Message-ID: <15787eli$9810010535@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger) Subject: New TG: A Losing Season 11 of 13 (Femdom(?), CD) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: tigger@alices.com X-Auto-Converted: 8bit to quoted-printable by isgate.is 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: <3613ad56.485623@news.erols.com> A Losing Season - An Alternative Ending to Seasons of Change Part XI 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_authors/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. Losing Season: Chapter 34. The Final Confrontation The little room had a small love seat and several chairs clustered into a cozy little grouping in the center of the room, with a small antique writing desk off to one corner. Wearily, Michelle settled onto the love seat to wait for Jane. Her mind drifted until she noticed her reflection again, this time in the glass fireplace screen. With detached interest, she studied the picture she made. Hands resting demurely on her lap, her knees together and her ankles crossed. "God, I look like one of those Regency Misses from the novels Jane is always making me read." she muttered to herself. "Yes, you do at that." came a soft voice behind her. Michelle's head slewed around to a door she had not noticed when she'd first entered the room, and her blood froze. There, backlighting emphasizing her proud stance and tall, slender frame, was his mother! And at her side was Aunt Jane. With a grace Michelle now knew had once been learned over hours of long practice in her youth, Barbara Nash moved over to the chair directly opposite Michelle and sat down. "Jane told me you were leaving." she said with a smile. "And before we had the receiving line. Since I did so want to meet you, I thought I would come here to keep you company while your car is brought around." Stunned by the sudden arrival of the woman he had decided not to face down, Michael was momentarily speechless, and could only nod. At least, he thought, she hasn't recognized me. Thank god for that much. "Jane said there was something you wanted to tell me?" Waves of shock rolled over Michelle. What had Jane done? Hadn't she just told Jane that Michael no longer wanted to carry through with his ill-meant plan of confronting his Mother with the "death" of her son? That he wanted nothing more than to put this all behind him and get on with whatever life he'd have in the future? Why in the name of God had Jane said *anything* to Barbara? Swallowing his roiling emotions, Michael tried to brazen through as Michelle. "No, nothing really, Mrs. Nash. But I would like to thank you for having me to your party." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm positive. Shall we go, Aunt Jane? Please?" All three of them heard the thread of growing panic in that plea. Yet, Michelle managed to rise from her seat gracefully, her nervous tension noticeable only in the stiffness with which she pinched her skirt to rearrange it for walking away. Then his Mother said, "Don't go just yet, please." Her eyes were soft with entreaty. Astonishingly, she added, ". . .Michael." Bile started to churn in Michelle's stomach, and he searched for an escape route, but there were none available. With a calm she was far from feeling, she answered. "My name is Michelle, Mrs. Nash. Michael is a man's name." The smile returned, a bit brighter and strangely, a bit darker this time. "Oh, I think I know precisely who you are." she said firmly. "You are my son." Michael's heart and breathing stopped as he stared in horror at his Mother. This could NOT be happening. There was NO way she could see Michelle and recognize Michael. Grimly, she tried again to brazen it out. "I really don't think I am anybody's son, Ma'am." Barbara's smile did not waiver in the slightest. This is what a deer feels like, Michael thought, as it stares into the lights of an onrushing car. She knew. Somehow, she knew. And then, that "somehow" became clear to her. Jane had said nothing throughout this entire exchange. She *should* have come to Michelle's aid, should have helped her parry this unexpected attack. She should have, that is, unless *she* was her Mother's source of information. The pain of this betrayal, after she had told Jane she cared for her, was almost too much to bear. Furiously, the femininely disguised young man blinked against the tears that burned at his eyes, trying to salvage at least some small scrap of his pride. "Yes. You are Michael." she finally said with equanimity. "You've turned out even better than I'd dared to hope." Michael felt his world tilt crazily on its axis, but still forced himself to remain steady, erect and dry-eyed before this woman. The game was well and truly up, he realized. The pair of them had played him for a fool. Again. "Why?" he finally asked, looking from one woman to the other before fixing his burning eyes squarely on Jane. "Why this . . . this game? Is this just another of your damnable "little ploys", Jane? The biggest, most humiliating of them all? DAMN YOU, I'd started to care for you, and now you do THIS to me?" Jane quailed visibly at Michael's thrust. She started to answer but was restrained by Barbara's hand on hers. "I am the one responsible for every decision concerning you and your welfare since the day you were all but expelled from your precious St. Andrews, Michael. Therefore, your answers should come from me. You've earned that much with your efforts to get here tonight." With a quiet dignity, Barbara composed herself. "Michael, you don't really remember your father. The reason for that is, in part, because you were very young for your age when he died. But another, more significant factor is that he never allowed you to know him. I know that you've always admired your father as tough, strong, manly - a paragon of all those qualities that *real* men are supposed to admire in other men. Because of that, you've wanted to be like him and in a way, he was making you like him, even from his grave." She paused for a moment, steeling herself for what she had to say next. "But Michael, he wasn't tough, strong, or manly. Instead, he was a heavy-handed, imperious bully, a vicious and mean spirited, small-souled man; an immoral coward who enjoyed kicking the weak when they were down because that made him feel more powerful. I don't have words foul enough to describe or name him." Barbara cast a speculative look at her child. "Did you know that he'd left special instructions with the Head Master and Dean at St. Andrews regarding your upbringing? They were to see that you grew up emulating your father in every way. They'd have done almost anything for the endowment your father promised them. Ever wonder why you weren't punished when you played all those dirty tricks on boys smaller and more vulnerable than you? That's why. You were becoming his vision of a man, and they were being well rewarded for it." "Then why did that damned Dean suspend me? If he was getting rich from satisfying my father's wishes, why am I not still there?" Sighing, Barbara acknowledged the question. "You simply left them with no other choice. They suspended you only after you'd gone too far with your unruly undisciplined ways. Several wealthy families with long histories of sending their young scions to that school were going to pull their boys out to protect them from you." "Unfortunately, your suspension precipitated other actions about which you were and remain unaware. Most specifically and seriously, that suspension put you in serious danger of losing your inheritance. She paused. "When. . . when your father died, he left you, upon you reaching your majority at twenty one years old, controlling interest in his companies." Confusion showed in Michael's tearful eyes. "So what? That is nothing new. How does that explain why I have not seen you for barely more than five minutes at a time in over six years?!?" For the first time, indignant anger flashed in the eyes so much like Michael's own. "Michael, your father, that egocentric, manipulative, miserable excuse for a human being, had a secret codicil written into his will. Basically, he directed that you be made over in his image if you were to inherit. Why was St. Andrews the only acceptable school for you? Your father decreed that in his will. Why didn't I visit you, and try to be a part of your life after his death? Your father decreed that, too. *I* was a bad influence on you; *I* made you weak. And *any* failure on either your or my part to comply with that codicil would cost you your inheritance." "And then you were all but expelled from St. Andrews, after everything you and I had already sacrificed to get you this far, this close to attaining your patrimony. I couldn't just stand there and watch as you lost everything. I had to at least attempt to turn your life around." "So, I turned to Jane. My fiance is one of her graduates. He's the one who reminded me of how well all of her students turned out. Jane and I conceived a plan. We would attempt to restore your other self, that decent, gentle self that your father wanted exorcized from your soul. Then, and only then, could you decide the kind of person you were, and then make an informed about who you would become." "How, Mother?" Michael rasped over the emotion churning in his guts. "What possible choice could I make? I was a prisoner in Jane's house, and if you think my father was vicious, well, Jane could give him lessons. My father never taught me to love him, and then turned away from me. He never promised me honesty and then betrayed me. Not ever. No, it was *Jane* who did that. And you!" A sob from Jane made Barbara's eyes flash in controlled fury. "Jane is *nothing* like that bastard. As to what choices she gave you? You can be anyone you choose. Our fondest hope was that you would choose to become strong, but gentle; ruthless when necessary, but merciful when possible - a *real* man, Michael, the kind of man others can count upon when times are difficult." No longer able to restrain the tears, Michael was openly crying now. "How was I supposed to achieve this miracle, Mother? By being stripped of my identity and my dignity? By being forced to live as a girl? Ashamed because I wasn't strong enough to stand up for myself and leave Jane as I should have done that very first week, regardless of her threats? Afraid that, sooner or later, I would be discovered and have to live with that public humiliation for the rest of my life?" Barbara shook her head frantically. "By giving those finer qualities inside you a chance to emerge as Michelle's traits. Jane had experience bringing out that part of troubled and troublesome boys, helping them to find far fuller and richer lives than that narrow, twisted man I married could have ever dreamed possible. It was never my intention for you to become a girl, ashamed that you're a boy. But neither did I want you to grow into a man who felt somehow diminished or shamed by anything soft, caring or tender in yourself; a man who would be afraid that such feelings made him girlish and unmanly." "Well, trust me," Michael snarled petulantly. "I was totally ashamed and completely alone." Barbara's demeanor changed, becoming fierce. "I didn't want you ashamed or afraid of *anything*, my son! If I abandoned you *this* time in turning your over to Jane, it was to take that shame and fear away from you *forever*!" "But you fooled us and yourself. You had even more sensitivity, refinement and gentleness still locked up inside you than we'd imagined possible. When Jane thought she was humiliating Michael the bully, she was also tormenting Michelle the compassionate and caring. The internal conflict between your father's Michael and our Michelle grew until it became intolerable for you, and you tried to end that pain by destroying yourself." Suddenly Jane spoke up. "When you . . ." Jane choked, then continued, "When you attempted suicide, I was devastated. Not because I was afraid for me, but because I had somehow failed you. I had not recognized what was happening to you. I did not know who to call, or where to turn, and so, I called your Mother." "*Why* should I believe *anything* you have to say *now*? You said she couldn't be reached." he accused again before turning his hot burning eyes on his Mother. "Besides - you CALLED me and told me you were too busy." Barbara sat stone still, then resumed speaking. "Michael, you have no idea how terrified and desperate I was when Jane phoned to tell me what had happened to you. At that moment, I wanted to rush to your side more than almost anything else in this life. I yearned to protect you and to help you get well, but for several reasons, I knew that I couldn't, that I didn't dare! Above all, knowing how you felt about me, I was deeply afraid that my presence would only make a bad situation even worse." "That is only *one* reason, Mother." Michael growled. "You said there were several." "Remember what I said about that cursed codicil, Michael. Staying away from you was an unbreakable condition of that damnable will." She paused and then swallowed hard. "Unless I wanted to deprive you of your patrimony, I could *never* see you, or at least, not see you any more than absolute propriety dictated. And never alone - always in the presence of one of his trusted cronies who would "judge" my compliance with your Father's wishes. And then, when Jane told me she had called in one of her students who was a psychologist. At that point, we decided to wait until we were sure I would be a help and not a hindrance to your recovery." "Why was I never told about this codicil thing?" he demanded roughly. "Because telling you about it is also on your Father's forbidden list and is grounds for you being disinherited. I am telling you now because you are old enough to understand your own best interests. You need never admit that you are aware of those provisions of your father's will." Michael's sneer clearly registered his disbelief. "I have a copy of the codicil. I will give it to Jane and you will be able to see for yourself." "Why are you telling me all this now?? Are you trying to tell me that you *cared*? That you were only trying to protect me by staying away from me? Why bother at this point? Because I tried to kill myself?" He demanded, his voice choking on his pain wracked sobs. Barbara wilted a moment under that charge, but then drew herself up. "I have always loved you, Michael. I wasn't heartless when I sent you to Jane. I was desperate. Jane called me every night with a progress report, and much of the time she found me frightened and inconsolable. I love you, Michael. I adore you, Michelle. There is nothing in this world that would have made me happier than to tell your father's lawyer to go to hell and come for you. But I could not cheat you of your inheritance. You could, yourself, choose to turn away from your father's past, and accept that loss, but I could not make that choice for you. And you could only make such a choice as a mature, rational and caring person. The question was, how could we help you become that person?" "You unwittingly showed us how to help you. In your resentment at my seeming aloofness, in your desire to hurt me for hurting you, you decided to become a complete, fully accomplished and yes, even sweet Michelle. A person who epitomized everything your father wasn't and hated." "So our plan worked! Now, if you choose to be Michael, any kind of Michael, it will be based on a profound understanding of everything you are or can become. But you had to become a complete Michelle if you were ever to become a complete Michael. Michael without Michelle could only be only half a person. And that half would be as flawed as your Father. Michael's face twisted. He was confused, and bitter, and fighting to hold back his tears. "How can you just sit there and justify what you've done? The pair of you? You've tricked me time and again, lied to me time and again, and manipulated me. How can I ever trust either of you ever again?" Barbara's composure finally broke. "We had to trick you; you had to keep working at being Michelle so that Michael could continue learning from her. And you would not have worked at that so diligently without the motivation you yourself provided." "And yes, Michael, I did not abide by my promise to you." Jane added, holding her friend close, keeping her back straight and her eyes steady, "Because we knew what was best for you. I cannot, will not deny that I kept some of the truth from you. I did attempt to be completely honest with you about everything else, but you were beyond reach, convinced that your Mother had completely and willfully abandoned you. What we did, we did because we wanted you to live. More than that, we wanted you to live well." She said soberly. "And I know you can't believe this now, but it's true nonetheless. Because we both. . . love you." Now Barbara was crying openly. "But, Michael" Barbara pleaded softly, "Can't you see, *won't* you see? There was no other way, at least none that we could think of. I know you must feel that this was all a base betrayal. Perhaps it was. Only time will tell if I was right or wrong in what I did. But at least now, you have *real* choices about who Michael Nash is and how he will live his life." "I refuse to believe that forcing me into skirts, and turning me into one of Jane's wimpish sissies is an approved alternative to my father's grand plan, Mother." Barbara sighed. "No, it wasn't, and as long as you were successfully following his program, there was nothing I could do for you that would not have cost you your legacy. But when you got yourself suspended from Saint Andrews, I decided that I *had* to take this terrible risk in order to give you back choices about your life - to try to save you." "Save me? SAVE ME???" Michael's voice broke. "Whatever did I need saving from? Other than from the two of you, of course." "From yourself, Michael. I've already told you what your father had done to you. When you were sent down from St. Andrews, the lawyer was ready to cancel your inheritance! After I conferred with Jane, I went to the lawyer and told him that I knew of a program that would improve your self discipline so that you could return to St. Andrews and complete your father's educational program. I am afraid I was not very honest about what the program really entailed." she said with just a faint smile on her sad face. "So you've known since the very beginning what I intended to do, why I let myself be pulled back into this damnable masquerade." The full scope of his Mother's and Jane's duplicity was now clear to him and his guts seemed to burn. Oddly enough however, in some small, still barely rational part of his mind, he wondered why he wasn't angry. The old Michael would have been - would have gone nearly insane with rage at having been toyed with in this manner. All this Michael felt was hurt, sorrow and bewilderment. "Yes, Michael, she did know." Jane took up the tale. "Your Mother and I spoke almost hourly during those first few days after your . . . your incident. Eric and I agreed that you *needed* to be back in skirts, as much for the training we had yet to finish as for the facing down your inner conflicts about dressing. That was necessary, Michael, for your mental health." "Moreover, you yourself said, less than an hour ago, that you liked being Michelle. Which is understandable. Michelle is a lovely person, but more importantly, Michael, *you* are Michelle. Everything good in her is also an intrinsic part of you." Michael could not take it all in. He was becoming numb, and he couldn't seem to think clearly anymore. He just stared at the two women. "Michael?" Jane's voice was softly entreating. "As Michelle, you are like Liza Doolittle in Pygmalian, or My Fair Lady. You've grown beyond the limitations that others would have imposed on you. Now *you* can choose to live as a woman, full time or part time, or as a man. If you do choose to live as a man, then your Mother and I both hope that you will do so as a sensitive, self-aware and *strong* person who's more man than that insufferable clod from St. Andrews could ever have become." Barbara sighed sadly and stood up. She turned one more time to face her son. "I'm sorry I had to seem uncaring and cruel, that I felt I *had* to leave you with Jane. I believed it was necessary for your own good. I don't know if you can ever forgive me for manipulating you this way. Or if you can ever forgive Jane. I hope you can, and will. . . someday. We did the best we could. For you! And you have to know that regardless of what choice you make, there will be a price extracted which only you can pay." "What price?" he asked, but in an exhausted tone that had lost all of its earlier emotion. "There is always a price, Michael. One choice is, to turn your back on everything Jane has taught you these past months, to become once again the person you were when you left St. Andrews. Haven't your found contentment, even happiness as Michelle, Michael? Would that old Michael ever find those gifts at St. Andrews? I don't think so. "Or you might choose to go back to St. Andrews as the person you've become, an infinitely more worthy individual than the one who left that damnable place, but one who won't fit in anymore. You'd become the outcast you expected to become the night you attempted to take your own life. But you'd also keep your patrimony. "Or you can decide to reject your father's path completely, and thus lose your inheritance from his side of the family. You would still have your trust fund from my Mother's family, but that is a mere pittance beside your father's vast wealth." Michael's tired, red rimmed eyes slid significantly down his body, taking in the sleekly feminine figure gowned in a designer's masterpiece. Then his gaze returned to his Mother, a look of sardonic disbelief on his face. "I don't think the first choice has much chance, Mother, so I think you have effectively forced my hand there." Refusing to take the bait, Barbara shrugged. "How you look and behave at this moment is irrelevant. If you want to return to St. Andrews, Jane will certify your behavior and self discipline to that idiot Dean. You've amply demonstrated those attributes tonight. Even now, your grace and self-restraint are being tested to the fullest extent. As to your ability to fit in there if that is what you really want." Barbara paused, and went over to the small desk on the other side of the room, returning moments later with a glossy piece of folded paper which she negligently tossed at the rigidly contained figure of her son. "If that *is* what you want, the place described here will assure you aren't too nice or too feminine for dear old St. Andrews." She indicated the brochure with a tired wave of her hand. "It's a sort of "boot camp for rich wimps" run by a couple of former Marine Drill Instructors. They specialize in toughening up the sons of rich fools who are afraid that their sons don't have the right stuff to swim with the corporate sharks. Just six weeks of hell and your father's Michael is back again." "Why are you giving me this?" Michael asked quietly, holding the brochure in his hand. "Why are you making it possible for me to undo everything you and Jane have worked, lied and schemed to accomplish over the past months? "Because now that you know there is another, better way, I will see that you get whichever life *you* freely choose. They'll teach you to swing your shoulders again instead of your hips. And to glare menacingly at anyone you don't like instead of just smiling down your nose and then turning away in disdain. If that is truly your choice, that is what you'll be - all boy, but never a *man* in the finest sense of that word; all swagger, but with no true substance to you at all. Just like your father." Her voice changed again, dropping the sarcastic inflections. "I have always believed you were more than that. But now it becomes your choice, and yours alone. And it's a real choice. You can be a vulgar delinquent or a delicate feminine spirit shamed into learning feminine ways." "But the simple fact of the matter is, Michael-Michelle, this Ball has been your true coming of age. Jane and I will make no more decisions *for* you after tonight because we won't need to. Tonight you have become your own person. Whoever and whatever *you* want to be! Whenever you want to be that person! Whatever school you may wish to attend." She paused, and then continued in an almost defeated tone. "I want you to know this, however. I love you. I have always loved you, and I will continue to love you as long as there is breath in my body. Regardless of which path you choose or how you decide to live your life. I may not like you or your choice very much, but you are my son and I will always love you." She turned to leave. Suddenly the door crashed open behind them. A tall, lithe, beautiful young woman stood there. "Barb," she snapped impatiently. "Jamie has been looking all over for you so that we can set the reception line and get the pictures taken." Then she saw Michael and gaped. "I don't know you, but you are the very image of Barbara. I'm the sister of Barb's fianc‚, Janice. And you are?" Now came the moment of truth. In that moment, Michael saw clearly one last opportunity to turn the tables on the Mother who had so basely manipulated him. He had denied himself earlier because he had chosen *not* to hurt her as she and Jane had hurt him. Just a few words and his Mother's perfidy would be all over the ballroom in moments. She'd become an outcast from the society she loved. It was all there for him. All he had to do was tell this girl who he really was and why he was here dressed as he was. But then, he just sighed softly. He felt, rather than saw, both Jane's and Barbara's eyes on him. What was the point anymore? He had needed the rage and now, there simply wasn't any rage left inside him. "You'll have to forgive me." Michael's Michelle voice replied, as he brushed at the tears still tracking his mascara down his cheeks. "But Aunt Jane and Aunt Barbara were just breaking a little bad news to me. Someone very close to me died earlier tonight." A part of me certainly had, he thought, but which part? Then he held out his hand to the girl, his wrist limp and supple, just as he had been taught by Jane. "My name is Michelle, and Barbara is my Aunt." A soft sighing breath was the Michelle's only indication that his Mother understood that he had, once again, turned away from the old mean-spirited Michael. "Pleased to meet you, Michelle." the dark haired, dark eyed beauty replied. "Say, if you are family to Barb, we should get you into the receiving line, too." "No. . ." Michael let his voice hitch. "I have to leave. I must get home as soon as possible. You understand, don't you?" Janice reluctantly nodded and he turned back to Jane. "Aunt Jane, could we please leave *now*?" Nodding solemnly, Jane took her ward's arm and led the her out the door and into the waiting limousine. End Part 11 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----