and a half dozen empty beer bottles were scattered about. Pamela first turned the TV on, changed the channel to her favorite soap opera, and then went to work, cleaning, vacuuming, making the bed, scrubbing the shower stall and toilet, and laying out new towels for the next guest. After the burial, Amanda had dropped Pamela off at the motel. She immediately went to her room - her home for the past year - and carefully removed her black dress, hanging it in her small closet; then she donned her work uniform, a light gray shirt dress with pink pinstripes and an embroidered collar. The hem of the dress fell to just below her knees. She didn't change into the black mary jane flats she normally wore while cleaning, thinking that today, for Roger, she would look sexier, more feminine, as a tribute of sorts to him. For the same reason she did not remove her makeup. Room 121, the ninth she had cleaned today, was her last. She was tired and still sad. She only wanted to go "home", to her motel room, remove her heels, and rest. The past year had witnessed Michael, an all too typical young man with an "attitude", adrift in life, transformed into a hard working, generally cheerful, motel maid. Now she was firmly committed to her job, to doing it well. Three months earlier, at the motel's Christmas party, Amanda had given her a plaque engraved "Pamela, our best maid, ever!", which she proudly accepted to the applause of her co-workers. That plaque now hung prominently on the wall of her room. Yes, the job was her punishment for raping Sara; she understood that all too well. Yet the initial humiliation and embarrassment she felt had largely faded during the past year. She'd grown accustomed to acting as a female and being treated as a female. Maybe it was the hormones Amanda forced her to take which allowed her to accept this lowly status so readily. She didn't know, and she tried not to dwell upon her fate. When she did ponder her odd circumstances -which happened more often of late - she told herself that any existence, even as a girl - as a maid! - was surely preferable to the alternative of incarceration in a Texas hell- hole prison. It was after 3:00 p.m. when Pamela finally finished cleaning Room 121. Exhausted, she went to her room, kicked off her high heels and slipped out of her uniform dress, then curled up on her bed and fell asleep. Part 10 "Wake up, girl, wake up!" Kristi shook Pamela by her shoulders. Kristi, a newly hired Paradise View employee, was a junior at SMU University who worked in the lobby every other weekend. Of course, like most students at SMU, Kristi's family was very well off. Her parents nonetheless preferred that she work occasionally, more to keep her occupied (and thus away from those drunken student parties) then to earn money. Kristi was pretty: a slim blond girl from a wealthy San Antonio suburb. Roused abruptly from a deep slumber, Patricia was surprised to open her eyes and see Kristi's pretty face so close to his. Because she was a new hire, Pamela hadn't even been introduced to Kristi yet, although she'd said "hi" to her a few times. "Wow, girl, do you always sleep naked? And look, your makeup and mascara have smudged your pillowcase. You've got to remove make up before sleeping. All real girls know that!" Kristi spoke with a big grin on her face. Pamela looked towards Kristi but then noticed another girl standing just inside the doorway, a somewhat short girl, a bit overweight, with attention-grabbing bluish-green hair. Collecting her thoughts, and realizing that, once again, girls had invaded her room without asking, without even a knock, as if even a bit of privacy wasn't something Pamela was entitled to, Pamela reflexively grasped her bra, which lay upon the bed where she had removed it an hour earlier, and put it on so as to cover her girlish breasts. Her face was crimson from embarrassment and a feeling of shame. Pamela didn't really know Kristin, and hadn't ever seen the blue-haired girl before, yet here these two girls, younger even than Pamela, were laughingly inspecting Pamela's body, clothes, room, her entire life, it seemed! How long had they been here in her room, she wondered. "It's OK Pamela, we're not going to hurt you," said Kristi. "Amanda says you're used to being awaken like this. Maybe you ought to buy a pair of pajamas." "Why do you cover your breasts," chimed in the blue-haired girl, "but not your penis? Are you a girl or a guy?" Pamela, awaked in the midst of a dream, a dream in which both Sara and Roger were alive and with Pamela, could not immediately understand what these girls were wanting from her. She couldn't quite formulate an answer to blue-hair's question. She didn't quite understand the question. Breasts, penis...what was she talking about? Pamela just stared silently at the girls, a confused look on her face. "Whatever, boy-girl," Kristi said after a half minute of silence. She tossed the panties which were on the floor to Pamela. "Put these on and cover up that little thing of yours. What kind of girl are you, anyway? "Sara called to say you must go to Mike's place at seven. Something about you need to clean his room? I don't know...., you do have a strange life, Pamela! A real cleaning lady, you are! But Sara says you don't need to wear your uniform. Just wear a skirt and blouse. But she does want you to wear pantyhose. And heels. Gosh, I've never told a man to wear a skirt and high heels before," Kristi said with a laugh. The blue- haired young lady was watching and listening, an incredulous look upon her face. Pamela took the panties and quickly set them upon her maleness, hiding what once had been manhood beneath the lacy lingerie. "OK..., Kristi..., I'll..., ah..., get dressed," she said. "Thank you for..., ah..., waking me up..." Kristi rolled her eyes as she responded, "Sure thing, young lady." The two girls closed the door as they left. Pamela, now fully wakened, chafed with a mix of anger and humiliation. Why do I put up with this, she asked herself. Co-workers walk into her "home" without a knock, day or night, allowing her no privacy. She considered complaining to Amanda, but knew it would be in vain. Each time Pamela had tried to assert her rights, or to reclaim even a bit of her manhood, Amanda tightened her control over Pamela. For example, several weeks into her "prison sentence", some weeks after her forced "childhood" of wearing diapers in public and playing with dolls, Pamela had pleaded with Amanda that she be allowed to wear jeans when cleaning rooms. Not men's jeans, she stressed, just girl's jeans. And she didn't demand it of Amanda; no, no, it was just a soft "please, Amanda" type of request. Was it successful? Not at all. "Oh, little girl!" Amanda scolded in reply, "you must not wear pants. Not ever! Only dresses and skirts for you." This was in the motel lobby, in front of four coworkers and even a few motel guests. "A boy-girl like you should be happiest in a dress, Pamela. Don't you agree, young lady?" Pamela, realizing all eyes were now focused on her, that even some guests now knew she wasn't born female, could only whimper a "Yes, ma'am" in response. And since that day ten months ago, Pamela had worn only dresses and, less often, skirts. She wasn't allowed even to wear pajama bottoms. But now, she didn't question her wardrobe. Was it the hormones? No, Pamela realized; after all, the real women who worked at the motel mostly wore jeans. In fact, when Pamela visited a nearby Target store (she often shopped for Amanda's groceries and other items), she couldn't help but notice that she, often one of very few males in the entire store, was frequently the only person wearing a dress. Most women nowadays usually wore jeans or culottes. But not Pamela. After showering, Pamela went to her closet and selected a cute, short yellow skirt and a blue pullover top. Part 11 "Well, that was a real trip," exclaimed Rachel, Kristi's blue-haired friend. "This place you work at is not normal. Maybe you should quit. You might not be safe here." The lobby was empty except for the two girls. Rachel was waiting to give Kristi a ride back to their dorm after her shift ended. "Why's that," Kristi asked. "Well, that guy is definitely strange. He shouldn't be pretending to be like us." "My boss, Sara, says Patricia's really nice, and a hard worker. Sara asked me to be kind to her, to never make fun of her gender confusion," Kristi countered. "That's exactly what I mean! This whole motel is creepy. Even your bosses. That guy is what they call transgendered. Our pastor has warned us about them. Jesus warned all of us about them. It's a sin, Kristi!" "A sin? How's that?" "I don't know. It just is. If my church says it's a sin, it's a sin." "Oh, Rachel," Kristi said with a laugh. "You spend way too much time at your church. Where is it you attend? Prestonwood Baptist?" Kristi paused, then continued, "No, Rachel, I don't think Pamela is gonna hurt anybody. You saw her. She seemed to be afraid of us, not threatening us." "That may be, Kristi, but it's still a sin. What he is, is a sin." Part 12 "Come in, Pamela," Mike said upon opening the door to his spacious one bedroom apartment. Pamela had driven there in her aging Ford Focus; when traffic was light, his apartment was a 15 minute drive from the Paradise View. She had been there a dozen times already, to clean it, but always during the day when Mike was at work. Never had she been there on a Friday evening, and never had she been there alone with Mike. "You look very nice tonight, Pam," he said with an undisguised grin. "I do like that sexy yellow skirt. Maybe you can loan it to Sara some day." "No, sir," Pamela felt herself blushing, feeling so..., inadequate?... around Mike. Not only was Sara's boyfriend tall and good looking (per Sara, he was a "hunk"), but he was Pamela's rival for Sara. Mike had no knowledge of the alleged rape, nor of Pamela's love for Sara, nor would he likely care had he known. Pamela was merely a joke to him; he knew of Pamela's gender mis-match and of her relationship with Roger, both of which he found amusing. "Sara would never wear any of my clothes, sir." "Why's that?" "Ah..., I don't know, sir. " Pamela replied. She found herself wishing that Amanda hadn't required her to address all men as "sir" and all women as "ma'am" or, even worse, as "mistress". "Maybe, I guess...., well..., Sara's sometimes a bit..., ashamed?... of me. Because I'm..., different, you know..." Pamela looked not at Mike as she spoke, but gazed at the floor, avoiding his mirthful look. "No way, Sara says you're a fine young lady," Mike half-laughed before continuing, "Anyway, Sara and I are going to a basketball game. We'll probably be back about eleven. You should just clean this place like you always do. Wash my dirty clothes; they're mostly in the hamper, although there's some of my underwear lying on the bathroom floor." "Yes sir," Pamela half whispered. "Oh, and don't forget to iron my shirts. And my slacks which are hanging in my closet." "I'll do my best, sir," she replied, still looking down towards the floor. "Good. Well, have fun cleaning and ironing, young lady," Mike said as he left. A moment of anger, shame, and even jealousy coursed through Pamela after Mike left. Why, she wondered, should that guy get Sara, whom Pamela worshiped and loved? He didn't deserve her. Pamela had always been kind, helpful - even subservient - to Sara throughout the past year. When Sara needed to talk, be it about work, or family, or even her love life, Pamela always listened. If Sara needed groceries, Pamela went shopping. Pamela washed and vacuumed Sara's car at least once a week. Pamela would often wash and condition Sara's long black hair as she bathed. Frequently Pamela used a razor to gently shave Sara's legs as she showered. Pamela always washed Sara's clothes, taking great care to separate the whites from the colors. And lingerie? Did Mike ever once hand wash Sara's beautiful bras and panties? No! But Pamela did, every week, always with loving care! And every evening Pamela would visit Amanda's and Sara's home to wash their dishes and then to wipe their shoes and rinse their pantyhose. Each and every evening! Did Mike ever do this for Sara? Even once? Not a chance! And, at least one evening each week, Pamela could be found seated cross- legged on Sara's living room floor, carefully shaping and painting Sara's toenails while her mistress either watched TV or worked on her I- Pad. But for Sara, Mike did..., what? What?? Nothing at all, Pamela fumed. Mike never did anything for Sara. Never! Even as Pamela did anything and everything for Sara; Mike did nothing! Nothing at all! So why would Sara choose Mike over Pamela? Why? It made no sense! Oh, and yet Sara was always available when Mike wanted her. Last week, for example, Sara and Pamela were shopping at Macys when Mike called Sara to say he was hungry. Well, Sara left immediately so as to feed Mike a sandwich or something, leaving Pamela alone at the mall. She had to take the bus back to the Paradise View. And, of course, Sara always required Pamela to keep Mike's apartment spotless. Mike, it seems, can't even pick up his dirty underwear! Sara has Pamela do it for him. What did Mike ever, ever do for Sara? What?? Pamela did anything and everything for Sara, with never ever a complaint. Mike did absolutely nothing for Sara! Yes, Pamela had to admit to herself, Mike fucked Sara. Mike did do that for - to? - Sara, probably twice each week, maybe more. He fucked her. The thought of it disgusted Pamela, the vision of that..., that man, on top of Pamela's Latina goddess, both of them naked and sweaty as he, that man who did not deserve Sara, did not deserve to kiss her, to even touch her..., yes, of that man fucking Sara. Again and again, Mike fucked Sara. And Pamela could not do that for Sara, not anymore. Pamela's maleness was no more. There hung, between Pamela's legs, nothing more than flaccid flesh. Pamela's virility was no more, a casualty of the female hormones Amanda forced upon her. Now Pamela was wholly unable to enter Sara as Mike did. But why, why, why? Why does Sara choose a few moments of sweaty sex with Mike over those hours and hours of Pamela's loving attentions? Why does she plan to marry that..., that man..., and lose the one who truly loves and serves her, with never a complaint? What good is pure and total love and commitment, Pamela wondered, if it matters less than a few gross moments of hideous manhood entering a beautiful girl's ultimate treasure? Part 13 Pamela sighed and, remembering all that she needed to do, quickly collected Mike's dirty clothes and carried them down to the laundry room, which was located in the basement of the apartment building. One young lady, who looked half hispanic, was there, waiting as the dryer turned her clothes round and round. She was a nice looking girl with short dark hair, wearing a beige t-shirt, flowered pajama bottoms, and sandals. The girl stared at Pamela for a moment, not seeming to question her gender, but rather just noticing her clothing. After all, Pamela, wearing a short yellow skirt, pantyhose and high heels, was a bit overdressed for a laundry room. The young woman's attention soon returned to the Elle magazine she was reading. Pamela noticed the shining rock on the woman's finger. During her year as a female, Pamela had learned just how important a wedding ring is to a woman. Yes, to a female, that small shining rock was all- important! It symbolized success. Success with sex. Success in life. Looking at the woman's wedding ring made Pamela, once again, feel left out. She felt she'd never be accepted, never be loved. Never. She'd likely never wear a cherished stone on her finger. Feeling humiliated, Pamela went over to the sink and began to scrub with a brush Mike's dirty underwear. Sara had informed him, months ago, that "men, you know, get brown spots on their underwear. They are nasty, yes, men are nasty; not like us girls, Pamela! So when you wash Mike's clothes, you must scrub his underwear. I do not want my boyfriend to wear dirty underwear. Absolutely no brown lines on his underwear. OK? Do you understand?" Sara was unusually insistent about this. "Yes, Sara," was all Pamela could say, "yes, I'll clean your boyfriend's underwear. By hand. I promise." Part 14 It was nearly 11:30 when Mike and Sara arrived. After washing Mike's clothes, Pamela had scrubbed his bathroom and kitchen, vacuumed the living room, and did all his ironing. She then made up his bed with fresh, clean sheets and pillowcases. She was in the process folding towels when they arrived. Sara nearly stumbled as she entered, which led her to giggle. She'd clearly been drinking. "Hi Pamela! Oh gosh, you wore your yellow skirt. I think it's really cute!" Sara said upon noticing Pamela at the table, folding Mike's t- shirts. "Thank you, Mistress", Pamela gushed, grateful for the compliment. Being a bit giddy from the two drinks she'd had after the game, Sara relished Pamela's adoration. Being addressed as "mistress" with Mike standing at her side left Sara feeling like a goddess. Pamela's near worship of her might, she reasoned, cause Mike to realize how lucky he'd been when Sara accepted his proposal. After all, Pamela was a man, sort of, and Mike knew that. "Oh Pamela, you're too nice to us. Isn't she, Mike?" Mike was not as pleased with Pamela's drooling before his girlfriend. "Yea, I suppose Pamela is nice. But Pamela, did you get all the cleaning done? The bathroom also?" "Yes, sir, I did," Pamela's voice quickly changed from a joyful tone to a subservient one. "Good girl. Sara and I are going to the bedroom to get serious. Why don't you whip us up a bit of food, maybe a ham and cheese sandwich. Just one; we'll share it. Oh, and also bring us up a bottle of chilled wine and glasses." "Yes sir, whatever you want. But..., maybe I should leave now...., back to the motel? I shouldn't..., I mean, I wouldn't want to...., ah..., disturb you and..., Sara when you, ah..., have time together... All the cleaning is finished, sir." Pamela was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She loved Sara and preferred not to witness Mike and her together. Pamela laughed. "Oh Pamela, don't worry. You're one of my favorite friends. You won't bother us. Why..., you should just stay here tonight. All night. That way you'll be able to make us breakfast in the morning. Help us get moving. Mike has a softball game tomorrow at 10:00. What do you think, Mike? Should Pamela stay the night?" Mike looked towards Sara, initially taken aback by Sara's suggestion; but then he looked closely at Pamela, who now stood a just few feet in front of Sara and him, looking like a sexy girl in her short yellow skirt and high heels. Mike was confused. But perhaps because he was tipsy from alcohol, he saw Pamela as a girl, not as a boy, even though he knew of Pamela's gender confusion. What the hell, Mike wondered, was Sara thinking? "Whatever works for you, Sara," was all he said. Pamela's eyes opened wide. This was unexpected and not at all what she wanted. "But..., It's not..., I mean..., I don't belong here! You two are..., together. I'm all alone. Plus..., where would I sleep? On the couch?" "Pamela, I'll figure something out. Don't worry your pretty head. Now go make our sandwich. Put mayonnaise on it, and just a bit of mustard. We'll be in the bedroom. And don't forget the wine." With that, Sara approached Pamela and gave her a nice kiss on her cheek, which made Pamela blush nervously, then she and Mike went to his bedroom and closed the door. Part 15 Her hands shook as she grasped the knife and sliced through the loaf of bread. She searched the refrigerator, which was mostly empty except for beer, and found mayonnaise but no mustard. Pamela considered driving to the nearest market to buy some, but decided that such a delay might irritate Sara. Her mind was in a quandary: she did not want to be together with Sara and Mike, but then, too, she feared disobeying Sara. But no, she realized, it wasn't so much that she feared Sara's anger, but that she loved Sara so much that, more than anything, she wanted to please Sara. And that meant obeying Sara. Of course she knew Amanda could still have her charged with rape, but..., her sentence was nearly up, wasn't it? Wouldn't Amanda, were she to keep her promise, be required to eventually release her from her forced feminine bondage? Debating such thoughts in her mind, Pamela proceeded slowly. It took her nearly a half hour to prepare the snack and the chilled wine. But then, Pamela took a few minutes in the bathroom to check her makeup, touch up her eyeliner and apply a fresh coat of lipstick. As she did so, she told herself she needed to look pretty for Sara. But she also questioned herself, was she also trying to look cute for..., Mike? Part 16 "Come in, Pamela!" Sara called out after hearing a gentle knock upon Mike's bedroom door. Hesitantly Pamela opened the door with her left hand as she balanced with her right hand a silver tray holding the sandwich and wine. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the faintly lit room. The twosome were apparently already naked; they sat up in bed with a sheet covering them up to their waists. Pamela tried not to stare at Sara's too perfect breasts. But how beautiful they were! She glanced at Mike; even in the faint light, abundant black hair was visible upon his broad, muscular chest. "Sir..., Mistress..., I've brought your sandwich..., and wine..." "Set it on the nightstand, Pammy. And pour us some wine, please. We were just talking about you." "Oh?" Pamela said as she poured wine for her greatest love and her greatest rival. "Yes," Sara continued. "Mike says he doesn't like the idea of having a guy here tonight. I tell him you're not like that, but he's not sure." "But Mistress..., I am a man. I mean..., yes..., I am a man. Am I not?" Mike interrupted. "The question is, young lady, do you have a prick?" "What..., do I have....? Yes, I do. Of course..., I am a man..." "And does it get hard?" Mike continued, oblivious to Pamela's intense discomfort with this line of questioning. "I..., I..., well..., that's kind of..., personal..., isn't it...?" "Tell us, Pamela," Sara said in a commanding voice. "The truth." "But..." "No buts, Pamela. Tell us." Pamela looked meekly at Mike. "No, sir, it doesn't. Not anymore." "Doesn't what," Mike asked. "You know..., I..., I mean it..., doesn't grow anymore. Not like yours does. So..., maybe...., maybe I'm not a man, not like that..." "I want to see it. Take your skirt off. And your panties," Mike said. "Please.., not here..." "Oh, do it, Pamela! It's OK. It's just us. You're not in public. Gosh, girl!" said Sara in frustration. She had no choice. As Mike and Sara watched, she unbuttoned her yellow skirt and let it fall to the floor, then removed her pantyhose and panties, so that she was naked from the waist down. Her small cock, which had been tightly tucked away and out of sight, now hung for Mike and Sara to see. It was embarrassingly small. Pamela found herself wishing, for the first time in months, that it would harden. That, she reasoned, would show Mike that he was messing with a real man. And as importantly, it, his hard manhood, would clearly prove to Sara that they could have a future together, a future as man and wife, not as girlfriends. But, alas, it didn't harden. It hung, small, limp, and hairless, looking wholly unlike any real man's cock. Pamela suddenly felt small, crushed, helplessly inadequate. "Take your top off and climb in bed with us, Pamela," said Sara. "We'll prove to Mike that you're a girl." "But Mistress! I can't do that. Please, don't make me, please?" "Pamela, do what I say. Now! I don't want to call Amanda about this." Sara reached for the wineglass Pamela had set on the nightstand. Pamela didn't resist. She couldn't. She was close now to finishing her sentence, her imprisonment. Then she'd return to being a man. Then Sara might choose her over that damn Mike. As the two watched, she removed her blue top. "Bra too, Pammy. Take off your bra and climb in here between us," said Sara. Mike, sitting up in bed drinking wine, just watched, saying nothing. Sara did as commanded. Luckily Mike's bed was king sized. Pamela, now fully naked, climbed in between the two. "See Mike, it doesn't work anymore. Even if I handle it, it won't grow." Sara took Pamela's "manhood" in her hands and massaged it. "I tell you, Mike, she's a girl. Almost like me." As Sara gently caressed Pamela's soft hairless flesh, which looked more like a child's penis than a man's, nothing changed. Nothing hardened. Pamela blushed in shame. She loved Sara; she loved that Sara touched her down there, but she wanted to be a man. Tonight she needed to be a man! No, she thought, she WAS a man! Or was she? Mike finally spoke. "Yea, Sara, I see what you mean. That thing doesn't work. Probably never did. But, I gotta say, Pamela, your breasts are nice. Like a teenager's." Pamela had inadvertently lowered the sheet upon climbing into the bed. All three were now exposed. Mike hardened as he reached over to feel Pamela's breasts. Sara watched, amused to see her future husband aroused by her she-male servant. "Do you want to kiss it," he said to Pamela. "It's the real thing. Not like yours." "No, sir, I shouldn't..." "Yes you should," Sara quickly countered. "Go ahead, Pamela. Kiss it. I won't mind." Pamela felt she had no choice. Mike, she knew, had muscles. Pamela didn't. Mike could beat Pamela with his fists, and she'd be lucky to live. Plus, most importantly, she could not disobey Sara. She refused to disobey Sara, because she loved her. So Pamela bent down and meekly kissed the tip of Mike's throbbing manhood. "More, girl, do more than that," Mike said gruffly. "Suck it!" Pamela turned her eyes to Sara, who was sipping her wine and watching the spectacle. Looking directly at Pamela, Sara nodded her head, signaling Pamela that she must obey Mike. Pamela sighed softly, then went back down upon Mike, taking his erection into her mouth. She did not want this. Yes, she'd done this before, with Roger, but that was different. Roger had loved Pamela. Mike had no feelings for Pamela. Plus, the idea that Sara, who surely knew how deeply Pamela loved her, would want to witness this..., violation..., of her "girlfriend", well, it all just confused and saddened the young lady. Yet, Pamela realized, it excited her somehow. It was exciting her sexually, even though she could no longer get "aroused" in a manly manner. Pamela shut her eyes and slowly moved her mouth up and down Mike's shaft. Even as she did, Mike sipped his wine as if nothing were happening. "Whoa. You're girlfriend's lips are almost as nice as yours," Mike joked with Sara, who was also sipping wine. "No way, mister," Sara laughed. "Don't forget, I've got something that Pamela lacks." "Oh..., and just what is that? Pamela's got tits and a tongue, you know." Sara took her index finger and slowly placed it into her vagina. "This, Mike. Would you like a piece of a real woman?" "Sure thing, sweetheart; I'm almost ready to explode," Mike said and then, raising Pamela's head from his groin, added, "Enough for now, little girl. My real woman needs a poke." Mike climbed over Pamela and settled on top of beautiful Sara, who had spread her legs in anticipation. Pamela just lay there next to them as they commenced sex. They whispered and giggled to each other; Mike would lick and suck Sara's neck while Sara licked Mike's chest and kissed his mouth. Spread as she was, Sara's left leg rested against Pamela's right leg. In their passion, Mike and Sara were oblivious to Pamela's presence. Pamela caressed her manhood, but it would not be awakened. She then began massaging her breasts, which did provide a hint of the desires she'd once felt so often. Pamela felt Sara tense up as she climaxed. Yet they continued lovemaking. Another ten minutes passed and Sara climaxed again. Finally, after what seemed to Pamela to have been a dreadful eternity, Mike let out a low groan and plunged his manhood deep into Sara, who, simultaneously, climaxed yet again, this time letting loose a hushed scream. Finished and exhausted and intimately satisfied, they both lay in silence for many minutes, Mike still atop Sara, each not caring enough about Pamela to even acknowledge her presence, her existence. Then Mike rolled off Sara and, now wedged between Sara and Pamela, fell into a light sleep, as did Sara. Part 17 Pamela lay still as the two slept. Why had this all happened? How? Life, her life, had somehow descended into...this? She thought of how, just less than a year ago, she was a young man passing through Texas, on his way home to Iowa, returning from a Mexican vacation to a typical life as a typical young man. But now? What had happened to that young man? He was no more; was he never to return? Pamela fondled her right breast; the feeling was pleasurable. She turned towards Mike, recalling how, just what- a half hour ago? - she'd sucked and licked his erect cock. Yet Pamela didn't even protest. Surely the young man which Pamela had been, only one year before, would never had done that. That man would have resisted, would have fought. Blood would have been shed and, even if pummeled, that young man, who is no more, it seemed, would have resisted. Yet Pamela serviced Mike willingly, even as the girl he so loved watched with apparent amusement. What would happen to Pamela if Sara married Mike, she wondered. She lived solely, it seemed, to please Sara, to serve Sara, to desire Sara. If that marriage occurred, Pamela would no longer fit in. What would life then entail; only cleaning motel rooms, day after day? Or maybe Sara would have Pamela visit them, in their typical middle class family home, but only so as to take Mike's penis into her mouth when it was Sara's "time of the month". Is that what Pamela wanted of her life? Part 18 It wasn't very long, maybe twenty minutes, before Sara awakened. She turned toward Mike and gently kissed his face, waking him. She whispered into Mike's ear for awhile. Sara then rose from the bed and stood, naked and beautiful, all 5 feet eight inches of her, and looked towards Pamela, who still lay beside Mike. Within just seconds Mike had fallen back asleep. "Come, Pamela, help me shower," Pamela said quietly, trying not to waken Mike. "Why..., yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress," Pamela said with surprise. She quickly rose, grateful to leave Mike's side, and followed Sara into the bathroom. "My, my, Pamela, you sure did a good job cleaning the bathroom! Even the faucets have been polished. You sure try hard to please my boyfriend, don't you?" "Well..., it's not like that, Mistress..., I just try to, well, make him happy, I guess..." Pamela turned the shower on and held Sara's arm as she stepped into the bathtub. While Sara stood under the showerhead, with her eyes closed, Pamela used a washcloth to gently scrub Sara's body. "Pamela, dear, you're not finished yet," Sara said after Pamela set the washcloth down and reached for the shampoo. "Why..., I don't understand, Mistress..." "Really, my dear chambermaid," Sara said with a laugh. You do know where my boyfriend's semen is, don't you? You were watching us, after all." "Oh..., that...," Pamela muttered sadly. She turned the faucet off. "Yes, THAT!" Sara giggled; "Believe me, Pamela, it felt like heaven, like paradise, when Mike came! Into me, when his life force entered me. Into me! Yes, Pamela, Mike loves my body, and he loves me! "So, Pammy," Sara continued as Pamela wrapped the washcloth around her index finger and gently began probing Sara's vagina. Mike's cum coated the washcloth, embarrassing Pamela as she continued cleaning Sara's private parts. "Did you enjoy the show? Did you like watching me experience such pleasure? I know you enjoyed having Mike's manhood in your mouth. Surely you did. I was watching you two, and you seemed to be smiling." "And your boyfriend, was he also smiling?" "Of course he was. You are good at it, Pamela." "Good at what, Mistress?" Pamela finished cleaning Sara's vagina, then leaned over and kissed it. "At making men happy, Pamela. It's your calling. You're a girl. And you're good at it." "No, Mistress, no! I'm a man, a man who loves you. I love you, Sara! I don't love your boyfriend. Mistress, please! Nobody could ever love you more than I do. I love you more than he does. Don't marry him. Please, Mistress, marry me instead. Please!" "Oh, Patricia, enough of that! I know you love me. And I love you also..., but not like that." "But why, Mistress?" Pamela asked, a sense of defeat in her voice. "You just saw why! My gosh, Pammy! You don't have what Mike has. How in the world could you ever give such pleasure to me as Mike just did?" "I could, Mistress." "How? How can you ever pleasure me like Mike? You have no manhood, Pamela. It doesn't get hard. It can't. Look at it, right now, look at it," Sara said, causing both of them to look at Pamela's penis, "it just hangs there between your legs, tiny and limp, even as you caress me, as you finger my vagina. How can that be? If you were a man, Pamela..., if you were really a man, you'd be as hard as a rock right now. You would!" "But Mistress..., please..., just give me a chance. Don't marry him. Stay with me..., forever! I'll take care of you forever! We'll grow old together. Please!" "Pamela, you're a girl," Sara spoke with unusual seriousness, "a girl! Accept that! I love you..., but as my girlfriend. Not as my boyfriend!" Pamela was silent as she turned the shower back on and washed Sara's hair. When finished, Pamela used a towel to first dry Sara, then herself. Sara leaned over and kissed Pamela's cheek. "Come with me, Pammy," Sara said. The two girls re-entered Mike's bedroom, where he was still sleeping. Sara leaned over and kissed his face. "OK," she said, "I'm finished with my shower. Your turn, honey." "OK, babe," Mike said groggily, then got up and walked towards the bathroom. Sara stared at Pamela. "You too, Pammy. Go clean Mike like you did me. And don't forget his penis. Scrub it clean. You know where it's been," she said with a slight laugh. "But Mistress!" "Go, Pamela," Sara said sternly. "Wash my boyfriend, now! It's time to get some sleep." Part 19 Pamela, still naked and a bit damp from her session in the shower with Sara, reluctantly followed Mike to the bathroom. Feeling uneasy and unsure of Mike's intentions, Pamela turned the shower on and adjusted the water temperature. Mike, unlike Sara, did not expect assistance getting into the tub; he just stepped in, stood under the shower head, and waited. Pamela took a clean washcloth and, after soaping it, began to scrub Mike's body. He said nothing. Pamela wondered what he might be thinking. His body, she soon noticed, was coarse and hairy, and his muscles bulged, so unlike Sara's smooth, soft hairless beauty. And, Pamela had to admit to herself as she worked to clean him, so unlike Pamela's own body. Had Pamela, back when she was a real male, ever had a body like Mike's? No, she sadly admitted to herself, no; even as a male, during those years preceding her Texas disaster, she'd lacked bulging muscles and her body hair was sparse. Even as a male, Pamela realized, she may have had more in common with Sara, physically, than with Mike. And now, of course, there was no question; the hormones, the electrolysis, the laser, the facial beauty creams, all of this had fully feminized his body - except, of course, for that one flaccid remnant of her former manhood. She scrubbed Mike 's chest, his six-pack stomach, his hairy legs, his muscled arms. Finally, she lathered and massaged his cock, gently handling it, trying not to awaken it. But yet it grew, soon becoming large and hard. Shaken by the thought that Mike might expect, might demand, to be "serviced" again, maybe even expecting more, Pamela hurried to finish, then turned the shower off and toweled Sara's boyfriend dry. It still stood erect, menacing Pamela. Reflexively, without thinking, she bent down and kissed it, a simple kiss, just as she'd kissed Sara's treasure minutes earlier. Mike, still silent, turned and left the bathroom, returning to Sara. Pamela stayed, dried her feminized body, then spent ten minutes or so cleaning the bathroom. Quietly she returned to the bedroom; Mike's eyes were closed, maybe he was asleep. Sara beckoned her, then whispered, "You must sleep here tonight, Pamela. Go ahead, crawl in between us. It's OK; I won't get jealous if you lay next to my boyfriend." Pamela knew better than to object; besides, she was exhausted. She lay between Sara and Mike, her body touching both of theirs, and pulled the bedsheet and blanket over the three of them. Soon both Mike and Sara slept soundly. Pamela's mind churned; she lay between near perfect specimens of a man and a woman. She lay between them and, she realized, she also existed between them, neither man nor woman. Pamela ached for the certainty which Mike and Sara each possessed, certainty regarding their gender. Neither ever questioned their gender. Pamela found herself more and more frequently obsessed with that question: was she man, or woman? Which life would she live? Part 20 Mondays were typically easy days for Pamela; few guests stayed at the motel on Sundays, and thus she had few rooms to clean on Mondays. This day she finished before 10:00, after which she drove to Maria's apartment, as she did on most Mondays and Thursdays. Maria, one of Sara's closest friends, is a cute Honduran-American girl of about 22 years with a husband and a six month old baby boy. Initially Sara had asked (which really meant required) Pamela to help Maria, who was then pregnant and struggling, but soon Maria and Pamela became friends, good friends, and Pamela voluntarily helped Maria out whenever possible. For Maria had a difficult life: she held down a job at a Target store, had an infant son to care for and, like so many Hispanic wives, Maria's husband refused to help much around the house, claiming that such work was for women, not men. Poor Maria was pressured from all sides. So Pamela tried to help her friend. Twice a week she cleaned Maria's apartment, washed the family's clothes, and cared for Maria's baby while Maria and her husband were at work. It surprised Pamela that she found changing baby Antonio's diapers and bottle-feeding him to be oddly pleasurable. Yes, it was difficult, particularly grocery shopping while cradling little Antonio with one arm as her purse hung from the other, but it was enjoyable. Maybe, thought Pamela, this is why young women so cherish motherhood. Pamela sat at the kitchen table with Maria, enjoying a cup of coffee, while she waited for her cousin Eduardo to arrive. Eduardo had promised to take Maria to work today. Maria looked pretty, wearing a knee-length beige skirt and a red blouse, basically the required uniform at Target. Even wearing her black, open-toed two inch heels, Maria stood a couple of inches lower than Pamela, who hadn't changed from the gray shirt- dress and flats she'd worn that morning cleaning motel rooms. "Maria," Pamela confided as she sipped her hot coffee, "Sara's marrying Mike in a month. I don't know what I'll do once that happens. I really need her. I just don't know..." "I'm so sorry, Pammy. I know you have feelings for Sara. But you..., well..., ahh..., maybe I shouldn't say anything. I should stay out of your issues, shouldn't I?" "No, Maria, no. I need to hear your thoughts. Please. Go ahead, what were you saying?" "Oh..., it's like this, Pamela. I think you maybe need to decide. Just decide! And then you can get on with your life." "Decide...., decide what?" Pamela asked while studying Maria's brown eyes and black eyeliner. "What you are! Are you a girl, or a boy? Which are you? You must decide what you are, and then live that life. To me, you are a girl. I can't imagine you as a guy, no more than I can imagine my husband as a girl. And I know that Sara, she also thinks of you as a girl. Only as a girl. "Yet you..., well..., you sometimes seem unsure. Like you maybe want to go back to being male? I surely cannot understand why you would want that..., girls do have a much better life that guys! Men are always so..., so lonely. They don't have friends like we do." "You're right about me, Maria," Pamela conceded, "This past month, well, it's been driving me crazy! What am I? Who should I be? Am I Pamela or am I Michael? Should I be a female in Texas, or should I return to Iowa as a male?" She sighed heavily, then continued, "If only I were like you, Maria. You have no doubts about who you are or what your life is all about. You've never had such doubts. You're a female..., you love and care for your husband..., and little Antonio, he's the focus and joy of your existence. Everything is clear to you." "Si, Si, es verdad," Maria said in a contemplative tone. Then the doorbell rang, ending their conversation. Maria invited in her cousin Eduardo and his two young children, Leticia and John. "Hi, Pamela, I'm Eduardo. It is so nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you. Maria thinks you're the greatest!" Eduardo said upon entering the kitchen. He stood an inch taller than Pamela, was rather light skinned with dark brown hair. He wore new jeans and a stylish tan shirt, opened at the collar. Pamela noticed dark hair upon the visible bit of his chest. Blushing, Pamela replied, "Me..., no, not at all!" "Come now, let's get going," Maria said to Eduardo, "or I'll be late to work! "Pamela, Antonio should sleep for another half hour at least. Ok..., well, adios, my pretty anglo friend!" Maria then rushed to the car, urging Eduardo and his children to hurry. Part 21 By the time Marco, Maria's husband, arrived home from his construction job, Pamela had finished cleaning the apartment and preparing lasagna for the family. An hour earlier she had driven to the nearby Kroger supermarket to purchase chicken, hamburger, tortillas, diapers, milk, and a few other groceries. There, Pamela noticed, everyone seemed to admire her, thinking her a young mother with a newborn child. Nobody questioned her gender when she was with little Antonio, which caused Pamela to feel oddly happy, somehow fulfilled, and her gender confusion temporarily vanished. "Gracias, ma'am," Marco said as Pamela reached for her purse, "have a nice evening." "Oh, you are most welcome! And Antonio also! Maria says she'll be off work at 6:00; she wants you to pick her up then. Oh..., and tell Maria the lasagna should be done by the time she gets home. Adios!" Pamela smiled at Marco, feeling somehow free here at Maria's, not needing to continually use "sir" or "ma'am" or "mistress". Maria and her family treated Pamela like..., well, like any other female friend. Pamela turned her head as she walked to her car and, seeing that Marco was watching her with a grateful smile, she waved to him before driving away. Part 22 Pamela, who was off duty, wore her favorite skirt, a simple, barely above the knee, faded denim skirt with a wide patent leather belt. As always, she wore pantyhose, knowing Amanda would object to seeing her bare legs. On her feet were open toed navy blue heels, comfortable at only an inch and a half height. Because of the cool weather, she wore her long sleeve, maroon, mock neck pullover top. She had finished her salad and was sipping her coffee when, to her surprise and concern, both Amanda and Sara entered the restaurant and sat at her table. "Hello, ma'am; hello Mistress," she addressed the two, her slightly trembling voice betraying her worry. Feeling somehow..., inferior..., even afraid of Amanda, Pamela stared at her nails, which she had painted light blue just before dinner. "Hi, Pamela," Sara replied in a most friendly tone. "Pamela," Amanda began in her typical businesswoman manner, "do you know today is your anniversary?" "No, ma'am..., anniversary..., of what..., ma'am?" "One year ago today, March 21, a young man named Michael arrived at my motel. There is no need to revisit the details, young lady. Suffice to say, you have proven to be a most valuable employee here. Your punishment -which you did freely choose, I should remind you - is complete as of midnight tonight. After midnight you are a free woman..., or man..., free to do whatever you choose. Neither I nor Sara will seek any further punishment of you for what occurred that evening, not by us personally nor by the law." Pamela was stunned. The three women, each aware of the momentous importance of this meeting, sat in silence for several minutes. Pamela tried to sip her coffee, but her hand trembled so that she set the cup down. Free to..., what, Pamela wondered. She was actually frightened now..., of an uncertain future. "I didn't know, ma'am... I sort of lost track of time..., of days.., wow..., this is...., unexpected. "So..., does this mean I'm..., fired? Ma'am?" Amanda smiled. "No, Pamela, not at all. Like I just said, you are a very valuable employee. All your co-workers like you. You may continue working here. And if you do, Sara has convinced me to authorize you a fifty cent per hour raise." Pamela found herself staring again at her hands, at her painted nails. "But..., ma'am..., if I am..., free..., that means I can be a..., a man..., again? I can be Michael?" "That's your decision," Amanda said coldly. Pamela looked towards Sara, whose eyes seemingly expressed sympathy. She paused to collect her thoughts. "Mistress..., Sara..., what about you? Will you want me as a man? I'll be a real man for you. Like Mike is. What about it? Do we have a chance..., together...?" Sara was silent, not wanting this discussion again, surely not with Amanda present. "Mistress?" "Pamela," Sara replied, after another lengthy silence, "we've discusse