Chapter 1

Ken closed and locked the door of the airplane toilet.

--occupied--

For the first time in his young life, Ken was completely free. He had broken free of society and its arbitrary laws. It was exhilarating and terrifying and he closed his eyes and breathed in deep to savor the moment. Letting his mind wander, he could imagine his body outside, floating alongside the plane - watching the English countryside slip away over the horizon. "Let it go," he thought, "I don't care to ever see it again." He looked ahead across the blissfully smooth sea. He felt suspended.

Ken let his breath out slowly and opened his eyes to the reflection in the mirror. The image was impossible for him to interpret objectively. He had worked so hard, like an artist laboriously touching up his masterpiece. Had he lost the concept of the whole in the details? But no, the image before him, once he could tear his eyes away from the imperfections, was undeniably female, even beautiful after a fashion. It was this feminine image which was responsible for a deep subconscious confusion. He had been moving down a dead-end, and now, in the process of changing direction, he found himself lost - uncertain and confused about his new identity. The WC was now occupied, but by whom?

Ken reached into his handbag and pulled out a passport. Holding it up he compared it to the image in the mirror. The likeness was very close - a week of study and experimentation, correcting details, shading, highlighting, and now even a harsh fluorescent light could not reveal his true identity. Intellectually, he knew that no one would question the passport holder - he had passed the test twice already. But the most difficult test was ahead of him, and, if he allowed himself to dwell on it, he had to admit that he was terrified.

Ken looked at the passport again. It was not his. Paradoxically, it was both his means of escape and his link to his past for it properly belonged to his younger sister, Kathy. As brother and sister, they looked strikingly similar - until puberty they had often been mistaken for one another. All that was required was a few subtle adjustments using makeup, a new style for his long hair, blonde highlights, earrings, and the transformation was complete.

His face was naturally narrow making his eyes look large and expressive. As a man, people would say that he was gaunt and awkward, with spindly arms, sallow cheeks, and thin legs that made him look taller than he really was. Upon further study, one might notice that Ken was uncomfortable in public, with tentative and uncertain body movements that made him timid and awkward.

But this gaunt and spindly frame turned out to be the perfect template for creating a svelte female form. Padding and cinching could be used to emphasize feminine curves, but, except for the bosom, none was really necessary. When completely dressed, not a trace of the typical, cylindrical male torso could be found. It was only recently that he had taken up hormone therapy, which, at this point, only added a subtle emphasis to his curves.

Beyond padding, Ken possessed an additional secret for creating the perfect body. It was his special discovery, and it was simple. Starvation.

It had started as a form of rebellion. Every pang of hunger he felt, every meal that he skipped, every time he forced himself to vomit was a badge of honor, a token of resistance against his inflexible, blind, unfeeling parents. Couldn't they see how unhappy he was? Didn't they care? His mother might occasionally remark, "you should eat more, you're positively wasting away," but these sentiments were spoken with an abstract air, not out of true concern. If it had been otherwise, why did she never take the time to ask how he was feeling? Ken knew that he was an embarrassment to his family. The only time he had ventured to express his true feelings had been brutally rebuffed.

"What are you doing, Ken?" Ken's mom was standing in the doorway to his room. His parents had come home unexpectedly early from their shopping trip.

"Mum!" Ken dropped the lipstick he was holding - his lips (the color was too red, he now realized) were painted on only one side - giving him a crazed and clownish look. Worse, he was wearing a flower-print house dress. "Ummm ... I was just playing..."

"Is this what you do while I'm at work all day? Is this how you use your free time?"

"No! I mean ... Well, sometimes yes, but..."

She cut him off. "Get out of that ridiculous costume, right this minute! I will not have my son acting like some painted pervert in my own home!"

"Mother!"

"What's all the fuss?"

"Dad..." Ken wilted. He let his hands drop to his side and felt his eyes well up with tears of anguish.

"Why are you wearing that ridiculous outfit? Kenneth Charles William Shore! Answer me!"

"I..." Ken hesitated to tell the truth, but in the end could think of nothing else to say. "I like wearing girl's clothes," he said, lamely.