Authors Note: I write to tell myself stories. Sometimes you get an idea and cannot let it go until you key in the final sentence. A rare few  of these ideas come out like pearls, an irritant which produces a thing which can amuse or give pleasure. Sometimes it is like worrying out an abscessed tooth. This one is a reaction to abuse which comes in many forms, and it is a strictly personal reaction. It may be different from other stories, I certainly hope so. It is not meant to challenge any other points of view, just to express one. Parts of it are a bit dark. It may not be welcomed by some.

Spring Is The Season Of Recovery 

By Tyrone Slothrop

Chapter 1: Let Me Be Frank

It was one of those days when he wondered whether waist length hair was worth it. The winds whipped around the sides of his truck as he unloaded groceries, picking up speed as they traveled through the gorge. His hair flew all around and it was a struggle to close the door of the Ford without getting caught in the hinges.

Frank, relying on his many years of practice, managed to get inside with all of the bags and his tresses intact. He set the groceries down in the kitchen of his A frame while looking through the mural windows at the dance of wind on water in the river below. After removing his windbreaker he set about changing into his “alone at home, winter style” clothing, black tights and a long sleeve flannel shirtdress with slippers. He used his brushes and combs and got his brown hair back into a smooth and neat fall down his back. After hanging up his jeans and workshirt on a peg, ready for tomorrow’s chores  he checked his vanity and decided he really needed to moisturize his face, really soon. He settled for some lipstick for his chapped lips and went back down to put away the groceries.

After a grilled chicken salad he cleaned up the kitchen and proceeded to go to work.

Frank settled his six feet two inches into his Aero chair and booted up his computers. After handling his email, he proceeded to review the business consulting documents which four different firms were presenting to their respective clients, ranging from product strategy to market development. For the next two hours, he read, wrote, corrected and commented on the quality of the proposals. He then sent in his weekly invoices to the firms for being their quality checkpoint.

Frank shifted, enjoying the feeling of his padded panties. It was like carrying around your own pillow to sit on. He then grabbed his wireless notebook and went to his other job, writing detective novels. Laying back on his couch, looking at the lights on the river, he hammered out the conclusion chapter, second draft of the latest Bobby Caldwell thriller. He felt he was close to final on this one and was really happy he had finally killed off Bobby’s clingy girlfriend in this book. Bobby needed that to get really motivated and he needed him convincingly mean for the end of the book.  He decided the hormone mix Dr. Peters had him on was not screwing up his ability to write from the male perspective. Testosterone memory, he laughed inwardly.

His next agenda item, work now over, was his social life. He surfed around the websites and message boards on a variety of topics, adding to the discussion, telling jokes with electronic friends and even submitting some TG fiction pieces.

 

Chapter 2: Murder, She Wrought

The Detective and the Man from the State Attorney General’s Office were at the scene. A stately middle aged woman was tied and gagged with duct tape and bleeding from several minor wounds, none very serious. She had a monumental black eye. On the ground was the town police chief and a deputy, dead, shot with the chief’s own handgun. Two boys, dressed in extreme girlish finery, petticoats and makeup with Mary Jane shoes were sitting against the wall, holding themselves and staring into space. One of them had removed his wig.

The Undercover Agent, also dressed like the boys was standing next to the Detective.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, but they must have blown my cover. I did what you asked and it’s been contained to this house. The groundskeeper and the other staff are all neutralized. “ He looked about fifteen but the Detective knew he was much older. The Agent had been very useful in penetrating this criminal enterprise.

“We have managed to keep this off the radio and only “Special Squad” is involved.” The Detective said.

The State Attorney went over to the woman, the Agent following him with a blank expression. He removed the duct tape from her mouth, in the most humane way, which was also the most violent way, a quick rip.

“You are in very serious trouble! You will be prosecuted for the murder of those men! And this illegal procedure! I know the law!” she said in a cold manner. It was clear she felt little for the police chief, her longtime accomplice.

“Excuse me, honey  but you seem to be confused. You are officially a “Jane Doe”  an unidentified person, a probable sighting, so I’ll just call you Jane. Jane, sweetheart, we are not here as the Law. Today we represent Justice. Your activities here are crimes against the spirit of all of the young men you claimed to have helped. As I speak, all of the judges, doctors, social workers, “child psychologists” and mothers who participated in these crimes are being dealt with. Right now, I will give you two choices. A bullet now or do I let those boys over there, your last victims, have a chance to return some of the pain before I shoot you? Your last choice in this world.” His tone was amused which infuriated the woman.

For the first time , the Man from the State Attorney’s Office  saw a realization of fear in her eyes. The terror seeped into her face as she realized that there would be no escape, no like minded sadist to provide legal cover, no way to use her wealth to fix this.

“But I was improving these boys! You loved it Michelle!” The woman looked at the Agent. She went on “Petticoat Discipline is a time tested tradition! I have kept many boys out of jail or a life of…”

The Agent broke in before she could finish. “You tried to keep us from becoming men, you sadistic bitch. You are the prime example of why moral superiority has nothing to do with gender. Sadism masquerading as discipline is not character. Petticoat Discipline is from the same culture that conceived of the Opium War, the Smallpox Blankets and other self justifying acts of barbarism. Save us from you well mannered sociopaths. “

“But I have a record of success…” She cried out.

“Not in the real world. Your husband, who has turned you over, has been deluding you for years. Your graduates have ended up hating women so much that their lives are failures. Two are convicted serial killers specializing in women about your age. Do you want to guess at what they made their victims do before they slit their throats? You taught them well, you pompous, self righteous piece of crap.” The Agent eyes burned as he brought the Glock up to bear. The Detective ushered the two boys outside.

Jane Doe was shocked. This was no fifteen year old juvenile delinquent. He had completely fooled her for four weeks. And now she knew he was going to kill her.

The State Attorney nodded and the Agent pulled the trigger. Jane Doe would not ram her twisted viewpoint down another innocent boy’s soul.

“I want the bodies gone. The testimony of the victims we have will make this a great case and destroy the complicit judges and parents. And Jane makes a much better mysteriously escaped child molester than a live martyr. We are seizing all the assets, including those of her grown children who participated.” The Attorney directed the Detective.

Later, when the bodies were gone and the remnants of the local police in custody, the press was brought in. The State Attorney was on camera across the world announcing the breakup of a child molestation ring, with tales of young boys being forced to become girls for the delight of twisted and sadistic criminals. Sadly, several local judges were implicated as having circumvented the legal system and fed boys from the juvenile justice system into this gang’s clutches. Everyone involved in the town was being detained and the mothers who also sent their sons into the process from other states were being extradited. The press went crazy.

 Later, the Attorney, the Detective and the Agent, now looking like a normal plainclothes cop were driving back to the state capitol.

“Are you going to the group outing next weekend up at Silver Lake?” the Attorney asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it. I have a new little black dress that’s I been dying to show off.” The Detective answered.

“Wait till you see my new outfits. I have some new breast forms you just have to see! And I’m going to be a redhead! How about you, Angel?” the Attorney said, loosening his tie as he drove down the two lane county road.

The Agent seemed lost in thought. “I’ll be there, but after the last four weeks, I may not be very femme. That bitch may have turned me off dressing for a while. How in God’s name can you think forcing a boy at that age to crossdress will help him in any way? And then screw with his self image, while planting “friends” as informers. Making him think masculine traits are evil? Mess up a fundamental identity trait? It was all about her and her idiotic fear of men.” 

He paused, looked out the window for a while, and then continued. “ Dressing should be voluntary. My God there is enough crap you have to deal with when you want to do it, but to make a child do it? I should have made it a gut shot instead of two in the head.”

The rest of the car was quiet for a while.

“What happens to the boys we just retrieved from hell?” Angel asked.

“I am thinking I know someone who is specially equipped to help.” The Attorney said.

 

Chapter 3: A Cry In The Wilderness

A week later, Bob Angelo of the State Attorney General’s Office was at Frank’s door. He was expected and Frank had decided that this discussion required utmost seriousness, which meant his clean jeans and a white dress shirt. He decided against padding his rear and opted for thigh highs with his sneakers. He checked his face and decided it was free of obvious makeup, straightened his hair and answered the door.

“Bob. Come on in. it’s been a long time.” Frank took Bob’s coat and ushered him into the kitchen where he had coffee already poured.

“How are you Frank? How are you feeling? Any better than the last time?” Bob said, smelling the aroma of the Kona coffee. Frank had been stricken by several rare body chemistry malfunctions over the last three years, which required him to utilize a complex form of hormone therapy. He had retired from his consulting practice and lived conveniently near his doctors and clinics. His wife had been killed in a shooting crime three years before that and Frank believed his disease was related to her loss, if only because he had wanted to die himself. So for Frank to answer Bob’s simple question was complicated.

“Moody as all hell and wondering if I’m getting breasts. I swear Dr. Peters would do that just as a gag. I’ll bet she added some extra progesterone or something to my mix.” Frank said, smiling.

“Does she know you dress, Frank?.” Bob asked. He had met Frank at as part of a circle of CDs which was comprised of men who were older, settled and comfortable with who they were.

“You mean the hair didn’t give me away? Well, she does make house calls and I don’t put on an act for her. I make her dinner once a week while she’s here to draw my blood. I usually wear some of my nicer outfits for that. Plus she was Samantha’s best friend.”  Frank said.

“It sounds like she has something for you, Frank. I’ll bet it is the hair. Some women go crazy over that. Well, I wish you luck, our Frank hooking a Doctor no less.” Bob did his best version of a yenta, not hitting the mark at all.

“It sounds better than a lawyer Bob. So, why the mysterious visit?  Your little group needs my help?”

“Ok, Frank. I know you’ve heard about that teenage boy child molestation stuff from last week.” Bob went, looking for recognition from Frank. You could never assume what Frank knew and did not know. He absorbed everything but when he got focused on work, he ignored the world for a while.

“You mean the one you are using to get your boss’s job? Yes, I saw you on TV. Get a better makeup person or do it yourself.” Frank replied.

Bob continued. “If I did my own makeup I’d lose the union vote, Frank. Ok, you know the story. So now I have two boys who have been damaged pretty well by that sadistic bitch and they need a place to decompress. What they have been through is pretty unique and both of their mothers are in jail right now. Neither has had any decent male influence and been subjected to the worst kind of female influence. I also need them psychologically prepared when they have to testify. Right now if I put them on the stand they will get ripped to shreds by the media and the defense lawyers. I need someone who can devote some time to healing them, someone who understands what they are facing. And someone I can trust to get them ready to live real lives and not be a freak show. “

Frank knew when his buttons were being pushed. His mother had been instrumental in torturing him about his “little problem” until he left home at sixteen. His Dad had died when he was twelve. Frank worshiped his Dad. Life was perfect up until then. He later realized how much Dad had shielded him from his mother’s psychosis. He had come to these realizations after many years of painful self discovery, in which his wife had been the catalyst.

Frank knew he was going to accept. He had known since he has seen the video. Angel had emailed him with his concerns for the boys. All he had to do now was extract some concessions.

“Bob, before I would do anything like this I need to know what steps you are prepared to take to shield me both legally and from the media. Second, I need the ability to call on the group for help, no excuses, no questions asked.  Third, how are you going to fund it, and last, who do I get to turn them over to when they can fly on their own. And I will need Angel to play a role, a lot. They already know him.” Frank intoned, his voice measured masking the anxiety he was beginning to feel.

Bob outlined a plan. “Frank, I can guarantee you anonymity since we are treating this as witness protection. With that, I get a lot of latitude, especially since that crazy woman is still out there. “ Frank smiled, knowing she was probably part of a highway overpass by now. “With the media I can do my best, but we have no guarantees other than your isolation here. I know your sheriff and she likes you for some weird reason. She’ll help keep it under wraps. Plus, you have a nice physically defensible position here, as I recall from my AIT course. Even if they hound you, we can keep them out until we helo in and extract them. Second- the group will be there for you, they always have. You can have Angel, he needs a break anyway. Funding I got, I can cover reasonable food, clothes and medical and even some extravagant things if they can be listed as witness protection equipment. The last , I’m working on. I was hoping you could give me some ideas. So , can you do it?” Bob asked, looking Frank directly in his eyes.

Frank nodded and then asked “Where have they been? Are they still dressed or what?  Have the idiot shrinks gotten to them?”

“Slow down, Frank. Yes, the shrinks have been involved but only one I trust and he’s one of our group. His evaluation is why I’m here. They are in a safe house we keep and after their medical checkups we’ve been flushing out the little chemical cocktail they were fed to make them docile and frightened. One boy seems ok but he is protective of the other one, who seems immersed in the forced dressing. The protective one dresses in support of the weaker one. They are like puppies who have been hit too many times and they trust no one, especially people who seem sympathetic. That false friend thing she pulled was awfully effective. My Dad was a POW in Vietnam and he described the same techniques, the same destruction of personality, only she was better at it.” Bob explained.

 

Chapter 4: Meet The New Boss, Not Like The Old Boss

 

Frank looked at his two new boarders, Billy and Jamie. They were sitting in their frilly dresses, but without their wigs and makeup and wearing sneakers they looked distinctly out of kilter. Billy was defiant and Jamie was sobbing gently, holding Billy’s hand.

Frank had decided to spend the first few days making as few  demands on them as possible and he appeared before them in his jeans and workshirt, sneakers and no makeup at all. His hair still flowed down since he hated tying it back unless he was doing physical labor.

“Okay, some introductions are in order, now that the police are gone. I’m Frank and I have been asked to look after you for a while. This is my house and you are my guests. Now I understand your names are William and James, is that correct?” Frank opened, his voice shifting back to his consulting sales mode.

“I’m Billy and this is Jamie. Just tell us the rules and we won’t cause you any trouble. “ Billy said, trying to hold himself together.

“Billy, my information says that both of you are fifteen. Have you ever been called Bill? Or you Jim?” Frank asked.

“No, it’s always been Billy and he’s always been Jamie.” Billy said, warily. They had been subject to many mind games which started out with a simple discussion like this.

“Well, unless you really object, I’ll call you Bill and Jim. It just us men here and fifteen is old enough to start being called a man’s name. Now, you wanted the rules, so here they are.

One: This is my place and my stuff, I ask you to respect that.

Two: If you want to leave, just ask and we will have you back to where you were or with the best foster home we can find, and within twenty four hours.

Three: This is a kind of school and there will be things I ask you to do. It is up to you to decide if you want to do it. No one will make you do anything, or fool you into doing things. I don’t make cute little offers and I don’t beg.

Four: Wear what you want. I only ask you dress warm enough for the weather. All of the things you wore where we picked you up are mostly in your rooms, along with other clothes.

Five: If I let you use my things, like my computers or my tools, you will follow my rules.

Six: You eat what I eat. We all will take turns cooking and cleaning after you get settled.

Seven: I can make up new rules as needed but I will inform you when I do.

Are there any problems with these?” Frank looked at both of them. Jamie avoided eye contact as if it were a snakebite.

“Sounds fair, but there’s always something that gets us in trouble.” Bill was sounding resigned.

“Jim, what about you. I’d like to hear you say if you can deal with these rules or not.” Frank asked, softening his voice.

Jim looked at Frank for the first time. “Yes, Ma’m  I mean Sir. They sound fair to me. I can wear whatever I want?” Frank nodded in assent.

 

  Chapter 5: Schools Come In Many Shapes

The boys had settled in over the first three days. Frank had to remind them to pick up after themselves and was fairly surprised when they usually did it without complaint. Of course he was careful to not demand total cleanliness. They were fifteen, after all.

He gave them cooking lessons after they had mastered the art of  pot cleaning and kitchen clean up. Both boys enjoyed the process, it seemed to them like it was productive, useful. They worked as a group to make food they would enjoy.

During the day, they watched Frank’s movie collection or the television until Frank asked them if they had ever read many books. Frank sprung his first school lesson. He asked Jim to read the first chapter of a book aloud  and all Bill had to do was ask the best single question he could think of about the characters. Frank had handed them “Citizen of the Galaxy”, a Heinlien juvenile.

Bill had decided to wear jeans and sweatshirts while Jim gave up his idiotic little girl dresses for some casual jean skirts. Frank could still hear his nightmares and knew he was afraid that woman would come back.

Angel came over and moved in. He still looked about sixteen and he was only an inch taller than Bill. The boys remembered him and practically idolized him. He had taken everything they had endured and then challenged the wicked witch and her cops. They had seen him take on two grown men with guns and come out ahead while wearing a pinafore and wig.

As Angel settled in, Frank moved school outside. They were going to design and build a deck on the lower slope with a staircase up to the house. Frank ran a set of challenges for Jim and Bill to sketch the deck, measure the area, look up how to build it on the internet and determine the material they needed. Angel drove them to the lumberyard, Bill in his sweatshirt and jeans and Jim wearing his skirt. His hair was long enough and he made a convincing girl   drawing some appreciative stares from the boys in town.

Frank’s health only allowed him to participate in the construction project on a limited basis. Angel explained to the boys that Frank was very ill and tired easily and if they saw him collapse they were to call him immediately. They were also to not let him carry anything too heavy.

There is something about giving a teenager  a power tool after its proper use has been explained. Even the hardest cases feel empowered and suddenly entrusted with awesome responsibility. There is something about building something you  envisioned on paper. There is something about working as a team with patient coaches who let you do the work and only stop you to avoid injury or a major setback. And there is something to sweating together in the wind and rain and sun.  And there is something to feeling responsible for the health and welfare of someone older than you are. All these somethings made Bill and Jim prosper in spirit. The deck and staircase was done in three weeks.

Jim had decided to emulate Angel and Bill when he was outside. He wore his sweatshirt and jeans without fear. Inside, he switched back to a skirt after cleaning up. His hair was almost to his shoulders. Angel had taken Bill for a haircut in the town barbershop and he was sporting a short buzz. Bill had mentally turned Jim’s protection over the Frank and Angel as he slowly built trust in the two men.

The reading program moved to the evenings, with Bill and Jim voraciously consuming and discussing more Heinlien, Clarke short stories, Asimov’s Foundation series,. A Tale of Two Cities, The Stars My Destination and The Count of Monte Cristo together, all stories with ideas and challenges for a two young men. What is Honor? Character?  Obligation?  Friendship?  

Angel intrigued the boys through math and science, Frank became the candle to guide them through English spelling, grammar and composition, which is always made substantially easier if the students regularly read anything written coherently. Frank had a fundamental belief that mastery of the language, and the knowledge of math were the cornerstones to teaching yourself anything. Unfortunately most schools systems reserved those skills to those who brought them with them, since they had forgotten how to teach fundamentals at all. Frank’s bitter experience with teachers who were illiterate in math, science and grammar convinced him that schools were mostly child warehouses.

The boys took over some basic cleaning chores as Frank showed increasing fatigue. Fortunately, his latest novel was at the publishers and his consulting work was at a planned lull.

 

Chapter 6:  First Test

After about three weeks, Frank reverted to wearing his normal fashions inside the house. He began adding his breast prostheses to his daily routine. He started sorting out Bill and Jim’s issues with  their reaction to women.

Bill and Jim initially showed no reaction to Frank’s attire. He  was the first adult responsible for their welfare who had not deserted, hurt or assaulted them. If Frank wore a dress, then that was fine with them. Angel stayed as the male figure.

After a few days, while Jim was making dinner under Frank’s watchful eye, he asked Frank about why he dressed like a woman sometimes. Frank told him it was because he chose to and it felt good. No one had made him do it and he fully accepted it as part of his character. He also explained that it was not a popular pastime except among a few men and it created many problems. He explained that women in general may tolerate it but really appreciated a man who looked like their fantasy, not the man’s fantasy. Crossdressing was something you did for yourself. Frank asked Jim why he still dressed in skirts when he was inside.

Jim thought for a while, stirring the pot roast. “I guess I still wake up scared of her. And my mom used to punish me a lot, making me wear dresses if I did anything she did not like. I just grew up believing that if I wore girl’s clothes, I could not get in trouble. I know it’s crazy, but I just feel safe like this. Do you want me to stop, Frank?”

“Not now, but I think you should consider trying to appear like a guy for a while. Get a girl, date, look like a girl wants you to look. It would be a shame to miss that. I didn’t, Angel didn’t. We both dress when we want to, but enjoy being guys, too. But if you don’t feel right, then it would be wrong to force yourself to do it. You are old enough to make your own call, Jim. No mom or crazy woman can make you do anything like that. Part of growing up is dealing with not feeling safe, Jim. That’s true for men and women, but we deal with it differently. Now watch that roast, it smells great and I’m hungry.” Frank said, smoothing his skirt as he sat down.

Dr. Peters came over, having been thoroughly briefed by Frank. She knew she was there as a test. Frank met her at the door, wearing a floor length dress, his hair shining, his cleavage showing. She was impeccably tailored in her skirted suit. Angel was in a dinner jacket and Jim and Bill were in white shirts and ties. Frank made the introductions, watching Bill and Jim’s reaction carefully. They were very wary, since Janice Peters was a strong presence, poised and confident, similar to their tormentor. They had not dealt with an adult woman since the rescue.

Dinner was good, and Dr. Peters complimented Jim on the meal. Jim beamed at her and caught himself about to curtsey, a difficult maneuver in pants. Janice Peters did her best to maintain a poker face and kept the smirk down.

“Jim, can you show me how to cook this? I want to make it for my father, he would just love it. And please call me Janice.” She said.

“Bill, would you take Janice out to see your work on the deck? I’ve told her about the job you guys did. Angel, Jim and I will clean up here.” Frank asked, watching for Bill’s reaction.

Bill visibly shook but stood up and got Janice’s coat for her. Her turned on the outdoor lights and escorted her outside.

On the way down the stairs, Bill carefully explained every step in the construction process, the setting the pillars, the concrete mixing, the frame and the flooring. Janice listened with rapt attention. Down the stairway, they looked over the river at a barge moving freight. The night was clear and Bill had turned on the gas torches, which provided a soft flickering light.

Janice noted Bill was standing, almost at attention, as if waiting for her to give her review. Just like her Guard unit.

“Bill, are you proud of this work?” Janice asked.

“I would hope it pleases Madam! We did try our best!” Bill was trembling.

“Bill, it is wonderful, a great piece of work, especially for two men so young! It’s better than I could ever do. But I asked you if you were proud of it.”

Bill looked confused, and then courage emerged. “I am proud of it Ma’m. I never did anything like this before and Frank and Angel, they trusted us! They helped us but not a lot! I think it looks good, Janice.” Bill said. Janice noticed he somewhat braced himself for a slap to the face.

“Bill, I want you to know something I really believe in. The most important person who decides if what you do is good is you. Never let anybody else be that. Listen to other people, but you have the final say.

I know an evil woman hurt you, and your mother did too, but there are some good women out there. I wish you could have met Frank’s wife, she was my best friend. Just meeting her once would make my point.  I think you are mature enough to understand that evil comes in both male and female guises. So does good. Now Frank is my friend and I have known Angel since before he was your age. I know they have been good for you. If you want to, you can talk to me too. Think about it and call me or pull me aside when I come over.” Janice said, not reaching out, letting Bill decide what he wanted to do.

Bill hugged her. Janice heard him sobbing. It reminded her of some of the refugee children she had treated in Iraq the last time she had been activated. She gently held him, just responding to his pressure, not exceeding it. She let him control the process.  Bill cried himself out and then she kissed his forehead, wiped his cheeks and led him back to the house.

 

Chapter 7: Review and Analysis

George the psychiatrist from the Group was sitting in Frank’s kitchen. Angel has taken the Boys out for a driving lesson, since they both had just received learner’s permits.

“Dammit, Frank, I can’t believe how much you’ve done with those two. They appear bright and well integrated, they look fine on the surface” George went on, slurping the coffee appreciatively.

“George, you know I believe you guys and the regular docs have it easy, since a large percentage of the time your patients heal themselves. But that aside, both of these boys are above average intelligence and have some real survival skills. They just needed a little example and to be shown that not all adults are rotten evil bastards and bitches, just most of them. You know, kids have an incredible need and drive to grow up to some definition of normal. My theory is to use that, not fight it. All I did was treat them like they meant something. They were willing. Plus remember, Angel was with them at the end. I know he helped them psychologically, giving them someone they could trust. I am still worried about Bill, though. He needs to get exposed to women of character, like Janice. “ Frank said. He adjusted his bra strap. The hormone therapy had given him something approaching an A cup and Janice had suggested he wear either a brassiere or a top with built in support. He had retired his prosthetics when he had begun ‘growing his own’ as he called it. He got up to move his hair, which he had been sitting on whenever he leaned into the chair back.

“Is Jim still dressing? He seems to be making a steady transition. “ George asked.

“Less and less. I think he may retire it for a while, since he really is noticing girls in town. We had a talk about it and while I think he will always have it as part of his life, I think he will be sexually consumed with pleasing teenage girls for a while. Plus, he’s becoming a real babe magnet since Angel has them running and doing weights. My guess is that he may return to it after his first or second sexual experience, but I doubt it will control him.

 I think Bill will never make it part of his life, but I could be wrong. Angel tells me he was defiant the whole time, plus he didn’t have his mother screwing with his head, just ignoring him while he was little. I would more worry that we need to keep him from starring in his own remake of “Psycho”. “

“Frank, I assume you are playing the mother role now? How are the boys dealing with you?” George asked.

“I don’t have much choice. I’ve been pretty weak and frail lately with constant hot flashes, and I’m putting on weight, all in my thighs, butt and boobs. I can’t remember the last time I needed to really shave. The damn disease is really persistent  but Janice thinks were tracking it down and killing it.  She tells me I  am about at the peak of the side effects and she will start shifting the mix back in the next month. Right now, I couldn’t fit into my jeans if I wanted to. So here I am, living the crossdresser’s dream, wishing I didn’t have to.

I’m letting Angel play the big brother. They worship him like most kids do their big brothers.

 I think they respect me as both dad and mom surrogate. Right now, they feel sorry for me, and wait on me hand and foot. They even volunteer to take turns washing my hair. So George, when do they go? I think they are wondering about that.” Frank said, his face darkening.

“Frank, Social Services is reeling from this scandal. Bob has launched an investigation and we have found this thing to be widespread. The thing is, if it had been fifteen year old girls made to wear corsets and pinafores, the whole establishment would be threatening public executions of those involved. There is less clamor and outrage when boys get abused. That’s why we decided to intervene. Someone had to speak for the boys, and sometimes someone has to act. So Bob has some solid blackmail on senior civil servants and he intends to use it to keep them in line and prevent this from a happening again.

The judges he is showing no mercy, they have way too much power and if they think this is acceptable treatment then they are as bad as the old racist assholes who thought there was a law based on color.

So right now, the boys are safe here under witness protection of the State Attorneys office. Bob does not trust the Social Service system, there are probably a lot of sympathizers who would take revenge on these two after they testify.

 We are still looking for a long term home solution for them. Given they are underage, we are going to videotape their testimony and put it under seal. The defense attorneys will get to see it , but they can’t copy it or distribute it. And that’s where we are.” George finished his statement and looked out at the river.

“I suspected that. George, can I ask you a question?.” Frank said, staring at the reflection of his eyes in the glass of the mural window.

“Sure Frank, whatever I can answer.”

“Who are we to do this little crusade? Is Bob right or righteous? Is Angel? Are you? Me? I keep losing sleep wondering why we think we can do this.” Frank asked, drilling the words slowly and precisely into the idea space he shared with George right then.

George looked troubled and did not answer. He stood up and removed his shirt, showing a series of scars across his pectoral muscles which then converged towards his groin.

“This is why , Frank. It’s why slaves revolt, it’s why Israel was formed. It’s

why nobody prosecutes a rape victim for blowing away her rapist. Almost all of us in the group found the roots of our dressing could be linked to somebody screwing us over when we were vulnerable, either physically or psychologically. Somebody who was supposed to be an adult we could trust. We speak for the boys who should be allowed a childhood and a chance to build a rational identity, not have some original sin of masculinity condemn them. Like the last one , sweet “Jane Doe”, who took pleasure in matching her wits against scared children. For all her bullshit about handling the tough cases, she and her judge pals selected the most vulnerable kids they could. Christ, not even a fair match. On the streets I grew up, any average fifteen year old boy would have pushed the bitch down the staircase, accidentally of course. She would have lasted about ten minutes with you at that age. Frank, the system does not care about young boys, they are not worthy of media attention or are politically correct. So our twisted little band of crossdressers will do it. Because there is no one else who seems to care.”

Frank nodded. There was no other response he could think could add to George’s passion.

 

Chapter 8: Later

Frank was putting on the new dress he had bought for the event. Janice was helping him. He had finally decided to trim his hair to keep it at waist length since he had found sitting on it to be more trouble than he wanted. Janice had helped him style it using the huge four inch rollers she had found. Frank’s body had settled in at a vaguely feminine shape and he had lost a lot of muscle mass over the last two years. His breasts were still about an A cup, but today he had used a little help with the size. His rear end was nicely rounded, thanks to the bodyshaper he was using. He seldom went out in public dressed, but the people of the small town knew him, and like most places, were generally tolerant of people they knew well.

Angel was waiting when the two went out to Janice’s car. He still looked much younger than he was, and his five foot seven inch trim frame was unchanged. There were a few lines in his face and his gaze was a bit steelier. He wore a pinstripe suit and looked elegant holding the car door. Janice and Angel helped Frank into the back seat.

“I understand Bob and some of the Group are attending. It will be good to see them. “ Frank said.

“It’s not everyday a high school graduation gets the Attorney General of the state to be the guest speaker. I turned his security over to Ramirez. He’s a good man.” Angel said.

Frank reflected on the past few years as the car drove along the tree lined roads. Bob had asked him to take in the boys because Frank had done it before. He knew there would be no foster home. Frank felt that once you took in someone, you stuck with them until they went off on their own. Whether it was a puppy or a child. Bob knew it too.

He had made a deal with the high school to let the boys attend part time, with him doing home schooling in critical subjects. Bill got to run track and Jim was a swimmer. They both played baseball. They both had their share of girlfriends, especially since word got around that they treated girls with more respect than the normal teenage boy.

Their testimony was over, and the media had forgotten the case. Bob had nailed five judges, six doctors and over twenty mothers. Social Services had  a new found respect for children’s dignity, regardless of gender. A number of social workers had slowly been eased out of any active case work.

Frank remembered the last graduation he had attended. The battered twelve year old boy he had taken in, the one who had been subjected to a cattle prod on his genitals whenever he tried to wear pants. The one who was being trained as a personal playtoy. He and Samantha had picked him up from Bob’s police car and taken him away. They had raised him and watched him graduate high school. Samantha was gone before he graduated college.

“Dad, we’re almost there.” Angel said from the driver’s seat.

END

 

since 10/173/04