Message-ID: <15669eli$9809280832@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger) Subject: New TG: A Losing Season 3 of 13 (FemDom(?), CD) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: tigger@alices.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3616ede4.33349469@news.erols.com> A Losing Season - An Alternative Ending to Seasons of Change Part III by Tigger Copyright 1998 Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted provided that no fee be charged, either directly or indirectly (this includes so-called "adult checks") *and* provided that this disclaimer and attribution to the original author are maintained intact. Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons of Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989. This story is archived in its entirety at: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_author/Joel_Lawrence This story represents an alternative ending to Mr. Lawrence's story. It is essentially a parallel universe story where things start out the same, but follow a much different path than the one portrayed in the original story. A Losing Season: Chapter 8. Abandonment. Maria had just taken away his breakfast dishes, more of the funny, dry bars and a cup of chocolate flavored something. She had remained rigidly formal with him, and had refused any overtures he made at conversation. The only remotely personal thing she had done was check him over to see that his injuries were healing and were not infected. Her fingers did linger on the bruise that stained his mid drift, shaped like her foot. A very sad look crossed her eyes as she ran gentle fingers across the blue black mark, but she had said nothing. Alone again, he'd picked up the discarded detective novel and tried to pretend he had not already figured out the ending when the key scratched the door again. This time the door opened to admit Jane. She was carrying a telephone which she placed on the bedside table and hooked into the wall socket. She then pressed a button on it and spoke into the speaker on the phone. "Barbara, are you still there?" Michael went instantly alert. Barbara was his Mother's name. "Yes, Jane." came the sound of his Mother's voice, made somewhat tinny by the distance of the overseas call. The utter lack of interest those toneless words conveyed was her responsibility alone. "Barb, I have Michael here. Would you please repeat what you just told me?" Michael heard and then saw the barely restrained emotion rippling beneath Jane's reserved and autocratic facade. "Oh, very well, but you could have told him." was the bored reply. "We are late for the opera. "Michael, Jane has told me that you have not responded properly to her treatment. I don't want you to end up like your father, a hard-driving bastard who died of apoplexy while furiously bullying an overworked underling for some trivial error. I have told her to do as she feels she must. Put you in a hospital, send you to a military school, whatever. If you have any brains at all, you will do what Jane says. She knows what's best." Michael's face became a mask of pain as his Mother's voice became cold. "This time, you have gone too far and endangered the family name. I will pay for whatever Jane deems necessary since you cannot possibly go back to St. Andrews now - not in your current condition. But you won't see another cent from me beyond that, Michael. Your trust fund won't be released until you reach twenty one. I suggest you get your head screwed on and stop making a nuisance of yourself." She paused a moment for effect. "Jane, is that all? I really am frightfully late." Jane's control snapped and she slammed both hands down hard on the night table, causing the phone to bounce. "No, God dammit, it is NOT enough. Don't you want to hear *your* son's side of this? Don't you think you owe it to him to hear what he has to say?" Michael merely rose and walked away from the phone, and stared out the window. The response to Jane's query was "Jane, I am late and I have no time to deal with this. If you don't want to be involved, you know what to do. Good bye." The phone clicked, and for a long time, Jane could do nothing but stare at the buzzing speaker. When the phone began to chirp "If . . you . . wish . . to . . make . . a . . call. .", she finally pressed the disconnect button and turned to look at her ward. He had not moved a muscle since leaving his seat. Jane quietly moved over to stand behind him. "I am sorry about that, Michael. As badly as things have gone between us, I did not think you would believe me if I told you that." she paused momentarily trying to gauge his response. "And . . I had hopes that talking to you might remind her that you are her son and that maybe you are more important to her than hearing Luciano Pavarotti at the Vienna Opera." He gave a bark of humorless laughter followed by what might have been a sob before flinging himself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Why should she change now? She almost got her fondest wish - no son. She hasn't been interested in me since my father died. It's as if she looks for reasons not to be with me." Stiffly, Jane returned to the chair, apparently uncertain what to do next. Turning back to face his guardian, Michael noted her worried expression and smiled darkly at her before saying softly. "I won't try to kill myself over this, Jane. I will live if only to deny her what she really wants." "Eric assures me there is nothing in here you could harm yourself with, anyway, Michael." Michael reached for the heavy volume of the complete works of Conan-Doyle and hefted it. "He's wrong, Jane." and tossed the book at her. She caught it awkwardly and examined it closely before tossing it back to him. "Doesn't seem very deadly to me." she said with a forced lightness. "No, but those windows are old glass, as old as this house. Old glass shatters really easily and that book is heavy. I could heave it through one of those windows and impale myself on one of the shards before any of you could have stopped me." Jane paled at the thought, but forced herself to ask. "When did you figure that out?" "Last night, after Dr. Davis left the second time." he said diffidently. "I don't think anything could ever make me that stupidly angry again. Now, I have to figure out how to deal with what is left of my life." He thought for a moment more and then looked at Jane. "I guess that means starting with you since my maternal parent abandoned her parental responsibility to you, just as she has always abandoned me." "Maternal parent?" Jane asked with a bubble of semi-hysterical laughter. "She sure as hell hasn't been a Mom to me in years." Jane had to agree with that, but held her silence. "And something else before you decide, Jane. I won't turn the cops and the press loose on you, regardless your decision. I don't think you have any more reason to trust me than you said I have to trust you, but you have my word of honor on that score. I don't want to hurt Beth, or any of those other men you have. . . treated?" He could not bring himself to say 'helped'. ". .yes, *treated* over the years. I wouldn't cry if something nasty happened to Sandy, but I can't get at her without possibly hurting others." "Or me." Jane added. "Or you." Michael added with grim finality. "So, do you have contacts in some nice concentration camp style military school? Or am I going to become a ward of the state as a patient at one of the mental hospitals?" Jane thought she heard a touch of dread hiding behind the bravado, and so she took her time answering. "I really don't know, Michael. The Doctor said a home environment would be best for you, but obviously," she said, looking pointedly at the now silent phone. "Your Mother won't be providing that for you any time soon." A knock interrupted their conversation and Dr. Davis stuck his head in the door. "May I come in?" he asked. When Michael shrugged, the slim doctor glided in. The graceful, almost feminine walk reminded Michael of his first glimpse of the man, rigged out in his Erica outfit. He'd been striking in that severely tailored, forest green skirt power suit that had perfectly complimented the flashing auburn tresses and lightly freckled complection. Striking, if not precisely pretty - and certainly not as pretty as Beth, or even as Michelle, he thought smugly. Then he realized just where that line of thought was heading and almost groaned. "Michael," Jane's firm voice called him back from that shocking thought. "Eric does not want me to say this, but I have decided I will tell you anyway. He is here right now because I had him listening in on that phone conversation with your mother. ." "Maternal parent." Michael corrected angrily. "Ummmm. . . yes. Well, he was listening in on what *Barbara* had to say to you. He's here because we felt you might want to talk to someone who understood what you've been through here. . . what *I've* put you through here, and who is otherwise a disinterested party." Michael considered that for a moment. Obviously, the Doc lived, how did Beth put it, with both identities as part of his life. And he was a psychologist. He nodded. "Thank you." he said tiredly. Jane rose. "Then I will leave you two to do just that." she said a tad too brightly, and then hurried out the door. Michael looked up at Eric and offered him the chair. The words were out before he realized he was going to say them. "Do you really dress up still? By your own free choice?? With a wife and kids?!?" A Losing Season: Chapter 9. The Plan. "It has the advantage, Jane, of killing two birds with one stone." Eric offered earnestly. "Please, don't use that metaphor, Eric." "Sorry." he grinned. "But seriously, Jane, of the three options open to us, it is the only one that would get him to confront his festering inner conflicts about cross dressing. Also, given his intensely competitive nature, being very good at it would give him a goal to focus on." "But what can we possibly use to motivate him to choose that course of action? Even though he has promised not to go to the authorities, I cannot take the chance of trying to force him back into skirts against his will. Not again, by God. I won't endanger my friends like that again." The young psychologist grew very serious. "No, I agree that it must be his own choice. Well, as I said earlier, he is very intelligent. Maybe he would buy into the resolving his internal conflicts as a motivator." At Jane's disbelieving glare, Eric shrugged."I didn't say it would be easy, only that it was the best solution to all of his problems." "I agree with you that he needs to accept his more sensitive self and get rid of that macho-chip he carries around on his shoulder. But how do we get him to recognize that?" Jane complained. "When he has already nearly killed himself because of his experience in skirts?" "It is not at all the same thing, Jane. It wasn't only the cross dressing that did him in, it was realization that the life he had been planning on wasn't possible for him anymore." The psychologist thought for a few moments. "The only other thing that is nearly as critical to his emotional and mental makeup is his utter ambivalence toward his Mother. Not too surprising after her little performance on the phone. Maybe you could find a way to make that work to your advantage." "What? Tell him getting into skirts will help him get back at his Mother? For heavens sake, Eric. She *sent* him here, and he knows she is fully aware of what I do to my young men." "Its just a possibility. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of time to pull this off." "I think it will work, too, Jane." Beth added quietly. "You can be very persuasive when you care about something. Michael will respond to that. I think he is looking for something, some*one* to fill some very big holes in his life." Jane scanned the small circle gathered in her study. "All right. We can only try. Maria?" she looked at her long time friend and co-conspirator. "Go upstairs and get him a complete, skin out set of his male clothes including shoes and underwear. I want him to make this choice on his own, fully understanding what he will be giving up as well as what he might be gaining if we proceed down this path. He will eat with us at dinner and we will discuss his future afterwards in the music room." "Jane?" Beth asked as they rose to leave the room. "What will you do if he doesn't make the choice you want him to make?" The older woman sighed. "Exactly what he chooses, Beth. I don't see how we can chance trying to trick him, or changing our minds about what we will do with him. No, I will scrupulously abide by whatever decision he makes." A Losing Season: Chapter 10. Choices After three days of finger foods, Michael found the simple pleasure of feeding himself with such civilized implements as fork, spoon *and* knife deeply satisfying. Maria's food wasn't bad, either, and included just about every dish she'd seen him particularly enjoy during his stay with them. It made for an odd meal, but if anyone thought it curious to have Maria's authentic fajitas served alongside her spicy Chinese stir-fried vegetables and candied sweet potatoes, no one commented on it. Beth did give him a very sly grin and a wink when the german chocolate cake was served for desert. All of this was made all the more special because he was eating the meal in the dining room wearing his own *male* clothes again. Earlier that afternoon, shortly after Eric had left him, Maria had arrived to tell him his bathroom water had been turned back on. She'd offered to try and do something with what was left of his hair, but the damage done was beyond even her ability to repair. In the end, she'd shaved him bald. Michael privately thought he looked like a young Yul Brenner. Beth, however, disagreed and had called him Uncle Fester when she'd checked to see if he needed anything before dinner. When he'd finished his shower, he'd found his clothes laid out on the bed - an open collared sport shirt, slacks, shoes and real men's jockey shorts - complete with a *fly*. For a brief moment, he wondered what the catch was, but in the end decided that there was not much else they could do to him and had put on the clothes. Precisely at six, Jane had arrived to escort him to dinner. Now that the meal was over, Michael wondered if he had slipped into one of those classic Rod Serling Twilight Zone episodes. Had aliens from another time and place kidnaped Aunt Jane and taken her place. My God, he thought grimly, she'd actually been pleasant to him. She'd even *smiled* at him, more than once, without looking like a hungry shark ready to pounce. So it was with more than a bit of trepidation that he now walked with the rest of the "family", including Maria who had been told to leave the dishes, to the music room. Was this where the other shoe fell on his innocent head? Had he just been fattened up for the slaughter? Inside the classically decorated room, a coffee service had already been laid out. Jane walked over to the small sideboard that served as a bar and offered after dinner drinks to Maria and to Eric. Then she turned to Michael and Beth. "Would either of you care for something? Some wine, perhaps, or something stronger?" Beth accepted the wine, but Michael, already nervous, decided that he should try to keep what wits he still had. "No, thank you, Aunt Jane. Some coffee would be fine, though." He must have been mistaken, he thought. Was that actually approval he saw in her eyes? The drinks were passed out and then Jane had every one settle on the various couches and chairs, but she was particularly careful to seat Michael and herself directly opposite of each other. Thoroughly spooked now, Michael's mouth engaged. "Is this the time, the walrus said, to speak of many things?" Everyone chuckled, but Jane's brow went up in that frightening way she had. "Am I to assume that you think I look like a walrus, Michael?" Then she laughed at his comical, open mouthed look of terror. "Oh, calm down. Yes, we have to talk, but nothing will happen tonight or as a result of tonight that you do not agree to enter freely and of your own will." Now she quotes Bram Stoker to me. Is she Vlad the Impaler, or Van Helsing? "We have to make some decisions about your future, Michael. You have some choices to make. First, let me say that I cannot, in good conscience, let you return to St. Andrews. At least not now. Maybe in a year or so, if you still want to return there, that can be arranged, however, Dr. Davis feels that is not a good situation for you just now." Michael made a noncommital shrug, but said nothing. "I have also, again with Eric's concurrence, decided that you are not going to be sent to a hospital or to another boarding school. What you need is stability and people who want to help *you*. We are afraid that you won't get either as just another patient or just another student. The best solution would have been for your Moth. . . that is, for Barbara to take you away to a nice private home and let you deal with this in a supportive family setting, which simply isn't going to happen." Jane let her voice become icy-cold. "If she even thought about it now, I would contest her revocation of guardianship in court to keep her away from you." Michael was astounded to see the anger in Jane's eyes, and more, to see that it was directed at his Mother, not at him. "So, here are the options you have, Michael. First, Eric has said that you can live with him and his wife in Chicago. His wife is familiar with my program and although she is a supporter of my methods, she understands you have had a particularly bad experience. While you are there, you will be free to live as Michael. More importantly, Eric will be there to help you deal with whatever you need to resolve in order to get on with your life." Jane took a sip from her wine glass. "Your second option is to stay here with me, living as Michael. I would enroll you in the local school system this fall instead waiting until after Christmas as your Mother and I had originally planned. For your part, you will allow me to act in loco parentis. I will expect you to agree to follow my rules and regulations, *which*," she said firmly with a hand raised to forestall Michael making a comment, "I promise will be neither out of the ordinary nor unfairly enforced. In return for this agreement, I will promise to defer any future . . .er. . .special students" and here her eyes fell on the elegantly dressed Beth, "until you reach your majority and can move out on your own." "Your third option is also to stay with me, but living as Michelle." At the shocked look in his eyes and the coiling of his legs to bolt, Jane held up a restraining hand, and Eric caught him by the elbow, effectively keeping him in his seat. "Hear me out, Michael, please." The soft entreaty in her voice did more to stay him than anything she had ever threatened him with. "First of all, Eric and I both think the experience would be good for you from the perspective of personal growth. Thanks to your . . . to Barbara's sending you to all those male-only, all year boarding schools, you have had an almost complete lack of the feminine influence and outlooks in your life. Michelle might give you some balance in your perceptions." Michael could keep silent no longer. "But that would mean taking the chance I will be exposed publically as a sissy. And the probability of that happening sometime in the next four years has to be nearly one hundred percent." He shot an angry glare at Beth. "You said she couldn't, wouldn't do that." he accused hotly. Intervening, Jane resumed. "I know what Beth told you, and she is correct, as far as that goes. All my little ploys and lessons are *always* aimed at protecting my girls from real discovery all the while making them feel as vulnerable and as threatened as possible. However, experiences such as that would not *our* objective for you. *Our* goal would be to make you, while dressed anyway, indistinguishable from any other young woman your age. To make you into a *lady*, not a sissy." Michael was no longer able to contain his fury and disgust. "Little ploys and lessons? *Little* PLOYS? Is that what you call what you do to people? What you did to me? And just what the hell good do you think that cockamamie idea would do for me, anyway? Besides, the very last thing I want in my life is to give you that kind of power over me again, to suffer your sadistic "little ploys" again." raw anger spewed from him, and furious tears ran down his cheeks. "Do you think I am crazy? Or just stupid?" Jane quietly struggled to keep control of herself. When she finally spoke, Michael could see the pain apparent in her face. "You are neither of those things, Michael. Just someone with a far more resistant masculine self image than I anticipated, someone I pushed much too hard, someone I did not read correctly, someone I hurt very badly. A great deal of what happened to you must be laid at my door, and I am suffering from my errors in judgement, my failures. That is part of the reason that I am willing to foreswear any new students during the term of your stay with me - I, too, must deal with this before I can once more take on the responsibility of tearing down a personality in order to build him back up again." She paused to take a shaky sip of her wine. The interview was going much as she expected with Michael not willing to give an inch. She'd give him his pound of flesh if that is what it took to get him to stay here and let her help him. It was time to try another tack. "Michael, those failures are my share of what ultimately has brought us to this point, but another important piece of the puzzle is inside you. You know that your reaction was completely beyond anything in my experiences with the nearly fifty other young men who have come to me over the last twenty years I have been . . . treating them." "I still don't see where this is going, Aunt Jane." Michael snapped, impatience dripping from each clipped word. "Simply this. If you decide to try living as Michelle, I will in turn promise to forego my "little ploys" and, as I said earlier, to teach you how to be a real lady, not a sissy." "Michael," Eric gently broke in, taking the pressure momentarily off Jane. "You have some deep seated issues that Jane's humiliation games and her program of enforced femininity ignited. You have to deal with those problems or this episode will haunt you for years to come. What this option will do for you is to permit you to deal with part of the problem, your mixed feelings about feminine dress without the humiliation aspect of all this." "Mixed feelings, Eric?" Michael asked, turning to glare at the older man. "And just *what* is that supposed to mean?" "Simply that a part of you really does like the dressing, the masquerade, and another part of you is afraid, and maybe ashamed to like it. Be honest with yourself right now, Michael, as you were with Sandy that morning. You knew that you were accepting Jane's training, and in part, because you were enjoying some of it." Michael did not want to admit his own misgivings on that subject. Damn Eric for confusing him with his infernal questions. "And you think dressing as a female for Jane will help me deal with those "mixed feelings"?" Michael asked skeptically. "We shrinks call it "confrontation", Michael. Make a reasoned decision to face, on *your* terms, whatever it is that frightens you. Understand it so that you can, in turn, understand why it frightens you . . .so that you begin to desensitize yourself to that fear." "That sounds kind of fishy to me, Eric." And then his eyes became very suspicious. "Does she still have something on you? Are you supporting her because you have to? Just like Beth supported her against me before?" Green eyes burned furiously. "Michael, you may choose not to believe me, but do not *ever* insult my personal and professional ethics. You are my *patient*, and I would *never* recommend something that was against my patient's best interests. Not for *any* reason. If you feel that this option is too much for you," and here Eric's voice became subtly challenging, "Then don't do it. Take either of the other options Jane has offered you." Michael was stung by the anger in the therapist's tones, and sat back both to think and to gain some distance. Finally, he asked, "If I go with Eric, will he be my guardian?" Jane shook her head. "No, your Mother signed your custody over to me. I do not have the authority to transfer it to Eric, and I don't suspect your Mother will oblige us. However, for whatever good you consider my word, I *promise* not to force myself into your life if you go to Eric." Not knowing what to say or think, Michael took a sip from his rapidly cooling coffee. He really wanted to be away from Jane, away from here, but he did not really know Eric all that well and he did not know his wife at all. Except that Jane said the woman approved of Jane's methods of treating problem boys. "But suppose I agree to that third option, Jane, and discover that I really do hate it. That, even with you not playing your games with me, that it simply makes me miserable? What am I agreeing to, time wise, in that option? You gave it to me separately from the one where I live with you as Michael until I reach my majority and gain access to my trust fund. Is it all or nothing? Do I live out the remainder of my teenage years as a female with no option for parole?" Jane did not know quite how to answer that question. If Michael became Michelle, she did not want a time limit other than staying with the program until Michael got better. However, she knew that response would make Michael reject the third option, which she was absolutely convinced was the best for him. Still, he *was* asking, and not rejecting the Michelle option out of hand. "If you are going to be Michelle, it would be best to commit to being her. Particularly if you are going to overcome your private demons on this score. If you are going to do it, I think you need to make a commitment so that I can coach, and yes, correct you without fear of you changing your mind on me every day." Michael obviously did not like that answer and was on the verge of refusing to try that route when Beth spoke up for the first time. "How about a trial period, Jane? Suppose Michael commits to a specified period of time, regardless how he feels about the masquerade. During that time, he would promise to do his very best to be the best Michelle he can be. At the end of the trial period, you sit down, discuss the situation, and he makes a decision whether to continue as Michelle or to revert to being Michael without consequences." "How long?" Michael and Jane asked almost in unison, and then both answered. "One month!" "One year!" Giggling at the two of them, Beth again intervened. "Jane, if you aren't going to send Michael back to school until after Christmas, you have time in hand for a reasonable trial period. It is early July. Why don't you agree to three months. That way, you will have time for Michael to completely undo Michelle, like growing back eyebrows, working the curls out of his hair and relearning all his male gestures and speech patterns. If he decides to stay with Michelle, that will give you time to figure out what to do to get her into school somewhere." The responses were predictable - from Michael's "Three *whole* months?!?" to Jane's "*Only* three months?!?" Beth gave a dainty shrug and let the two antagonists try to stare each other down. A piercing whistle made both jump back in their seats and turn their glares on the cause. Eric simply laughed and made a 'time out' signal with his hands. "Why don't you sleep on it, the pair of you. Michael has not even agreed to be Michelle yet. Heck, he might even decide to live with me, although. . ." and he batted his eyes at the young man, "It *would* be nice to have company for Erica at times." Michael's blank look set Eric off again. "Just kidding, Michael. Trust me, if you come live with me, you can set up a "no-dress" zone around yourself if that is what you need. Go to bed and think about it, okay?" Michael was still struggling with Jane's obvious preference. "Suppose I goof up, Aunt Jane - get unmasked as a sissy boy in girl's clothing?" He knew he'd never be able to hold up under the humiliation of such a calamity. Something of the old, hard Jane came back into her eyes. "So don't goof up." she ordered caustically. "Besides, you've already told me that such an exposure no longer threatened you. Right?" She said silkily as she cocked her brow at him in challenge. Let him remember *that* statement, she thought. Then she gentled her tones. "And I will say this just once more, Michael. You won't *be* a sissy, subject to and molded by my carefully orchestrated lessons in humiliation. I will teach you to be a *real* lady who will pass muster anywhere, in any company and under any circumstances." Before Michael could find the wit to respond to that, Jane's stern look incongruously softened, and then, wonder upon wonder to Michael, Jane *actually* blushed and stammered. "Well, maybe not quite *all* circumstances. You will still be. . . ummmmmm. . . entire, as dog breeders speak of their fully male animals." Michael quickly understood precisely which circumstance Jane could not guarantee his disguise would pass muster, and blushed furiously himself. Well, he was NOT going to go to bed with a guy. Nor was he going to become . . not entire, either. No one spoke for several moments, and just sat quietly, warily watching the emotions flit across Michael's face. Finally, he shook his head. It was just too much to absorb all in one sitting. "All right. Maybe Eric has the right of it. This has been an awful lot to take in and I am bushed. May I be excused, Aunt Jane?" She nodded and he rose to leave. "Michael?" It was Aunt Jane's voice. He turned around just in time to catch a large brass key that nearly clipped him on the nose. "That is the only key to your door. Make sure you don't lock yourself in tonight. We'd have to take the door apart to get you back out." Michael clutched the key in his hand, its implications running wildly through his head. No more locked doors. And he had his male clothes again. There was nothing to keep him here anymore. He was, for all intents and purposes, free. Dazed, he looked back to his Aunt Jane. "Go to bed, Michael. We will talk in the morning." He left the room quickly as the others quietly watched his retreat. "About as well as we could have expected, Jane." Eric said softly. "But suppose he doesn't choose Michelle, Eric, what then?" "You already answered that question, Jane. We will keep our promises, and try our best to help him within those limitations. We knew coming into this that his tough-guy, "man's man" persona was going to resist strongly what his more sensitive side might prefer to try. And I think Beth's idea of a trial period is a good one. It will give you a chance to get him into skirts and gentle him for a bit. It will also give him a chance to just enjoy the feeling of wearing nice feeling clothes and being pretty without worrying about your "little ploys". I think that, if he takes that option, by the end of three months he will be likely to choose Michelle for the long term." End Part III -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----