Message-ID: <15788eli$9810010536@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger) Subject: New TG: A Losing Season 12 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: <3615ae57.742587@news.erols.com> A Losing Season - An Alternative Ending to Seasons of Change Part XII 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. Dedication. To folks who read stories . . .and read. . .and read . . .and read until they ought to scream at me. L.Corvidae, Lady Sara and my beloved Editor in Chief, Vickie Tern. This story would never have gotten done without all their help and encouragement. A Losing Season: Chapter 35. Flashback The days immediately following Jane's and Michael's return from Barbara's party were hell for Jane. She had hoped, apparently in vain, that her young ward had developed enough maturity, enough perspective to understand that they had only done what they thought was best for him. She had also dared to hope that there was now sufficient "Michelle" in Michael for him ultimately to forgive them both. Maybe there was, but it was just barely enough, because there was still no obvious victor in the internal battle her ward was fighting with himself. Her charge had completely withdrawn from Jane since their return, refusing to do more than respond monosyllabically to any question that he could not pretend to ignore. Rather, he isolated himself, sitting alone in Jane's garden, hiding in his room or taking long walks along through the woods that were near Jane's house where he pretended not to notice that either Maria or Jane was always nearby during these outings. Jane had nearly lost him once, and regardless of the final outcome of the debacle at Barbara's, she would not let him. . . harm himself. Christmas had been a disaster - the tree remaining undecorated, the presents unopened. In the past, Christmas had always been one of the few respites Jane had given her girls, letting them, for one day at least, simply enjoy themselves without fear of Jane springing one of her games on them. For that reason, the holiday had always been a remarkably pleasant day in the old Victorian manor house. But not this year. The phone beckoned to Jane. She'd nearly called Eric a hundred times in the past days, but each and every time she'd stopped herself - hoping that Michael would see past the hurt she'd inflicted on what remained of the "old Michael's" ego, past his resentment of being tricked and manipulated, and begin to soften towards them, again - at least a little. Maria burst in to Jane's office. "Jane! Have you seen Michael?" "No." was the uncertain reply. "Maybe he slipped out early to wander the woods alone. We have not been very subtle about shadowing him." God, please don't let him hurt himself the moment my vigilance slipped. Maria looked uncertain. "Jane. . .one of his wigs is missing. I mean, he hasn't tried to dress up since you two returned." her voice dropped off. "Why would he take a wig on a walk?" Was that the first break, Jane wondered, was he accepting Michelle again? Then her guts froze. Michelle was a perfect disguise. She could not go to the police and describe her without explaining what had been happening over the past months. "Check his wardrobe, Maria, and where his luggage is stored." Michael's large shoulder bag was missing. They could not be sure, but it also looked like some of his male casual clothes were missing. A quick check of his bedroom revealed that his body shaper, a couple of dresses and the basic cosmetics were also missing. "But where could he go? He doesn't have any money to speak of." Maria's eyes went wide and Jane's heart fell. "Or does he?" she asked in a small voice. "He knows where I keep the petty cash funds now. I mean, Michelle was just always around, and being so good. I never even thought about that." "How much was in there, Maria." Jane asked as the two women moved as one toward the stairs. "I just replenished it from the housekeeping account, Jane. There is a little over 500 dollars now." Only there wasn't. The hidden envelope in Maria's desk was gone. "Come on. The only places he could go would be the train station and the bus station. Without a car, there's no way he could get to the airport from here." Twenty minutes later, they had their answer. A boy answering Michael's description had boarded the early-bird train for New York City at five a.m. that morning - a train that had subsequently arrived at New York's Grand Central Station over an hour ago. Their hopes of finding him plummeted. In one hour at the busiest train station in the United States, Michael would be able to lose himself completely. They rode home in dismal silence. "We have to call Barbara." Jane said finally. "He may be going back to the house in South Hampton, and in the state he is right now, I don't know what he'd do." "Michael would never hurt a woman!" Maria defended immediately. "What do you think he was planning to do all these months, Maria? Oh, I agree he wasn't planning to harm her physically, but he was trying to do her emotional injury. And right now, I don't know the person he's become, and I will not take the chance that he might attack her in another of his old rages." Jane sighed. "Even if he is not planning that, she has to know that we've. . . that *I*'ve lost her son." "Shouldn't we call the police?" "They won't do anything for the first twenty four hours anyway, Maria. But if we have to, we will go to them withholding nothing, and devil take the consequences." "He has Michelle with him, doesn't he?" Maria asked quietly. "Yes, he does, which means that he can board a train as Michael, and exit it as Michelle. We can provide the authorities a description of him as Michael, but when we do that, we will also have to tell them to be on the lookout for a young woman with short, close cropped blonde hair . . . Well, let's just say that will hurt *everyone*, including Michael. If they ever find him." "Do you think he might go to David?" "We'll call him, Maria, but no, I don't think so. David was here when Barbara and I began this scheme. Even though Beth knew nothing about it, Michael will not trust easily again. Beth set him up for me on several occasions before Michael tried to kill himself and Michael will remember that." ~-----------~ "Doctor Davis' office." the perky young voice piped. "May I help you?" "Yes, please." was the pleasingly soft feminine response. "Is Doctor Davis available?" "May I ask who is calling, please?" "One of his patients, and I want to talk to him now!" the voice changed radically, no longer soft or pleasing. The receptionist had been warned that things like this might occur, and did as she had been taught. "One moment, please." "This is Doctor Davis speaking." was the quick response. "Who is calling, please?" "Hello, Eric." Michael answered in his own voice. "Tell me, *Doctor*. Am I still your patient?" "Michael! Where the hell are you, man? Everyone is frantic looking for you!" "Never mind that!" Michael snapped. "Am. . .I . . .still. . . your. . . patient?" Uncertainly, Eric decided this was somehow important to the boy. "Well, I'd say so, Michael. May I ask why?" "Because you once chewed me out for not respecting your professional ethics, Eric. As your patient, I am entitled to the benefit of those ethics, including confidentiality." "I see. And that is important to you?" "Eric, unless I have your word, right now, that you will call no one, that you will talk to no one, that you will tell no one that I have been in contact with you, I am gone. I don't know where I will go, or what I will do, but I will not stay where people keep lying to me." "All right, Michael. You have my solemn word. I promise I won't contact or inform anyone that you are here until you give the go ahead. What's next?" Eric heard what might have been a sob quickly choked back. "I need to talk with someone. I need a place to crash. I haven't slept in almost forty eight hours." "Where are you? I will come get you and take you home." "Oh, no!" there was panic in the young man's amplified voice. "Not to your wife who is a fan of Jane's. She probably won't feel bound by your word." "Michael, Sylvia is out of town, visiting her Mother. My house is empty. If, after she returns, you still insist on allowing no contact with Jane or your Mother, we can deal with that then. But I hope you'd feel a bit of compassion and at least let them know you are all right." "Why the hell should I?" was the sharp retort. Before Eric could try to answer that question, Michael was giving him his location. "I will be there in fifteen minutes." Eric promised. It took several minutes to get his secretary to cancel the rest of his day's appointments and to reschedule the next day as well. The downtown Chicago traffic was even worse that usual, so Eric's fifteen minutes was closer to half an hour when he pulled up in front of the Greyhound terminal. But the boy was no where to be seen. Fearful that the boy had decided not to wait, Eric got out of his car to search for Michael, but without luck. Eric got back into the still running car, and pounded the steering wheel, cursing fluently. "I am surprised that Jane didn't wash such language right out of your mouth, Dr. Davis." came an amused voice from the back seat. Eric had been so furious with himself that he hadn't even looked in the backseat when he'd reentered the car. A startled glance in his rearview mirror revealed the smirking face of Michelle, dressed like a typical college coed on holiday in jeans and a wool sweater against the cold. "We need to talk, Eric." was the flat, male voiced statement. "Yes, Michael, we do. But first, lets get you something to eat. I know a private little place nearby, and you look like you could use some hot food in your belly." The food took the edge of the boy's temper, and he began to talk - becoming freer as the meal went on. Jane had been right. Michael had been changing identities each time he boarded a train so that the person buying the ticket was not the one who detrained at his next stop. He'd even gone beyond Chicago and then doubled back on the bus to throw off any hunters Jane might have sent out. "You realize, Michelle." Eric asked, using the feminine name since they were in public, "That Jane has professionals searching for you? They are sure to notice that you have contacted me, and they will get the word back to your Aunt." The slender shoulders shrugged at that. "Figured as much. I just needed to get away. Even for a short time." A look crossed his femininely made up face, and he gave Eric a considering stare. "I have to ask you a question, Eric, and I really need an honest answer. I am sick to death of being lied to." Eric raised his right hand, putting his left hand across his heart. "I promise." The girl said nothing for several minutes after that. Eric let the silence go, knowing that Michelle would not say anything until she was sure. Psychologists had to be patient, particularly with patients. Eric had learned to do this - it was unnatural for him and he hated it, but he could wait for Michael. "Did you know? About what my Mother and Jane had planned? How they tricked me? AGAIN?" Michael was starting to get upset again and Eric reached across to put a soothing hand on the girlish shoulder. Catching her eyes, Eric answered. "No, Michelle, I did not. Not until Jane called me after she'd discovered you were missing. I only knew what we all agreed to do - to let you go on a trial run, and decide if you were going to go after your Mother as Michelle. It never crossed my mind that Jane was not being completely honest with the either of us." "If you'd known, would you have told me? Let me know the *whole* truth? The *real* truth? Without leaving anything out?" Eric looked at the miserable boy/girl for several moments, feeling his pain and trying to form a response. Shaking his head, "I don't honestly know, Michelle. Right now, I wish I could look you in the eye and tell you, hell yes, I'd have spilled the beans, but the truth is that I just don't know what I would have done back in July. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, and right now, I'd say their plan was an unmitigated disaster. Back then? Remember what I said, Michelle. I would never do anything or support anything that was detrimental to my patient. I don't know how I would have reacted if Jane had come to me with this plan back then." "She does have a way of making things sound so very reasonable." was Michael's teary laughing reply. "Hell, look what I let her talk me into." The emotions and the lack of sleep suddenly caught up with Michael, and he reeled in his chair. Eric steadied him and then helped him to stand. "C'mon, kid. Let's get you into bed." On the way to his house, Eric managed to talk Michael into letting Jane know he was all right. "She'll find out sooner or later, and wouldn't you rather be the one to tell her?" Whether it was some stubborn part of Michael that still refused to hate Jane, or just a chance at one-ups-manship, no matter how small a one, he finally agreed. Of course, Eric had been silently hoping for something more than he got. Michael's terse, "Jane? I am all right. I am at Eric's for the time being. Leave me alone or I will go where you will never find me.", left something to be desired, but it was consistent with the way the young man must feel. Eric put Michael into his guest bedroom, and he was asleep within moments of his head touching the pillow. Anyone but Eric might have thought it a bit odd that an almost eighteen year old male put on an old fashioned granny nightgown to go to bed, but then, Eric had a couple of those of his own. ~-----------------~ Excerpt: Nash's Diary December 29 - Day 165 Dear Diary God, I don't know what possessed me to pack this thing during those last few frantic moments before I took off from Jane's house. It was just suddenly there in my hand and I put it back down. Imagine my surprise to find it in my suitcase. Guess I put it down there. I almost threw it away when I saw it onboard the train when I went into the bathroom to take off Michael and put on Michelle. The reason I gave myself for not pitching the damn thing was because I did not want it found. Now, I am just glad I have it. Putting things down on paper seems to have a way of helping put things back in perspective. Eric took off from work yesterday and today to talk to me. . .with me. He isn't so much asking me questions or demanding answers as much as he is just listening. Well, he does try to keep me talking. He probably doesn't think I notice that, but I have read a whole lot of psychology books in the past few months, so I recognize the tactic. Only it doesn't seem like one when Eric does it. Maybe he really is interested in how I feel about things. The thing that keeps burning in my gut is that I had started really caring for Aunt Jane. Hell, Nash, be honest for a change - at least with yourself - I had started loving her. And I *thought* she loved me back. How can *love* be expressed by manipulation and deceit? As for my Mother, how am I supposed to feel about her? She tells me she loves me? Has always loved me? And she did everything - abandoning me first to my Father's world, then to Jane's petticoat prison and finally manipulating me into that abysmal scene in her front parlor room? I've tried to pin Eric down, trying to have him tell me why they did what they did? Trying to get him to explain to me what possible justification could they have for what they did? Of course, he doesn't give answers except in the form of more questions. Damned frustrating. Okay, so I'll concede that I was a nasty little son of a bitch at St. Andrews, and becoming nastier everyday. And maybe, my time with Jane, *particularly* after my suicide attempt has made me feel differently about myself. Couldn't they just have left it like that? Why did they find it necessary to force the issue of a confrontation I was not even sure I really wanted anymore. I could have happily gone on as Michelle until my twenty first birthday, and I am all but positive that I would never have gone to confront my Mother. Hell, Jane practically had to push me to go through with that stupid plan this time, and I was a helluva lot closer to the nasty son of a bitch at that point in time than I would have been in the future. I know that I have changed. Twice during that damned evening, I passed up taking my shot at my Mother. The first time because I did not want to ruin her happiness, but it is the second time that is really the proof of the change. Michael of St. Andrews Academy would have destroyed her had he been in control when the full measure of their infamy became clear. And I, whoever the hell *I* am anymore, couldn't or wouldn't do that. M. Nash ~------------~ Michael wasn't exactly sure how he'd done it, but Eric had him outside in a park near his home, playing catch with a football. And freezing his ass off. Well, Michael thought to himself as he launched a perfect spiral at Eric, at least I don't throw like a girl. Of course, this little outing had precipitated as switching back to Michael-mode. He did not want to run with his inserts bouncing. After they had run each other out, they began the walk back to Eric's house. "Michael?" Eric opened. "You know that tomorrow is New Year's Eve?" Michael nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything. "Well, my wife Sylvia is coming home tomorrow. Which I think means that we need to make some decisions." "Such as?" "Whether you want to stay here. I told you that you were welcome. That still stands. Sylvia knows you are here and she knows why, and its cool with her." "It is okay if I stay here as Michael?" Eric laughed. "Yes, of course it is. She'd still like to see you togged up as Michelle once, but if you can't do that, she will understand." "You said there was a choice, Eric." "Yes, there is, my fine young psychiatrist-to-be. The other choice is that you go back and work through your feelings for Jane." "WHAT???!??" "Hey, calm down. As I said, it is your choice and you are not going to hear another word about it once we get back to my house. But I do think it is something you need to consider." "But. . . but why?" "Michael, one reason I wanted you to stay at Jane's as Michelle, at least for that trial period, was so that you could confront your true feelings about dressing. I think you've done that. You are as comfortable being Michelle as you are being Michael. And I think that self acceptance has brought you some peace. Without your sensitive, or feminine side, your focused, aggressive or male side would have been incomplete. Unstable. Particularly after you had been given a taste, no matter how bitter that first taste was, of expressing your feminine side." The younger man became silent as they walked down the snow edged walks. Finally, he nodded, but then looked up at Eric. "Okay. I guess I accept that. But how does that relate to Jane and my Mother?" "I should think you have figured that out. You have *always* had very strong feelings about Jane. You hated her, then you tolerated her and then, you loved her. She's hurt you - quite badly, and the fact that you loved her made that all the worse for you. Now you are confused and at odds with yourself again, this time about your feelings for her. You are angry with yourself for opening yourself up that way and letting her hurt you like that. And of course, you are angry with her." "Don't you think I have the right to be angry and hurt? Wouldn't you be, too, if they had done it to you?" was Michael's ragged reply. "Probably so, Michael. The ones we love are the ones who can hurt us the most. Jane and your Mother could never have hurt you this way if you did not love them. You need to deal with that, Michael. Either now or some time later, you will have to face them and your feelings for them. It might get easier if you wait, and then again, it might get harder." "I don't know if I can do it, Eric." "I can understand that, Michael. Only you can decide when and how you will deal with this. Only you can decide if it simply hurts too much to face it now. But you need to think about it, and then make the best decision you can for yourself. And another thing you should think about, Michael." "What's that, Eric?" "That plan you had of getting even with your Mother? Of showing her just what she'd lost when she had first given you up to St. Andrews to protect you inheritance, and later when she gave you over to Jane in hopes of saving your soul?" "Is that what they were doing? Could have fooled me." Michael snorted derisively. "You *know* that is what they were doing, Michael. You just don't want to accept it because it makes you feel foolish that you were taken in by them, but that is beside the point. What is to the point is that your plan was born of sheer, malicious spite and it would have been a pretty small thing to do to someone else. You didn't do it. You could have, by all accounts, without too much trouble." "I still got my bloody confrontation, Eric, only it was on my Mother's and Jane's terms." "I understand that, too, but *you* didn't do it. I want you to know that *I* think that was a helluva fine thing you tried to do. Okay, so Jane and Barbara felt that they had to force the issue to the very end. But you took it like a *real* man, and not like the spiteful boy who had originally wanted to cause as much pain as he could in retaliation for his own pain." "Are you trying to suck up to me, Eric?" Michael asked suspiciously, his eyes fixed on the older man. "Nope. I have no reason to suck up to you. I am just telling you square and to your face that it took great courage and greater compassion to turn away like you did. I really like the person you've become, Michael. You should like that person, too." They walked the rest of the way in silence until they reached the door. "Michael, one last thing. You did not like hearing what I had to say just now, about how you need to confront Jane and your true feelings toward her. However, I said it anyway because as your friend and as your therapist, I thought it was the best thing I could do for you. It did not feel good, and I would rather have let the entire thing slide, but because I care about you, I did the hard thing that I felt was the right thing. I hope you will take it in that vein." ~-----------------~ Excerpt: Nash's Diary January 1 - Day 168 Dear Diary Happy New Year. Sylvia's home, and dammit, Eric should have warned me. I thought Eric had put on his femme identity when this auburn haired lady walked in the door. Only, then Eric entered in right behind her. They could have been twins, and they thoroughly enjoyed my dumbfounded reaction to them. After they finished enjoying their little joke, they told me a little more about themselves. Turns out Sylvia met Erica first, and was so taken by their resemblance, that she introduced herself. Erica and Sylvia became good friends and then, Eric fell in love with Sylvia. It was hilariously funny the way they explained it, but evidently the courtship was a little bit like an old style slapstick comedy. Eric taking Sylvia out; Sylvia confiding in her friend Erica how she feels about this guy; Erica pumping Sylvia for information that Eric could use to his advantage while plighting his troth. Evidently, Eric managed to carry it off, because she had not yet caught on when he finally let her in on the masquerade. When she didn't kill him, he asked her to marry him. Since then, she has changed her hair color slightly to increase the resemblance since they both get a kick out of it. Besides, when the neighbors see a redheaded female leave the house, they assume it is Sylvia. She was very nice and very understanding. She even said she thought the thing that Mother and Jane did was a little cold and underhanded. I won't say that admission was the only reason why, but I finally introduced her to Michelle. Erica showed up for the party, too. I actually had fun. Sylvia - or was it Erica(?) - made me laugh. But that was last night, and this is now, and I have been thinking about what Eric said about confronting Jane. He's probably right. The reason I *know* he's right is that I cannot bring myself to work up even a moderately good hate for her. As I think back to the night of the confrontation, she was upset, too. Was that because she did not want to hurt me again, either? I wish. One thing I know is that I need closure. One way or another, I need to move on past all this. I need to get on with whatever my life is going to become. I need to finish school so I can apply to a pre-med program. It is odd, that Mother was right. I really could go back to St. Andrews now, without going to her boot camp program. So what if I won't fit in with my old gang - fitting in with that crowd is no longer important to me. One thing I am sure of right now - maybe in part because of what Eric said about being proud of me - I have decided that *I* am proud of the new me, too. He was also right about the spitefulness thing. Regardless of how this all turns out, I am still glad that I did not strike out when I had the chance. I am *not* my father's son, and moreover, I am *not* going to become my father's image. I can expect to take quite of bit of harassment over that decision, to become an outcast but one thing about living in skirts - you tend to think you can handle almost anything. Maybe I can, at that. No, if I go back to that school, it is going to be to *my* purposes, not my father's. St. Andrews still has, deservedly or not, an excellent academic reputation which will stand me in good stead in going to a good medical school. Of course, my decision to go pre-med instead of Harvard Business School will kill off my chances of inheriting from my father. And I am *not* going to business school, so keeping my inheritance no longer has any bearing on my decision of whether or not to return to St. Andrews. That is, of course, assuming my Mother was telling the truth. And I have no reason to believe that she was lying about that. As I said, I can't do anything else until I put this past year behind me, and that means dealing with Aunt Jane. Guess that means I am going home. Isn't that strange. I wrote "home", and after thinking about that, I meant it. For all that has happened, and despite what has been done to me, Jane Thompson's house has become "home". Like I said. Isn't that strange. M. Nash End Part 12 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----