Chapter 2

Angel wondered what he'd have to do to get grounded. He really wished he could get grounded. A nice, quiet day scrubbing floors, dusting corners, or even hand washing the laundry and dishes sounded nice, and an afternoon restricted to his room with nothing but some books for company sounded wonderful.

But no ... his aunt and uncle were too clever for that. Too diabolical. Not only did they do what they could to get him out in public as much as possible, but they seemed to make it as stressful as possible while they were at it. First, they dressed him in his shortest skirt, then took him back to the mall. As before, Janey walked separately and kept in touch by cell phone.

First stop was a shoe store. Not the family style places he was used to, but one that catered exclusively to women. Shoes, purses, and the like. The object was to buy some heels. Not excessive, just two inch heels. But that would mean walking in them while trying them on. In public. In front of people his age.

In case of disaster, they had the tomboy excuse. But is was a matter of pride not to have to use it.

Things were going bad enough, with the tight, unbalanced, unfamiliar shoes. But then, during one of his endless stumbles down and back, he got the word on the phone: from the time he was measuring his foot to the time he fitted the most recent pair of shoes, the salesman had been looking up Angel's skirt every chance he got. And Angel had been giving him plenty of chances.

"What do I do?" he asked her, in a quiet, but near panicked voice.

"Let him know you know, but make a joke out of it. He really does give good service and is a pretty nice guy. Even if he is a perv."

"How?"

"Tell him where you got the panties, and what they cost."

"I don't remember!"

"You got them at Linda's Lingerie, and they were three ninety eight."

He walked back to the seat, and watched as the man took the shoes off. Sure enough, his eyes were not on the work.

"You know," Angel commented quietly, trying to sound casual, "If you are that interested in them, Linda's has them on sale for less than four dollars a pair."

The man's head jerked up, guilt and the beginnings of panic in his eyes. Angel just met his gaze with a frank but neutral expression. After a moment, the man broke his gaze and looked back down at the shoes.

"Ho ... how did they feel?"

"They pinched my toes more than some of the others. The rest was ok though."

Aunt Marie had watched the exchange, and had a shrewd idea what was going on. But she was going to let Angel handle it. She did have a suggestion about the shoes, however.

"I think you need something more like those," she prompted, indicating a pair with less of a pointed toe.

The rest of the time, his eyes stayed where they belonged. They also got a 20% discount on the shoes they chose, which was nice. Thankfully, his aunt did not make him wear those shoes for the rest of the shopping trip.

Worse was yet to come. Swim suits. Janey and his aunt seemed to be working at cross purposes, there. When he admitted he wouldn't know where to begin, his aunt twisted the knife. "Think about all your summers at the pool," she began, waiting for his nod. "Now, think of what looked really good on the girls. Think of the girls you noticed, and what they were wearing." She waited again, this time seeing his smile. "Now that you remember what those suits made you think and feel, think of all those boys thinking and feeling those things about you."

Angel's face fell. Then twisted into a grimace. His skin paled a little.

Then Janey chimed in, over the phone. "Don't let her psych you out! You're a girl now. You WANT the boys thinking and feeling most of those things. If you try for something too conservative or unflattering, you draw negative attention to yourself. Especially among the other girls. Think about the girls you saw dressed that way. What did you think of them? How did the other girls and the boys treat them? What did they make you think and feel?"

He remembered, and wished he hadn't.

Janey went on. "The trick is to find something that works for you. Don't try to be cutting edge, 'cause it won't last the summer. Don't go for last year's top fashions, 'cause the girls will know. Think of how it will look and feel, both dry and wet. And think of the fact that you will be interacting with other teens, children, mothers, and dirty old men while you are wearing it."

"Gee, thanks. You're making it sooo simple."

"Any time, coz. Welcome to the world of Young Womanhood."

At first, he was frozen in indecision. He felt almost as much a pervert and impostor looking through the suits as he had looking through the underwear on the earlier trip.

He was startled to "hear" a voice in his head. Just relax. You're one of us now, no matter what you were before. the voice soothed.

Angel jerked like he had been hit with an electrical shock, then looked around. The salesgirl waved.

Don't worry. No one else suspects. Janey is a friend, and I've met her mom a few times.

His aunt looked startled, then turned and smiled at the girl. "Hello, Miranda. I didn't know you worked here."

"This is my second summer. The money is good, the work is mostly fun, and the owner likes the added security I provide."

"I imagine so. How are your folks?"

"Fine. Working their butts off, as usual." She paused a moment, and Janey gave a little squeak.

"Don't DO that!" she complained.

"Nobody was paying attention. I checked." Miranda grinned. "But while I have you here, we just got in some nice tail suits. A couple of them would look great on you. You go ahead and take a look, and I'll take care of your cousin."

Janey looked at her mother, who gave a small nod, then dashed off to the rack Miranda had indicated.

"Wow. Not many of us can pass that well."

"You were a boy, too?"

"No, I was always a girl. On the outside, only my hair color and eye color changed. The fun stuff is on the inside. Luckily, I was almost done with high school by then. They had to give me my finals and stuff double blind, to be sure I wasn't just reading the answers. I was extra lucky that nobody there made a big deal of it. A lot of people know, but not the ones who would be a problem."

"Oh." he was disappointed. He thought he had found a kindred spirit.

"I'm closer than you think. I was always worried that someone would learn my secret, and turn everyone against me. It felt like I was an impostor for a long time."

Angel got curious. "What goodies did you get?"

"Telepathy, and a little TK. Useful, but not exactly goddess class. Still don't know what you have, Hmm?"

Angel shook his head. "Can you tell?" he asked, hopefully.

"Sometimes, a little. I think you need training for that or something. I can spot the really powerful ones, and the ones who know usually tell me one way or another. You..."

She paused and looked at him a moment. "You've got something, but it seems kinda small and weak. You're fighting the change, but more and more of you knows you're a girl now. The shrinks at the center will probably be able to help you a lot. I just sell swim suits. Speaking of which..."

She pulled him over to one rack, then another, picking out suits and handing them to him. "Any of these should look good on you. Not too daring, not too modest. Why don't you two go on in and see how they look?" She indicated the changing room. "Your aunt can explain the procedures."

For health reasons, he had to try on the suits over his panties. He tried them all on, and some fit better than others. Janey came in with a few suits to try, and joined her mother in evaluating each one he modeled.

They finally settled on two, after explaining to him that he really would need a spare. And Janey was allowed one of the ones she tried on. For appearances, Janey paid for her own, while Marie paid for Angel's. Miranda had warned them of potentially awkward eyes in the vicinity.

After all that, the underwear wasn't as bad as he had feared. He was less than thrilled to have to try on and model some much shorter skirts, midriff baring tops, and the like. And even less so with what they bought.

But the makeup demo was pure torture. It became obvious that they thought they had gone easy on him in that department, and they intended to make up for it now.

His freshman year, he had let some friends talk him into doing a small part in the Fall Play, a revival of "Boneyard". He had to wear makeup for that, so the experience wasn't as new or disturbing as it might have been. But the idea of doing it almost every day, and being seen up close and in regular light, just seemed wrong.

And the face in the mirror frightened him. She was beyond pretty, into beautiful with a touch of glamor. And the little that was left of his old features was gone. He didn't like it, and said so. All he really said was that it wasn't him, but his aunt could read his expression and didn't push it in such a public setting. She had the technician tone it down a little and shift the emphasis. He found that marginally better, and ended up making some purchases.

He found himself envying Janey. All she had to - or could, really - use was some lipstick or lip gloss and sometimes some eyeshadow. Her lashes were thick enough that she would never need mascara, and there was nowhere to put base, blush or the like, on her furry face.

He learned some other important lessons when lunch time came around. At first, they thought they would have to leave. He was not too disappointed about that, but didn't quite understand the reasons. But a few of Janey's friends showed up, and were headed for the food court. His chance at an early escape evaporated. She joined them, and they went to eat together.

They asked about Angel and her mother. She identified him as "Ann", an out of town cousin. That much was true enough. She also mentioned that there was a little tension in the family, and they also understood her desire to eat with them.

While Angel and his aunt ate, at a table well separated from the friends, she explained the problems and even dangers of a girl eating alone somewhere like that. And how much worse it was for an obvious MORFS survivor.

After more shopping, they went home. But not for long. Now that he had a suit, they took him to the pool. As they had at the mall, they kept their distance. He really didn't like walking around dressed like that. He swam some laps, tried some dives (and found that he would have to learn to adjust for his new shape and center of gravity.), and generally tried to ignore the looks. Unsuccessfully tried to ignore the looks. Settled for pretending he was ignoring the looks.

It was bad enough seeing the other boys his age undressing him with their eyes. And the girls measuring him as a potential threat. But it seemed wrong for the younger boys to be looking at her that way. Unthreatening, but wrong. But the really creepy thing was the way the adult men, especially some of the old men, looked when they thought no one was watching. Or worse, the way some girls and women looked at him.

It made him want to shower over and over again. At home. His home. In his old body.

As before, Janey helped put things in perspective. Although they rinsed off at the pool, they showered more thoroughly when they got home. When Angel was complaining about all he had to do with shampooing, conditioning, and especially drying and styling his longer hair, Janey pointed out that she had the same thing - all over her body.

"Just imagine having to brush your boobs while you blow dry them." she harrumphed.

He asked what she thought about the idea of getting his hair cut short, in a low maintenance style.

"Better not try, here. Aunt Maggie wants you to keep a low profile. Most of the MORFS girls I know who got long hair in the process couldn't get it cut for a couple of months. It would just grow back, almost immediately. And that really draws attention. Maybe you can try when you're at Grandma's."

After his aunt rejoined them, Janey pointed out that one of the biggest ways former boys gave themselves away was when faced with frank, informal discussions of body parts, periods, sanitary products, and sex. More often than not, they either froze (in embarrassment), or went overboard (trying to show off their recently acquired knowledge).

Most girls accepted some terms, hated some others, and limited yet others to situations where they would only be heard by certain other girls. "Think," Janey explained, "about the ways you used to treat discussions of sex, your penis, scrotum, testicles, ass, and bodily fluids and wastes. Think about what you would have said or responded to in the boys' locker room, but would not have said in front of us."

Angel acknowledged the point. They gave him a list of words, had him say each a number of times, then set him an exercise. His room was designated a locker room. He would put on and take off his bra, otherwise dressed only in his panties, 25 times while carrying on locker room conversations using those words. When that was done, they continued the exercise while having him put on his bra the "real" way another 25 times. After that, the room was the guest room again, and he was talking with friends (no guys or adults around), for another 25 of the harder way. Finally, he was talking in moderately mixed company, for yet another 25.

Then it got worse. He would have to be able to remove and insert tampons as though he had been using them for years. And be able to knowledgeably discuss his preferences for brands and the benefits and drawbacks of each. Finally, he would have to be so comfortable with that information that he feels no need to bring it up in any but the most relevant circumstances. That took a lot of practice - with several brands - as well. After the first few, he had to use his finger to rub some soothing gel around the inside of his vagina between rounds, to keep from drying out too much.

Once the discussion got beyond brands and varieties, it moved on to childhood toys. It seemed more than a little bizarre to him, talking about some of the things he played with and some of those he would have played with, while standing by the toilet, pushing things into himself and pulling them out again.

At least those lessons didn't come with field trips.

During that night's calls, his mother seemed amused at his lessons, while his father offered sympathy and support. They both reminded him that the lessons were important, and that soon he would be back to just living a life. A new life in a new place.

Although he was almost too exhausted, he decided it was time for a more private lesson. With all the time he had spent handling his new anatomy that day, there seemed to be no reason to avoid exploring his potential for pleasure. He made sure the door was closed, pulled his nightgown up to his shoulders, then sprawled on the bed. It became obvious real quick that the position he used in his old life wouldn't work. Rather than lose the mood, he started playing with his breasts. While they were a lot more sensitive than his old nipples and chest, the greater pleasure from playing with them was nowhere near what he expected from his reading and viewing.

Still, it felt good. Very good. And it made him feel more sexy. He began to feel some reactions between his legs. Not the ones he was used to, but reactions. He started rubbing his legs together while he kept playing with his breasts. As the feelings increased, he let his mind wander. As he slid his hands down his belly and toward the seat of all those new sensations, he had a vague image of someone there. Not an hallucination or the like, just a daydream.

At first, he couldn't even tell whether the vision was female or male. And he didn't care. The vision was kissing and fingering where he was running his hands. The feelings got better as he explored. Places that just felt like body parts during the practice became real erogenous zones. He had stuck his finger in and out of his vagina dozens of times that day, rubbing and otherwise moving his lips in the process, and it was nothing. Now, the slightest hint of those motions was wonderful. They felt different to his hand, as well. He knew the theory - engorged labia, lubricating vagina, erect clitoris. But in practice, it was just "doing this feels good", and "doing that feels even better". And sometimes "Oops, that wasn't so good" or "Ow!".

He experimented with rubbing around his clit in various ways, after trying the more direct approach and feeling like someone had dragged something rough over his cock head. Slowly, he found what worked better, less well, and worse than not at all. He never really came, but satisfied himself with a small peak which allowed him to release the built up tension.

He barely got his nightgown pulled down and the covers pulled up before he dropped off to sleep.

The next morning, as he was rushing to the bathroom, Janey stopped him with a smirk and a greeting. "Have fun, last night?"

He froze, torn between shock, denial, embarrassment, and outrage. The moment passed as Janey ducked into her room. He continued into the bathroom.

On the way to breakfast, he cornered his cousin. "Were you spying on me?"

"Hardly. I was headed downstairs for my book, and heard sounds from your room. For a moment, I thought you were having problems. Then I recognized some of the sounds." She grinned.

"Oh." Now he felt foolish.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Didn't your folks ever give you the 'perfectly natural, everyone does it' speech?"

"Well, yeah. But it was different then."

"Oh," her tone turned frigid. "And how was it different?"

Angel may have been a boy until recently, but even he could recognize the warning signs. Thinking fast, he replied "Because they were toilet training me at the time?"

Janey barked out a laugh, and the chill left the room. She did admit that his reaction was completely consistent with his being a girl.

The next couple of days were filled with more training. They refined his grooming and hygiene, taught him the beginnings of putting together outfits, and recognizing and reacting to the social signals that girls share. All with plenty of field trips (even, ugh, the grooming and hygiene). The outings for outfits and social cues were mostly observational. But some had more practical exercises.

He went to bed each night with his head swimming. He had absorbed so much, so quickly. But he knew that he didn't get it all, and that he had a lot more to learn.

It hadn't been all that long since they were together, but he found himself looking forward to the phone calls from his parents. He missed them, and the strangeness of his new situation made him wish they were there. There was a small spark of fear in him - the primal fear of rejection and abandonment. The calls helped keep that under control.

Saturday came, and with it, his mother. She wasn't entirely pleased with the limits on his progress, but accepted the notion that some skills were covered in depth. She hoped he could learn the rest as he went along. He could clean, dress, and make up himself to a limited but functional degree, and he could handle hygienic issues. The rest was practice and refinement.

After some phone calls, a family lunch and discussion, it was decided that everyone would go to his grandparents' house on Sunday. The others would visit for a few hours, then return home. Angel and his mother would stay there until sometime after his appointment, and then continue their trip toward Denver.

He was looking forward to the visit, with mixed feelings. Even though he had not seen much of his grandpa, he had learned a lot about pride, honor, and the virtues of hard work from him. There were reasons the cousins sometimes called the house "Grandma's". For much of their married life, he had gone great distances to get enough work to support his family. He often lived at the work site for weeks at a time. But he kept a roof over his family's head, food on their table, and clothes on their backs. With a few cautious investments, and a lot of self denial, he was able to buy a small second home in the town where he did most of his work. He rented rooms to a couple of coworkers, helping defray the costs.

A small college in that area had been growing during that time, and expanded to the point that it was literally across the street from the house. Grandpa had been about ready to retire, anyway, so he allowed the college to manage the house and rent it for student housing. It was a good deal for him, since the school paid the taxes and took care of the upkeep, while providing a monthly income for him. It was a good deal for the school, because the arrangement cost it much less up front than their alternatives. He moved back home and retired. By then, his grandchildren had gotten used to thinking of the house as hers. And to a certain extent, so had she.

When the college needed to expand again, it made him a very good offer for the property. He accepted, and his retirement was complete. It took a while for her to get used to having him "under foot" all the time, and the cousins were still not used to seeing him there all the time.

He was not the serious, foreboding authority figure that you would expect from his life story. He had a genuine love of life, and took great joy in his family. He could be strict with the children when it was called for. But it rarely was. The grandchildren would do just about anything to keep from disappointing him.

And that was what worried Angel now. What would his grandpa think about him becoming a girl? And an anglo girl, at that? He had heard that neither grandparent had any problems with the changes in his cousins, or other members of the family. But Angel was the only sex changer in the family that he knew of.

He needn't have worried. When they got there, he was welcomed with open arms. His Grandpa had heard about how hard he had worked to learn his new life, and was impressed. The first part of the visit was full of the joyful chaos of any house full of loving relatives. Once the others had gone back home, it was time for some quiet, Sunday afternoon relaxation.

Angel and his Grandpa spent a good deal of the afternoon sitting out on the porch and just talking. His Grandpa had a way of getting people to open up - to share what they had bottled up inside. Angel was no exception. He quickly understood that nothing was really out of bounds, that nothing he said could change what they shared.

Then his Grandpa dropped the bombshell. Angel was not the only MORFS sex change in the family. In fact, there were two others. One was an uncle Angel barely knew. The other was his Grandma. She had been a friend of his before the change, but after the change the friendship had turned slowly to love. She had been relieved that she didn't have to hide anything about her change from him. Not even her powers.

They weren't all that spectacular. She could see in several wavelengths from the far infrared through the ultraviolet. And she could do so in what amounted to telescopic and microscopic modes, as well as normally. In addition to being able to spot and analyze things most people couldn't, it gave her a limited form of "X-ray Vision" (even though she didn't actually see in that band) and an ability to see clearly in absolute darkness (by virtue of the infrared light from the heat of her body). It was still early in the MORFS era, so her family had kept her powers as quiet as possible. She never became a superhero, or any kind of operative. She was just "that nice girl" (later, "lady") "with the really good eyesight."

Her grandkids always knew she could "see right through them," but didn't know how true that really was. Her own children knew the secrets, but hadn't learned them until they were adults. For some reason, MORFS had skipped a generation (the uncle was family by marriage), and then came down hard on Angel's lot.

After that discussion, a lot of things made more sense to Angel. Including his parents' lack of reaction to his own change. And his inability to get away with anything while visiting that house.

After dinner, he engaged in a time honored tradition by baking cookies with his Grandma while they talked. She shared the problems and challenges she had "back in the Late Paleolithic" when she got MORFS. She also talked about the joys of womanhood and motherhood. She confided that she thought she got the better end of the deal, overall.

She also confided that it had taken her a long time to really start thinking of herself as a female. And that she understood the struggle Angel was going through. It had not been as simple or easy for her as her husband seemed to think. Some of her own relatives and friends stopped having anything to do with her. Some parts of her family still kept their distance.

The cookies were soon done, and being enjoyed by all four of them.

"So," his mother asked around a small bite of cookie, "what do you think about the family's deep, dark secrets?"

Everyone chuckled. Angel thought for a moment, then replied "At least now I know those eyes weren't REALLY in the back of her head."

That got a laugh from everyone.

They spent the next couple of days refining his girl lessons, especially how to walk, talk, and act in more formal situations. It was one thing for him to commit the kinds of social faux pas that a girl his age might stumble with in formal situations. It was another, more serious, thing for him to do so in a way that marked him out as a (former) boy.

Even though the clinic would know about the change, they covered how a girl - even a tomboy - would act in such situations. They also warned him about some aspects of the upcoming exam, which did nothing to put him at ease.

"They're going to put something WHERE? And do WHAT with it? You've GOT to be kidding me! What is that, some kind of torture for MORFS sex changers?"

"No, dear. It's something all women go through, as part of our physical exams. I won't say that you'll come to enjoy it, but it's important and doesn't last long."

"Angel, it's not as bad as it sounds. Like those times you got the prostate and hernia exams, the best thing to do is just relax and let it happen."

"But ... but ... Eewww!"

"Amen to that." the two women chorused.

But in some ways, the creepiest part of the process was the simplest. The reading. The idea of some stranger rummaging around in his mind, finding God knows what personal secrets, made him almost appreciate the physical exam. But as they talked about it, he started to realize that it was not significantly different than his encounter with Miranda.

He told them about the encounter, and they agreed that it would be somewhat similar. Shorter, and less personal, but similar. They found the claim about a small, weak power interesting. His Grandma mentioned that it was similar to the way hers was classified.

"It's not what you've got, it's what you do with it."

Angel couldn't resist. "Yeah, but I don't have one any more!"

For a second, the women looked puzzled. Then the light dawned, and the women tried to look shocked. It didn't work, and they were soon laughing.

"Mind if I tell your Grandpa that one?" his Grandma asked. "He always did like that kind of joke."

He agreed. And he was only a little surprised when his mother used the comment as a launching point for yet another round of asking how he felt about the change, and assuring him of their complete support. He was more than a little relieved when it came time to get ready to go to the clinic.

He was already dressed in the recommended loose, comfortable clothes, so getting ready was little more than touching up his hair and minimal makeup. His mother went with him, for support as well as to handle all the paperwork.

In the waiting room, he almost made an awkward mistake. But when he started to reach for a sports magazine, his mother stopped him with an abrupt comment about an interesting looking article in a teen fashion magazine next to it. He took the hint, and picked up the teen zine. He knew that many girls read the sports magazines (and some half joked that they did so to see the athletic men in minimal, tight uniforms), and there was no reason for him not to be one of them. Still, it would make him stand out in a way that might raise suspicions.

He glanced around the room, wondering who else switched sexes. There was a girl a little older than him, obviously uncomfortable in her clothes and about being seen there. Her peaked ears and slit eyes might have something to do with it, he supposed. There was a boy whose behavior somehow struck him as wrong. As effeminate. But was it a sex change, or was he just that kind of boy? None of the kids, and few of the adults, looked entirely comfortable there.

Finally, after an interminable six minutes, his name was called. His mother stayed with him as he was scanned, poked, prodded, and stretched, but gave him privacy for his samples. She was not allowed to accompany him into the room with the evaluator. But that part was quick and relatively painless.