Story Submission - Draft Dodger On The Rag - A Bunny's Tale

DRAFT DOGER ON THE RAG - A BUNNY'S TALE

By: Deane Christopher

Copyrighted: 2000

Draft Dodger on the Rag - A Bunny's Tale is the direct result of three different ideas coming together to form the bases for a single story. It all started with a suggestion from Mindy Rich for me to use some or all of the photos that she had posted on the Original Fictionmania form the made for TV movie A Bunny's Tale staring Kristie Alley for a future story with images submission. Secondly, at the time there was some discussion on Fictionmania's Hyperboard revolving around the writing of TG based Romance Stories, the same discussions that I believe may have prompted Femur to host a Romance Writing Contest. While I knew that I could never complete Draft Dodger on the Rag - A Bunny's Tale in time to submit it to Femur's Contest, I was nonetheless intrigued with the idea of trying my hand at a story that had at its' core, a tread of romance. Thirdly, I wished to formulate yet another story that had its' protagonist reluctantly opt to become a female rather than face some other less desirable consequences, much as I had in my story The Witness Protection Plan with a TG Twist.

Once again, I would like to apologize for writing yet another long and ponderous story. As odd as it might sound, it was never meant to be as long as it is. However, as these things often happen, once created, the characters pretty much took over the story and took it places I never ever expect it to go.

I would l like to take this opportunity to dedicate this story to MINDY RICH and her brainchild FICTIONMANIA.

DRAFT DODGER ON THE RAGE - A BUNNY'S TALE

(With full apologies to the late, great topical singer song-writer Phil Ochs.)

Nineteen Sixty Seven started out as a bad year for one Joshua Everett Oats. Trouble was, as the year lengthened towards Nineteen Sixty Eight, it only got worse.

On the Feast of the Epiphany, just six days into the new year, the current love of Josh's life gave him the big kiss-off.

Four weeks after that, in a mandatory meeting proscribed by a grade point average that had taken a serious, but far from fatal turn for the worst, a mutual decision was arrived upon. Josh, who had always defer to authority figures prior to that point in his life, got his dander up and vehemently complained that his grade point average was more the college's fault than his.

As far as Josh was concerned, if the powers that be had hired competent teachers to begin with, then they wouldn't have had to give two of his fall semester teachers their walking papers; one, only six classes before finals, and the other, only three classes prior to term's end. Then, to add insult to injury, though Josh had aced one of the departmentally prepared finals and scored an eighty eight percent on the other, he was only credited with a pair of 'C's for the two courses. When asked why that was so, Josh was perfunctory informed that, due to the fact that no other grades had been recorded by the recently and righteously dismissed incompetent teacher want-a-bes, the college could only see their way clear to granting a 'C' for a passing grade on the final exam.

That pissed Josh off royally. Emphatically, becoming more than a little boisterous in the process, he told his guidance councilor and the pompous ass who functioning as the assistant dean of students that it wasn't fair. He had been carrying solid 'Bs' in the other two classes he had been taking that semester. However, due to the vast amount of cramming he had done in marathon all-nighters in order to get ready for the two exams that the respective department heads had prepared as a means to salvage those damn near worthless courses, Josh had, due to severe time constraints, neglected to adequately prepare himself for the other two exams he had to take that semester. That being the case, Josh proceeded on to point out the fact that as far as he was concerned, it was neither fair nor just that he end up with four 'Cs' instead of one 'A', one 'B' and the two four credit 'Cs' he had ended up with as a result of what had occurred through no fault of his own.

While both his guidance councilor and the assistant dean of students freely conceded all the points that he made to be valid ones, Josh failed in his attempts to obtain the concessions he felt entirely justified in requesting.

Basically, what it all came down to was your basic love it or leave it kind of situation.

Josh, opted for that later. Taking an immense amount of pure, unadulterated pleasure in doing so, Josh, astounding the shit out of himself as he did so, uncharacteristically informed the pair of them that they could take that Mickey Mouse community college of theirs and cram it up where the sun don't shine! Sideways!

Exhilarated beyond belief, Josh Everett Oats stormed out of the conference room, briskly strolled across the college's entrance foyer and out into the central quadrangle, where upon, he gleefully embraced the soaring joy that rides the Icarus-like wings of righteous indignation. However, by the time Josh made it out to the school's student parking lot and his dilapidated, hideous, drab green VW micro-bus, the reality of the situation hit him like a bomb-bay load of 500 pounders dropped by a B52.

He had just gone and lost his student deferment. His hastily spoken words had just made him 1A and therefore, a prime candidate for the draft. Next stop - Vietnam!

Three years before, when he had been a junior in high school, an older boy who had lived just a few houses down from the Oats, returned from a tour of duty as a Special Forces Advisor in South Vietnam and, during one of the many ensuing conversations, adamantly informed the young and extremely impressionable Josh that his participation in the fiasco that was taking place in Vietnam was something that should be avoided at all cost.

Those conversations presented Josh with a quandary that he could never quite resolve. On one hand, he sincerely believed that he owed his country his service. If he as a citizen of the United States of America wished to enjoy the rights and liberties established by the founding fathers as decreed within the Constitution of The United States and its' ratified Amendments, Josh felt that he had an obligation to help preserve, protect and defend both it and the republic those brilliantly stated and cherished concepts had established.

He believed in the citizen soldier. He believed the best way for a country to avoid war was to be always vigilant, always prepared and ready to fight at the drop of a hat should the need arise. And once engaged, Josh believed that the war should be prosecuted with all the resources, manpower and fervor that the United States could bring to bare against the enemy.

Trouble was, technically speaking, though Americans were fighting and dying there, Vietnam wasn't a war. It was a conflict. A civil war. A fight between North Vietnam and South Vietnam.

Everyone knew that North Vietnam wasn't a threat to the integrity of the United States. Furthermore, neither John Fitzgerald Kennedy nor Lyndon Baines Johnson had had the balls to ask congress for a declaration of war. Nor, had the lily livered congress seen fit to declare one. Yet, American service men were being sent there to fight and die in ever increasing numbers.

There was no way in hell that Josh wanted to be involved in a war that he believed to be unconstitutional and therefore, an illegal one. If the government was going to ask him to fight and possible die for a country, he damn right well wanted that country to be the good old U. S. of A.!

However, even though he felt that way, Josh still believed that he owed his country his service. And because he did, fully aware that he could always end up on small, lightly armed, swift patrol craft warily cruising up and down some God forsaken section of the Mekong River or one of its' numerous tributaries, Josh did what he deemed to be the honorable thing. During the first week of February, he went to see a Navy recruiter.

At the time, the recruiter informed Josh that the Navy was employing what was termed a delayed enlistment program and that were he to enlist, he would be dutifully sworn in at the time of his physical and six months later, at the Navy's expense, report for duty at the Navy's Great Lakes Training Center. However, as the recruiter continued through the litany of items that had to be covered, he chanced upon a bug-a-boo that could prevent Josh from being inducted into the United States Navy.

Roughly fifteen months before all this was transpiring, Josh had experienced a spontaneous pneumothorax of his right lung. Somehow, though his doctor never could ascertain the exit point, air had passed out of his lung and into his chest cavity, partial deflating the lung in the process.

The chief petty officer at the Navy recruitment center suggested that if Josh really wanted to enlist in the Navy, a waiver from his doctor might do the trick. Though it meant that Josh would have to serve a full six years of active duty, the electronic schools that the recruiter had made mention of seemed like the way for him to go and so, Josh took the CPO's advice to heart and made an appointment with the chest specialist that had admitted him to the hospital and subsequently, pumped the residual air out of his pleura membrane.

Four weeks later, with waiver in hand, Josh reported to a local Army base for his pre-induction physical. After a grueling and dehumanizing five hours that consisted of a lot more hurry up and wait than the actual elements of the pre-induction physical he had let himself in for, Josh, along with about fifteen other guys, was directed to proceed into a room where the actual oath was to be administered.

When it became his turn to do so, Josh handed his paperwork over to the designated Army enlisted man who in turn, began to shuffle through it to make sure everything was in order. Coming upon the medical waiver, the enlisted man, unsure as what to do with it, brought it to the attention of his superior, a burly, barrel chested Navy CPO, who in turn, brought it to the attention of the officer in charge, a very young and ill at ease looking Navy lieutenant JG. No one, it appeared, knew how to proceed and because they didn't, a rather lengthy ad hoc discussion took place.

Then, when the weathered faced CPO brought it to his lieutenant's attention that they were running behind scheduled and that they had best get their shit in gear and complete the induction ceremony with the administering of the oath and the subsequent passing out of orders, the lieutenant made a command decision to accept Josh's medical waiver at face value. Ten minutes later, with orders in hand to report to the Great Lakes Naval Training Facilities in approximately six months time, Josh, now a brand spanking new swabbie, proceeded out of the induction center and proudly, feeling as if he had just done the right thing, made his way out to the parking lot, en route to his soon to be up for sale, rust-eaten VW micro-bus.

Three weeks later, Josh's dad suffered a massive coronary. Alerted to the situation by the screaming entreatments of his near frantic mother, Josh arrived on the scene and endeavored to revive his father through the administration of CPR and mouth to mouth. Even though he was fully cognizant of the fact that his efforts had failed to sustain his dad's life, Josh, for his mother's sake, kept at it until the ambulance crew relieved him.

Ironically, it was at the funeral home that a grieving Josh Oats renewed his friendship with a girl that he had dated on an on and off bases all throughout his high school years.

A doctor could not have prescribed a better medicine to help Josh deal with the tragic and unexpected loss of his father than the spunky and extremely attractive Bitsy MacNamara. Although she remained a constant and confounding enigma for him to try and figure out, Bitsy was none the less Josh's truest and most trusted friend. He could tell her anything and know, with a sheer and utter certainty, that whatever he had told her would go no further. And in like respect, Bitsy could confide him, knowing that he would never think to betray her trust.

As Bitsy so often quipped: they were soul-mates; joined at the nexus of their eternal and quintessential beings.

Josh valued their friendship, keenly aware that Bitsy valued it as much or more so than he did himself.

Trouble was, each and every time Josh tried to take their friendship to the next logical level, Bitsy either back away, ignored or staunchly resisted his efforts. But though she did, whenever he would call her to see if she would like to go out somewhere together, like to a movie, party, school sponsored dance or some other such social activity, it was the rare occasion in which she did not take him up on the offer.

To make matters worse, Josh's parents liked Bitsy so much that early on in their association with her, they actually began to accorded her as the daughter they never had, with the implication being that they wouldn't be at all averse to one day having such a charming and vivacious young woman as their daughter-in-law. And to be honest, Josh wouldn't have minded that eventuality one iota either, for Josh had been smitten with the chestnut haired Bitsy MacNamara long before he ever got up the gumption to call her up and ask her out.

But then again, damn near every other swinging dick that Josh knew or associated with, at one time or another, had had the hots for Bitsy MacNamara, due to the fact that she was an unmitigated fox, who could have easily had her pick of any guy she wanted. Why she demeaned herself by keeping company with an average joe like Josh, never failed to confound and amaze him.

He just couldn't quite figure her out.

Each and every time Josh thought he had, damn if Bitsy didn't do something, or say something, to further confuse and confound him.

For instance, Bitsy would aggressively and insistently encourage him to date other girls, going so far upon occasions as to even arrange blind dates for him, and then act all jealous, moody and out of sorts whenever he would continue on to establish a one on one relationship with one of the young girls she had fixed him up with.

And then there was the odd, not to mention frustrating way she handled their intimacy, or rather, the lack there of. While Bitsy was always grabbing for his hand, even during those times when they weren't officially dating, she made it quite clear, on numerous occasions, that if Josh thought that their holding hands was an open invitation for him to make a move on her, he had another think coming. On rare occasions, Josh was not only allowed, but more often than not, encouraged to put his arm around her, so that the two of them could cuddle and there by, commiserate with one another, up close and personal like. But that, and the obligatory goodnight, closed mouth kiss was the extent of the touchy-feelly shit that Bitsy would allow. Everything else was strictly and stringently verboten.

In other words, from everything Josh could gleam, Bitsy only wanted a platonic relationship with him, according him in much as she might a twin bother.

Trouble was, Josh, though he tried like hell to adjust his thinking to suit Bitsy's wishes, came to the sad realization that he was hopelessly in loved her. Over and over and over again, though he knew how utterly foolish he was being, the damn near omnipresent and endearing thoughts he entertained for the mind-enshrined Miss Bitsy MacNamara kept him from giving any other young the lady he dated the opportunity needed to win his heart.

It was during the Christmas holiday break of their senior year in high school that Bitsy, during a pleasant dinner at the Oats' house, made the announcement that she had come to a decision, with that decision being: she was going to become a nun and would therefore, enter the Novitiate of The Sisters of The Blessed Virgin the following fall. Though her announcement put to rest a lot of Josh's unanswered questions, he never the less took it hard. Any hope that he had that Bitsy might one day come to her senses and return the love he stubbornly and tenaciously harbored for her, had been dashed in one fell swoop.

Knowing that his relationship with Bitsy would undergo a drastic and, from his point of view, catastrophic redefining come the next September, Josh took it upon himself to make the most of the time he had left with her. To that end, Josh devoted damn near all of his weekends to spending as much time as he possible could with her. They became damn near inseparable.

Josh even asked Bitsy if she could once again see her way clear to doing him the honor of consenting to being his date for his senior prom, much as she had the previous year when she had graciously acquiesced to accompanying him to his junior prom. Informing him that he was a big ninny as she did so, Bitsy teasingly told Josh that she would agree to be his date for his school's prom on one condition, with that condition being: that he had to reciprocate by escorting her to her high school's senior prom.

That summer, just a few short weeks prior to perusing her vocational calling by entering the Senior Novitiate of The Sisters of The Blessed Virgin with her expressed hope of becoming a teaching sister of their order, Bitsy shocked the shit of Josh. While the two of them were attending a late evening birthday bash of a mutual friend of their's at a near by community pool that had been rented for the occasion, Bitsy, impishly dragged a very bemused, bewildered and clearly astonished Josh Oats into the concealing shadows of the pool's cinder block pump house and proceeded, in a most brazen and wanton manner, to aggressively assuage those long desired, long denied, crass and carnal needs of his.

A short while later, as the two of them wearily struggled back into their bathing suits, Bitsy, with an endearing kiss to punctuate her rejoinder, tenderly informed Josh that he was not to read anything into what had just occurred between them. Emphatically, so as to not encourage any sort of false hope, she continued on to inform Josh that she hadn't for one minute changed her mind about becoming a nun. Then, by way of an explanation for having done what she had gone and done, Bitsy tearfully informed Josh that she had wanted to give him a gift he would always remember, always cherish and so, she had given him the gift of herself.

Later, as the two of them sat all off by their lonesomes, commiserating with one another, Bitsy, clutching Josh's hand in an impassioned death grip, proceeded on informed him that she knew, without his ever having to say so, that he loved her and that, in some fashion or another, he always would. Reenforcing her oft spoken declaration that they were soul-mates, tethered in some mystical, marvellous way that bound their spirits together in the everlasting love of the Almighty, Bitsy, with another tender and endearing kiss to his tear moistened lips, unknowingly condemning Josh to a life of unspeakable torment as she did so, informed him that though she had never said so before, she loved him more than he would ever know, but that for some inexplicable reason that she preferred to withhold from him, their love could never be.

Bitsy, though it clearly pained her to do so, continued on to inform Josh that she thought that it would be in both their best interest if they said their last good-byes that night and not see or call one another again before she left for the novitiate. Though Josh immediately regretted his having done so, he agreed to abide by her request without so much as a verbalized qualm or quibble.

Their drive home was done in an oppressive, brooding, crypt-like silence that was broken only by an occasional, gut-wrenching and more times than not, mutually shared sniffle. Their last kiss was crammed with passions calculated to last a lifetime. Their last embrace - caustic and compelling compassionate. Their tears welled up and generously flowed into one another's as their hearts became one. Without words they had plight their troth in the Crucible of God's eternal love and shared the fleeting bliss of Heaven's promise; knowing intuitively that the next instance would plunge them into the earth bound hell of a lifetime of severed companionship.

Then, with an almost inaudible uttered "I love you, Bitsy." Josh prolonged his agony as he forlornly tarried on the sidewalk in front of her house with the devastation of his tear laden eyes locked longing on Bitsy's front bedroom window.

That night, Josh Oats became a wraith, a zombie-like personification of his former self. He became withdrawn. Moody. Introspective.

Life became a drudgery. Something to be endured, not enjoyed.

Eventually Josh managed to find the wherewithal within himself to be able to put on a false pretense that would enable him to smile, to laugh and even cut up with his friends when the occasion called for him to do so. However, in his heart he knew it all nothing more than a shame. His jest for life was gone, eradicated by the omnipresent void of his longing.

Bitsy's letters, though mundane and far from satisfying, helped. However, as the days became weeks and the weeks in turn stretched into months and Bitsy's letters arrived with less and less frequency, Josh, aware that he had to fill the emptiness of his heart with something least he flat out go crazy, turned, as he always did, to his music and there by, found the gentle solace and focus of spirit that his life required. Hour after hour came and went as he sat in his bedroom, plucking and strumming on the aluminum rimed longneck banjo that he had scrimped and save to purchase from the camaraderie of craftsmen who comprised the struggling Ode Banjo Company of Boulder Colorado.

Before September was out, Josh found himself as a founding member of a foursome, endeavoring to preserve and present in an entertaining fashion the high lonesome sound that was rooted and nurtured in the hollers and vales of the Southern Appalachians. Adding the rippling rhythms of his banjo to the melodic sounds of mountain dulcimer, autoharp and flattop guitar, their group quickly became one of the mainstays of the locally based folk scene.

Things progressed rather rapidly from there.

A priest that Josh knew from his days as an altar boy chanced to hear Josh's group play one evening at a nursing home that was located within in his parish and, liking what he heard, quickly enlisted Josh's assistance in organizing a group of young parishioners as a nucleus for a folk mass. Though Josh wasn't to keen on such innovative church services himself, unaware of what he was letting himself in for, he set aside his misgivings and graciously complied with Father Dan's wishes. Three weeks later, he found himself doing double duty. Finish up with the nine o'clock mass at Father Dan's church, Josh had to quickly pack up his banjo and newly acquired small bodied Ephiphone 12-string and haul ass, so that he arrived at St. Catherines in time to participate in their eleven thirty folk services.

Shortly thereafter, an Episcopal church that was located clear across town called and asked Josh if he could see his way clear to doing for them what he had done for the Catholics. The Lutherans, not to be out done, did likewise, as did a Baptist Youth Group and several nondenominational Christian Churches as well.

A librarian friend of his mother's, who was responsible for coordinating children activities at a nearby neighbor branch of the public library where she was gainfully employed, inquired as to whether or not Mrs. Oats might be able to persuade her son to put together a children program of traditional and contemporary folk music to be presented on an up coming Saturday morning. Josh said that he'd be delighted to give it a go and, though he wasn't sure how his selection of crusty old and moldy over-sung standards and nonsense songs would be received by a group of precocious four, five and six year olds, was surprise as to just how well his performance went over. Two weeks later - another library. Another Saturday morning filled with the gleeful sounds of children raising their voice in song.

Within the month, Josh found that his Saturday mornings were booked up solid with requests for similar library hosted presentations.

Sunday evenings, usually found Josh frequenting a local up scale coffeehouse to participated in their weekly open-mikes. Sometimes he would do so with members of his group, sometimes with one or another of his folksinger friends, but more times than not, all on his own. While his first love was traditional folk music such as John Henry and Jimmy Crack Corn, he would indulge his other interest by performing singer-songwriter material the likes of Paxton, Ochs and Anderson.

The open-mikes presented Josh with yet other avenue for his music. Soon, he was being asked to perform some of the topical material he was becoming known for at various activist and anti-war rallies that were, at the time, gaining in popularity.

There went most of his Saturday and Sunday afternoons.

The open-mike sessions also expanded Josh's number of friend's within the local folk community itself. Soon, these new found folk artist friends of his were actually calling Josh out the audience; telling him to go get his banjo and join them on stage so that he could accompany them on a couple of their songs.

How Josh found time to compose his own songs with all that other stuff going on, is anybody's guess, but manage he did. Furthermore, shocking the shit out of Josh in the process, those handcrafted songs of his were extremely well received whenever he saw fit to include one in his sets. As time went on, due to the overwhelming and unrelenting requests that he do so, the number of his own songs contained in a set eventually began to out number those written by other better known singer-songwriters. And, as one might expect, the one most often requested he sing, was a poignant song of unrequited and endearing love entitled 'Bitsy's Song'.

As time went on, others in the area began to perform many of his songs, causing a reporter who covered the music beat for the locally weekly published underground newspaper to proclaim Josh Oats to be the area's folksinger's folksinger. Josh though, never let any of the acclaim he got go to his head. Fact is: he was the first to admit that their were far better singers and much more talented musicians around than he was. If he admitted to having any talent at all, that talent was to pick the right songs for the right occasions.

Hell! Even when a fledgling, grass-roots recording outfit approached Josh with the idea of making a record of some of the songs he had penned himself, he readily agreed on the condition that the record would be made with a whole bunch of friends and fellow folksingers taking the lead on one or another of his songs. Out of the fourteen tracks contained on the LP, while Josh did indeed function as one of the featured musicians on each and every one of them, and participated as a member of the chorus in a good many of them, he was only featured twice: once on a solo banjo instrumental and a second time, singing the song he was quickly becoming best known for, with that song being none other than the impassioned 'Bitsy's Song'.

As one might expect, Josh met a lot of very nice, very attractive, and at times kooky and spaced-out young ladies who made it perfectly clear to him that they wouldn't mind going out with him. Trouble was, most of the girls he dated at the time found that they soon tired of accompanying him to his shows. The first time was neat. Generally, the girls Josh dated got a charge out of being with the man of hour. However, as neat as it was at first, dating a performer wasn't anything like they thought it would be.

Fact is: dating a performer was down right boring. Out of necessity, Josh had to let his dates fend for themselves, all off by their lonesomes while he was engaged elsewhere: tuning his various instruments; arranging his sets; doing sound checks; checking in with the MC and all that other razzmatazz that a performer has to attend to in order to insure that their performance is up to snuff and that they are doing right by the audience.

In other words, Josh, adopting the no guts no glory approach, roguishly dated a whole shit load of girls over that eighteen month period following immediately in the wake of Bitsy's leave-taking. Sometimes, he would even get lucky and get himself laid in the process.

And then, Nineteen Sixty Seven hit and in the matter of a few months, Josh's life was hit with a triple whammy.

It all started off on the Feast of the Epiphany when Kathy, a very nice young girl who he was just beginning to think he might one day fall in love with, dumped him for a folksinger friends of his. Shortly thereafter, it was the business at the community college and then, just when Josh thought that he had gotten his life back on the right track by taking the bull by the horns and enlisting in the United States Navy in hopes of qualifying for the battery of electronic schools the recruiter had enticed him with, the tragic and unforeseen death of his father rocked his life in ways he never though possible.

Only a few close friends of his mother's and a smattering of family members were able to attend the first scheduled afternoon viewing of his father. Josh, telling himself that he had to be strong for his mother, managed to somehow hold up rather well, even though he was forced to recounted, over and over and over again, in gory, tedious, nerve wracking detail, how he had endeavored to resuscitate his father during the damn near interminable wait for the paramedics to arrive.

That evening, shortly after returning to the funeral home from a two hour dinner break at a near by restaurant, knowing that he was leaving his mother in the caring and concerned hands of a few of her closest neighborhood friends, Josh graciously excused himself from the circle of the conversation that was taking place and, with hopes of doing so before any sort of a crowd began to arrive and so prevent him from what he had in mind, approached his father's casket and there, attempted to reconcile himself to the loss of a man who meant more to him than life itself. As a single tear, a tear that was selfishly shed for both his and his mother's loss, rather than for the gentle, even tempered man who's mortal remains lay stretched out in the casket before him, a hand, small and graceful, tenderly reached over and gently, but none the less firmly, entwined Josh's hand within it's comforting and ever so familiar grasp. With a spirit buoyed by the consoling knowledge of her nearness, Josh heard Bitsy softly and emphatically intone, "I'm so, so sorry, Josh! I came as soon as I heard..."

"Thank you, Bitsy! I can't begin to tell how much it means to me that you're here! And you know that my mom will appreciate your being here as well! I mean, you know how she feels about you!"

"Yes, Josh... I most certainly do!"

From that point on, Bitsy never once left Josh's side. She never let his hand go, save for the few occasions where her frayed emotions got the best of her and she turned and embraced Josh for all she was worth, drawing on his strength as he had on hers!

She was there for him. Willing him her strength. Supporting him with her empathy. Consoling him with her nearness. Sharing each and every nuance of his grief.

Later, as Josh, playing the part of the dutifully son, helped his mother slip into her coat prior to their departing the funeral home for night, Mrs. Oats proceeded on to inform him that during the brief period of time he had been in the men's room, she had had a private conversation with that wayward 'adopted' daughter of hers and the two of them had arrived at a mutual decision. Instead of dropping Bitsy off at her parent's house on their way home the way Josh had at first presumed they would, Bitsy would be going back to their house with them. While she could have always stayed at her parents' house, Josh's mom, without going into a lengthy explanation as to why she had done so, had asked Bitsy if she could see her way clear to spending the next couple of days at their house with them. Wanting nothing more than to do just that, Bitsy had readily agreed, saying as she did so that she would be both honored and delighted to be their guest.

Arriving home, the three of them, upon shedding their coats, proceeded into the kitchen and, over a fresh brewed pot of tea that Mrs. Oats quickly set about preparing for the there of them, began to commiserate with one another. Then, having discussed a whole kit and caboodle of fond memories revolving around Josh's dad, his mother turned the conversation to Bitsy, as she proceeded on to shock the shit out of her son by clearly demonstrating the fact that she had consciously neglected to inform him about something that she knew he would have deemed of the utmost importance.

"So Bitsy, how about telling us what you've been up to since you left the novitiate last spring."

'Last spring!', Josh reeled as his mind registered the fact that Bitsy had given up the idea of becoming a nun, but hadn't seen fit to get in touch with him and tell him that she had made the decision to return to secular life.

"Well Aunt Mary, as my mother has no doubt already told you, I came home for about week or so; got myself a job as a waitress and moved in with a couple of friends of mine who have, or I should have said, had an apartment downtown.

With a tone that clearly conveyed a poorly vailed sense of indignation, Josh inquired, "You mean to tell me, you've been in town for - what! Nine months now! And you never thought to get in touch with me!

"How come?" a disgruntled Josh tersely demanded an accounting.

Reaching over, Bitsy, in an effort on her part to placate him somewhat, lovingly grasp his hand in hers, saying as she did so, "First off, Josh, you've got to understand that I was only in town for about a month and a half when I, along with a couple of hippy friends of mine, moved to this real neat artist commune way out in Allegany County, just down the road from the quaint little town of Lonaconing."

"Okay." Josh began. "I understand the point about how you weren't in town long. However, that still doesn't explain why you didn't try and get in touch with me. You know, to at least let me know what in the world was going on!"

"Well!" Mary Oats said as she pushed her chair back from the table and began to get to her feet. "I see that the two of have some things to talk over. So, since it's going to be another busy day for me tomorrow, what with me and my having to content with those two over-wrought, insincere, crocodile-tear shedding sisters of your father's, I really think I ought to do myself a favor by heading upstairs and trying to get a little sleep.

"Josh! Tell you what! Since the guest room is a mess right now, why don't you let Bitsy sleep in your bed and you sleep down here on the sofa tonight. Alright?"

Bitsy, keeping a firm grip on Josh's hand all the while, countered Mrs. Oats' suggestion by saying that the sofa would suit her just fine and that the very last thing she wanted to do was to put either one of them out. Mrs. Oats was having none of it and so, informed Bitsy in no uncertain terms that her son would be just fine sleeping on the sofa for a night or two and that she would be very upset if Bitsy said another blessed thing about the sleeping arrangements she had prescribed.

As expected, Bitsy, aware that further arguments would prove futile, graciously acquiesced to Mrs. Oats' wishes.

By unspoken accord, both Bitsy and Josh refrained from getting into it until they heard his mother's bedroom door close.

"Okay, Bits!" Josh said sternly. "What gives?"

"Josh!" she pleaded as reached over and took his other hand in hers. "Do we really have to do this now?

"I mean, haven't you already got enough on your plate, what with your father's death and all..."

"I mean, while I realize that I owe you an explanation for what I've done... and I fully intend on giving you one... do we really have get into this tonight? I mean, can't we wait until things have settled down for you a little bit?

"No!" Josh's rebuttal was emphatic.. "I'm not going to let you walk out of my life again and not know the reason why!"

"Believe me, Josh! I'm not going anywhere!

"I know you'll never going to believe me - you big, hard headed lummox you! But, I love you! More then you'll ever know or understand!"

"Hell! I don't even understand it myself, given some of these damnable predilections of mine, but the one thing I do know is that I do love you! And I never - Ever! - want to be separated from you again!

"As selfish as it is for me to say this: I now realize just how much I need you in my life!

"I mean, I knew as soon as I entered the room where your father was laid out and caught sight of you standing up there, all by your lonesome, forlornly gazing down at your father's casket, that I had made a terrible, terrible mistake!

"You probably aren't going believe this, but I have missed you more than you will ever, ever know, Josh!"

"I thought I was being kind! I thought I was doing the right thing!

"I now know I was wrong! And I'm so, so sorry I did what I did! It was a mistake! A mistake that whether you want to believe this or not, I have paid dearly for!

"But as wrong-headed as I was, at the time, I thought that I was doing the right thing!

"Look! I know you took it hard when I left to become a nun!

"But I also knew that you would eventually face the fact that you had your own life to live and that you'd best get on with it!

"And you did! You poured your life into your music and that was great!

"I mean, what you went on to achieve never fails to amaze and astound me!

"Oh! And while I'm thinking about it, I have to tell you: I absolute adorn 'Bitsy's Song'! And I end up crying every time I hear it! You know, 'cause I actually find myself hating that selfish little bitch for doing what she did to you!"

"Bits!" Josh spoke up, registering his complaint! "I never wrote that song to hurt you! I only wrote it out of my love for you!"

"I know you did, Josh! And believe me, you have paid me the greatest compliment that one person could ever pay another when you wrote that simply fantastic song for me! And believe me, it's an honor I don't deserve...

"But anyhow, getting back to why I though it necessary to do what I did, I've got to tell you something very personal about myself that it's a given you aren't going to like hearing! Not in the least little bit!

"Josh! You like looking all those beautiful and sexy girls in Playboy, don't you?"

"Yeah..." Josh replied with some hesitancy. "So?"

"Well, though it took me a whole hell of a lot of soul searching on my part to finally come out admit it to myself, the sad fact of the matter is: so do I! And, though it pains me to say this: I like looking at them pretty much the same way that you do!"

"Bits! Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"If you think that I'm saying that I'm a lesbian at heart, then yes! I'm saying exactly what you think I'm saying!"

"But," Josh stammered, "you and I made love!".

"Yes! Yes, we did! And it was absolutely wonderful! But, as wonderful as it was, I've to to tell you that it was the hardest damn thing I ever done!

"I mean, you don't know how hard it was for me to work up the gumption to actually being able to do it!

"Trouble is: while I am hopelessly attracted to women! You know, in a physically sense! I am just as hopelessly in love with you!

"In other words, damned if I'm not stuck right between that rock and hard place that you're always hearing about! And to make matters worse - Damn it all to hell and back! - if you aren't stuck right there alongside of me!

"You however, have a choice in the matter! I, unfortunately, do not!"

"I do?" Josh was incredulous.

"Yes, you do! You can always elect to cut your loses and get on with your life!"

"Yeah, right! As if I could do something like that!"

Bitsy cut Josh to the quick as she vehemently countered, "You almost did with Kathy!"

Taken aback, Josh fumed, "How hell do you ever find out about Kathy?"

With a knowing smile beaming upon her face, Bitsy impishly replied. "Oh, let's just say that a little birdie has been keeping me abreast as to what's going on in your life."

"And just who might that little birdie be?" Josh demanded in a righteous huff.

"Someone who cares about you as much as I do."

Josh ponder that one for a second and then shot back, "You mean to tell me that you been in contact with my mother?"

"Bingo!

"I've been calling here at least once a week just to check in and see how your doing."

"And you're saying that my mother told you about Kathy?"

"She sure did!"

"And just what in the hell did she tell you about me and Kathy?"

"Basically, that the two of you got along fairly well. Which, she said was a positive sign. But, that she really didn't think it would ever work out between the two of you."

"What else did she tell you?"

"Practically everything.

"Well I'll be! My mom! The snitch!

"Does she know?"

"If you mean about me and my being a lesbian, the answer is: yes! She knows everything!

"In fact, she was the first person that I actually confided in! I mean, I told your mom months before I ever got up the never to tell my own mother!

"I don't know if you are either aware or appreciative of this Josh, but make no never mind about it! Your mother's a saint if ever there was one!"

"Believe me, Bitsy! I'm well aware of the that! When it comes to parents, I gotta say: God did right by me! I couldn't have asked for better!"

With a tear welling up in his right eye, Josh, though it took all he had to do so, continued on to say, "I just wish I had told my father how much he meant to me when I had the chance!"

"Don't worry, Josh! Trust me! He knows..."

"I sure as hell hope you're right about that, because you can't believe how much I'm already beginning to miss him!"

It was to much for Bitsy to just sit there, helplessly watching as Josh began to unburden himself of all those pent up emotions of his and so, in a spontaneous, empathic effort to give him what succor she could, she rose up out the kitchen chair she had been occupying and in so doing, drew him upwards along with her and into the compassionate and consoling embrace of the truest of heart-bound friends.

Amid the wealth of tears that were freely flowing down his cheeks, Josh weekly managed to whimper, "I don't know if I can take anymore, Bits! A year and a half ago I lost you! Yesterday, I lost my father... <sniffle, sniffle>"

Grasping Josh by his upper arms, Bitsy, marshalling every ounce of her strength, angrily thrust him rearwards and, with a raw vehemence that seemed unsuited to the situation, harshly snapped, "I'll grant you that you lost your father, Josh! And there's absolutely nothing that you or I or anyone can do about that! But, let's get something straight here, buster! You haven't lost me! I'm right here! And, I'm not going anywhere!

"I'll admit it! I did something stupid! I though that if I went away to became a nun you might be able to forget about me and get on with your life!

"And, to some degree, you managed to do just that!

"Trouble was, I now realize that I wasn't being fair to either one of us, because - God help me! - though I tried like hell to get over you, I couldn't!

"You couldn't?"

"No!" there was a sense of frustration clearly conveyed in that explosive and overwrought 'no' of Bitsy's. "I tried! I really, truly did! But, no matter what I did or didn't do, I couldn't get you out of my mind! I couldn't stop feeling about you the way I do!

"And do you want to know why I can't?" Bitsy snapped angrily.

"You, Mr. Joshua Oats, are just to damn good be true! And you truly deserve someone who can give you what you want!

"Trouble is, as I've told you so many times before, there's no getting around the fact you and I are soulmates, bound to one another in some inexplicable way that I can't even begin to fathom!"

"So, tell me Bits! Where does that leave the two of us?"

"I don't know! I honestly don't know! And, I should add: there's no way in hell we are going to figure that one out tonight! So, give me a break! Let's not try! Alright?"

"However, I do know one thing! Neither one us is ever going to be happy unless we're together! Somehow! Someway! Agreed?"

"Agreed!" Josh, with the hint of a sniffle, replied.

"Come on kiddo! As I recall, there's a perfectly good sofa in your living room and I think that a good snuggle right now would do the two of us a world of good!"

A few minutes later, as Josh lay with his head nestled in the comfort of Bitsy's lap, she resumed the conversation by saying, "You know something? I tend to think that my dad's right! God's really does have a sense of humor! Trouble is: sometimes it's a pretty warped one!

"I mean, look at the two of us! There's no getting around the fact that we're perfect for one another; save that He made you a heterosexual; were as, He made me a homosexual!

"Even worse, I'll be damned if He didn't give us the same taste in women!"

Bitsy remark must had hit a raw nerve, for Josh heard himself heatedly ask, "And just how in the hell can you say that?"

"Because, I've seen some of the girls you've dated over the last year or so and let me tell you: as far as I'm concerned, your taste in women is impeccable!

"And, Kathy! She was as cute as a button!"

"Wait a second!

"What do you mean when you say that you've seen some of the girls I've dated?

"How could you have seen them? I mean, didn't you tell me you were living up in an artist commune all the way out in Allegany County?

"Yes, I did. However, I got back here as often as I could and when I did, I'd check in with your mon to find out where you were playing.

"You mean to tell me that you actually came to a couple of my shows?"

"Oh, I came to a lot more than just a couple!"

"If that's so, how come I never saw you?"

"Because, I took every precaution to ensure you didn't see me!

"You know, like I went so far as to go out and by this ratty old wig that I'd wear in order to help disguise myself. Then, I'd sneak in to your performance late; sit in the back somewhere and as soon as your last set was over, while you were busy packing up your instruments, I, along with whichever friend or friends I had coerced into accompanying me, would hightail it out of there before you ever became the wiser!

Several minutes later, Josh, though he wasn't at all sure he really wanted to hear the answer, awkwardly endeavored to ask, "Bits! Look! You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but did you ever... a... a... you know, with another woman?"

Knowing fully well where Josh was going with his poor stated inquiry of his, Bitsy, with a gentle kiss to his forehead as a tender prelude to her remarks, replied, "The answer to your question is: yes, on several occasions, with several different girls, I did."

"Did you enjoy it?" Josh couldn't believe he had actually asked the question.

"Yes! In a physically sense, I enjoyed it immensely.

"However, though I did enjoy it, there was always something lacking that left me feeling sort of icky and empty afterwards.

"And do you know what that something was?"

Then, after a lingering moment of contemplative silence, Bitsy, with a self-targeted smirk, proceeded on to answer own her question, "That something was you!"

Taken aback by Bitsy's impassioned revelation, Josh quizzically offered comment, "While I can't say that I'm not both please and flattered to hear you say that, it doesn't make a lick of sense!"

"I know it doesn't! Nothing makes sense!

"I just wish..."

"Wish what?" Josh sympathetically urged.

"That things were different! You know, so that you and I could be together the way I truly believe God intended us to be!"

"That would be nice...

"But, right now, I'll take what I can get and to hell with the consequences!

"I love you! I love you so much it hurts!

"And, lesbian or not, it's like I told you earlier: there's no way in hell I'm going to let you go now that I've found you again!"

"I'm glad to here that. Because, I have no intentions of going anywhere! Not today! Not tomorrow! Not next week! Not the week after!

"For better or worse, though I think the two of us might well be exchanging one form of hell on earth for another, I do believe that you're stuck with me, Mr. Joshua Everett Oats!" Bitsy declared as her arms reached down and enveloped him into the chaste embrace of tortured lover.

Bitsy MacNamara proved true to her words. She remained a guest at the Oats house for the next few days, ostensible to help Josh and his mother deal with their loss. Then, royally pissing off more than a few close family members in the process, Mrs. Oats' insisted that Bitsy ride in limousine with them to the cemetery services, saying in a demonstrative manner that Josh's father thought of her as the daughter he never had and so, would have wanted Bitsy to be accorded as such. On their way back to the funeral home and the car they had left parked there, Josh's mom, having caught the gist of what was going on between her son and 'adopted' daughter, proceeded on to ask Bitsy if she might be able to see her way clear to spending another week with them. Bitsy, feeling the need to be with the Oats as much as the Oats felt the need for her to be with the two of them, readily agreed.

One week became two and two weeks became three. Then, as three weeks was on the verge of spilling over into a fourth, Mrs. Oats made the official announcement over dinner one evening. Using the excuse that Josh would eventually be leaving for his tour of duty in the Navy, Mrs. Oats, not wishing to live alone, had prevailed on Bitsy to move into their guest room on a permanent bases and Bitsy, on her part, had graciously accepted.

Bitsy had her own announcement to make. She was going to be a Playboy Bunny.

Earlier that week, as Bitsy went on to explain, she had seen an ad in the morning paper that stated that a brand new Playboy Club would soon be opening its' doors right in the heart of the downtown business area and that they would be holding open auditions for young women who wished to become Bunnies all that week. Bitsy, without confiding in Josh as to what she had in mind, went down the next day; auditioned and was duly accepted and so, announced that she would begin Bunny School the following Monday.

Later that evening, while Mrs. Oats was upstairs taking a bath, Josh sought clarification as he asked, "Bits, are you sure this Bunny thing is going to be your cup of tea? I mean, are you sure you're going to like wearing that skimpy costume?"

Countering, Bitsy coyly responded, "Maybe it's you, who isn't all that thrilled with the prospect of me and my being decked out in a sexy Playboy Bunny outfit!

"Well..." Josh founded himself forced to admit, "You might just have a point there...

"I mean, it pretty much goes without saying that I'm not all that thrilled thinking about you and your being ogled by a whole lot of dirty old men like you know, without the shadow of a doubt, that you're going to be as a Bunny..."

"So, I take it that you're saying that you might be just a wee bit jealous?"

"Yeah, I guess maybe I am at that."

"Good! I'm glad! It shows you really care!

"But, fear not! You know as well as I do that you are the one and only man I want in my life! Now, or in the future!

"Besides, save for being gawked at all the time, the Playboy Club is probably the safest place I could possible work!

"You see, not only to they have a non-fraternization policy that's strictly enforced, but they also have a look but don't touch policy. If some over inebriated smuck tries to lay so much as a hand on me, he'll be politely given a warning. And should he neglect to heed that warning, and try something again, he'll be hustled out the door so fast he won't know what in the hell happened!"

"Okay! I understand! You won't have to worry about being manhandled if you become a Playboy Bunny! That's good! I kind of like that aspect!

"But tell me something, Bits! Doesn't becoming a Playboy Bunny go against that hippy, anti-establishment credo of yours?"

"Alright, already! I give! You've got me on that one! You're right! My becoming a Bunny does indeed go against that so called hippy credo of mine!

"However, since I'm not about to stay here in your mother's house without contributing my fair share, I need a job! And since about the only job experience I have is as a waitress, I just figured that going the Bunny route might be a lot of fun, especially so with me and these damnable lesbian proclivities of mine!

"Think about it! While all those middle age men will be ogling me, I'll be discreetly ogling all the scantily clad girls I'll be working with! You know, as in I'll be like that proverbial fox in sheep's clothing that you're always hearing about!"

As twinge of paranoia got the best him, Josh, knowing that he was being utterly foolish, found himself asking a question he long cautioned himself against asking, "Bits! Am I to take it that you are still actively pursuing a lesbian relationship?"

"No, Josh! I'm not!

"Haven't we been all over this before?" a clearly disgruntled Bitsy snapped harshly.

"Look! I don't want to have to keep constantly reassuring you! So let's get something straight! Right here! Right now!

"As illogically and idiotic as it is: I love you! Fact is: I love you more today than I did yesterday and most likely, as trite and hackneyed as it surely is going to sound, slightly less than I probably will tomorrow!

"True! I'm a lesbian! God knows why, but I am!

"Meaning: I find myself sexually attracted to women, much the same way you are!

"Trouble is: while I would like nothing more than to engage in sex with another woman, I also know that the sexual aspect of a relationship alone isn't enough to sustain me! I need something a whole lot more than just sex!

"You see, it's like I keep telling you! You and I have something special! Something extremely unique! And I for one am not willing to jeopardize whatever it is we have just to indulge these damnable sexual proclivities of mine!

"I just wish..."

"Wish what?" Josh prompted.

"I just wish that things were different!"

"So do I, Bits! So do I..."

"Josh!" Bitsy said taking both of his hands in hers, "What do I have to do to convince you that I'm not going anywhere? Do I have to marry you?"

"You mean that you'd actually marry me?"

"Yes! Of course I would! If, that is, that's what it'll take to convince you of my sincerity, then yes! I marry you!

I mean, even though I tend to think that we'd both be off our rockers to do so at this juncture, if that's what it'll take to convince you that I mean exactly what I say, you'd best believe I'll marry you! In a heart beat! I'll be your wife! And, though it'll tax me to no end, I'll share your bed! Hell, Josh! I'll even bear your children, if that's what you really want!"

"You would actually do that?"

"Of course I would, you ninny!

"I mean, as far as I'm concerned, save for the business about the two of us sharing the same bed, you and I are, for all practical purposes, married already!"

"In some respects, I tend to feel pretty much the same way you do, Bits! And I'm really sorry that I'm so insecure about all of this!

"It's just that I don't want to lose you!"

"Josh! For the last time! You aren't going to lose me! I'm right here and there's no way in hell that I'm going anywhere!

"So get that through that thick skull of yours! Okay!

"Alright! I'll try..."

"So, tell me! What do you want to do? I mean, do we get married now or what?"

"As much as I really want us to, the answer to your question is: no! I'm not going to allow this paranoia of mine coerce you into doing something like that! You know, because it wouldn't be fair! It wouldn't be right..."

"And that, in a nut shell, is exactly why I love you the way I do, Josh! Damn it all to hell and back!

"So, tell you what! Why don't the two of us make a pact! Right here! Right now!

"Once you get... shall we say... a year or two of this Navy business of yours under your belt and you find that you still feel the same way about me as you do now, I will not only consent to becoming your wife, to have and to hold, till death do us part and all that other razzmatazz that's involved in getting hitched, but I further promise you that I will do everything I can and then some, both in and out of the bedroom I might add, to fulfill my part of the bargain!

"In other words, I promise you that I will be the best wife you could ever have! Alright?"

"Are you sure about this, Bits?

"I mean, the last thing I want to do is to force you into doing something that you're not comfortable with!"

"I know that! I know you only want what's best for me! But believe me! I now know - For a certainty! - that being with you is what's best for me!

The following Monday morning, while Bitsy was off attending her first day at Bunny School, Josh's Navy recruiter called and proceeded on to inform him to be on the lookout, due to the fact that he would be receiving his discharge papers within the next week or so. Perplexed as to what was going on, Josh proceeded on to ask the chief petty officer for an explanation and was dutifully informed that when his enlistment papers were being processed, the waiver pertaining to his pneumothroxa was reexamined and promptly rejected; mandating the issuing of a Convenience of the Government classification of discharge.

In other words, as the Navy recruiter so bluntly put it, the Navy saw him as damaged goods and therefore a liability and so, did not require his services.

Trouble was: while the United States Navy didn't want Josh, the United Sates Army did.

A month to the day after receiving his discharge papers from the Navy, damn if Josh didn't get his draft notice along with an accompanying letter that stated rather emphatically that while the U.S. Army was well aware of his prior medical condition, the very same medical condition that had excluded him from naval service, they were being more magnanimous about the whole affair and because they were, they would be more than happy to accept him into their ranks without the unnecessary need for him to undergo another pre-induction physical in order to qualify.

Needless to say, Josh wasn't the least little bit thrilled with the notion of being drafted. Everyone he knew who had been, had ended up in Vietnam as so much cannon fodder.

First off, Josh deemed the war in South East Asia to be a constitutionally illegal one. Secondly, he believed the war to be an immoral one as well.

The way he saw it, it didn't make a rat's ass which side eventually won the war, the lives of people of Vietnam would not substantially change. They would live and die as they always had, in squalor, preyed upon by which ever form of governmental ideology that finally succeeded in gaining the political leverage to hold sway over their downtrodden existence.

The people that Josh felt the greatest amount of sorrow for were the poor Vietnamese farmers, who most likely wanting nothing more than to get that brunt out shell of an APC (Armored Personnel Carrier) or the charred, twisted wreckage of a Huey gunship out of their rice paddy.

Win or lose in Vietnam, Josh realized that the county he loved, the county he called home, was beginning to internally hemorrhage over its' ever escalating participation in a war that the Powers That Be in Washington were failing miserable to gain and, more to the point, retain support for conducting. An ever increasing number of body bags proved to be an extremely bad marketing device to sell the war to the American people.

The national conscious, which had been raised and honed to raw an bitter edge during the long and ugly struggle to eradicate the national shame of legally sanctioned civil injustice to the darker skinned citizens of the United States, began to rail against the war. Fathers, once proud to have their sons don uniforms in serve their county as they themselves had done when called to arms in other worthier causes, began to slowly realize that as tragic as the plight of the South Vietnamese people was, the death or maiming of their sons wasn't going to change a single blessed thing over there.

Kiddingly, Josh, when ever asked, offered two different solutions to bring about an end to the War in Vietnam. First, if the United States truly wanted to help the people of South Vietnam, the government could always offer them statehood. Or, if the government in Washington didn't wish to go that route, they could always put their money were their mouth was; purchase the land from the Vietnamese people; move every last single one of them to United States and them turn South Vietnam into Aberdeen Proving Grounds West. In other words, turn the former county into one large nuclear warhead testing area.

To put it bluntly, Josh was vehemently opposed to the United States aggressive military participation in the embattled and bitter affairs of South Vietnam. As far as Josh was concerned, the best way for the United States to fight the spread of communism was to clearly demonstrate to the rest of the world that a capitalist society, based on the principles as set out first in the Declaration of Independence and later echoed in the Articles and Amendments of the Constitution, principles that clearly declare that each and every individual had certain unalienable Rights, that among those are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness, was the finest form of government that humankind could fashion.

Trouble was, as Josh was quick to point out whenever he debated the matter, in order for the United States to become that shinning example for the rest of the peoples of the world to emulate, America had best get its' own house in order first and make every conceivable effort to live up to the promise that those cherished documents both proclaimed and mandated.

However, unlike most of his activist buddies and anti-war friends, Josh did not transfer his distaste for his government's policies in Vietnam to the men and women in uniform who were the unwilling instrument of what he truly believed to be the misguided polices of the Johonson's White House. Wisely, as Josh saw it, the founding fathers had purposely and prudently place the country's military might under the command of its' foremost civilian authority, with that civilian authority residing in none other than the Office of President of the United States. If the President saw fit to employ those military assets of his as part of his policies unwisely, wrongheadedly or even illegally, though the trails held at Nuremberg strongly suggested otherwise, Josh felt that he could no more blame the members of the military then he could the man in the moon.

Josh felt that the best way to honor the men and women who served in Vietnam was to bring them home as expediently as possible. And because he did, he truly believed that the most patriotic thing he could do under the circumstances, was to aggressively protest his country's involvement in a war that he truly believe it had no business being involved in the first place.

However, Josh also believe that he owed his country his service and though it had taken a hell of a lot of soul-searching on his part, Josh had reasoned that if he had to go to Vietnam, he would set his personal feelings for his country's wrong-headed polices aside and do his duty to the best of his abilities. Once there, political concerns went out the window. The war boiled down to nothing more than an us against them kind of bloody struggle for survival. Anyone helping in that struggle was a friend. Anyone who was not, was an enemy, an enemy that had to be eliminated with as much dispatch as necessary.

Josh rightly or wrongly had begun to ascribe to the sarcastic paraphrasing of a biblical verse that was gaining in prominence at the time. "Yea, thou I walk through the Valley of death, I shall fear no evil! For I fully intent on being the meanest son of a bitch in the valley!"

Josh had long before reconciled himself to the fact that if he ever ended up in Vietnam, he wouldn't be fighting the good fight for love of duty, honor and country. He'd be fighting to secure his own survival and the survival of the guys in his squad, of the guys in his platoon, of the guys his company, of the guys that were wearing the very same uniform that he was.

It was just that simple. In war, you fought for your friends, the guys you knew, hoping that they were fighting just as vigorously for you as you were for them.

Though he rather not have to go to Vietnam, Josh knew that when push came to shove, he would. Trouble was, he really didn't want to be sent there as an inadequately trained draftee. If he had to go, he wanted as many cards as he could manage stacked in his favor. Keenly aware of the fact that the devil you knew was far better than the devil you didn't, Josh dearly wanted to be part of a well trained unit, one in which he knew both the assets and liabilities of the men around him and not as some green replacement out on his first seek and destroy with a bunch of unknown quantities that didn't know him from Adam and therefore, wouldn't give a crap about how he - a total stranger and practical nonentity - faired.

Friends, Josh knew, had a tendency to extend the extra effort. Strangers, however, did not. And sometimes, especially when engaged in the heat of combat, that extra effort could be the difference between life and death.

Understandable, Josh's draft notice had him royally pissed off, so pissed off in fact that he hardly ate any of the lunch his mother had prepared for him. Feeling that he was being made the brunt of one of Fate's cruel and twisted jokes, Josh, prompted by an off-handed suggestion that his equably upset mother had made over lunch, he, with draft notice in hand, climbed in his VW micro-bus and drove over to have a little confab with chief petty office that had served as his Navy recruiter just to see if there was anything that could be done to circumvent his being drafted into the army.

The CPO completely understood Josh's qualms and because he did, he assured Josh that he would see what he could do.

Trouble was, as his Navy recruiter regrettable informed him the next day over the phone, the Navy could do nothing in lieu of Josh's discharge and because the Navy could do nothing in the way of offering a re-enlistment, neither could the Marines, since they fell under the auspicious of the Department of the Navy as well. Then, having said that, the CPO proceeded on to informed Josh that he had gone the extra mile in Josh's behest and so, had talked over Josh's situation with both the Air Force and Army recruiters that occupied offices just down the hall from his.

The Air Force recruitment sergeant, while not be the least bit optimistic, had been a pretty good joe and had done little checking for his Navy friend. However, basically what it all came down to was: if the Navy didn't want to mess around with Josh, neither did the Air Force.

According to Chief Petty Office Baker, the Army recruiter was not only a real schmuck, but a lazy assed bastard to boot. Instead of taking the time to check and see if Josh could fiend off the draft notice by enlisting in the Army so that he might be able to qualify for some sort of technically oriented schooling, the master sergeant gruffly replied that since it was no skin off his nose, Josh would be better off serving the two years of active duty that draftees usually served instead of the additional year of active duty that enlistees incurred to cover their MOS related schooling.

Suggesting that Josh try the Coast Guard, the National Guard and the Army Reserve and, in that order, Chief Baker wished him good luck; saying, in so many words, that he was very sorry that things hadn't worked out the way Josh had hoped they would. Josh, encouraged by both Bitsy and his mother to do so, promptly followed up on CPO Baker's suggestions the next day, only to be told in each case, that all their billets were full at present, but that he could always check back in a couple months time, just to see if they had any openings.

Josh didn't have a couple of months. He only had a couple of weeks and, only one other option opened to him if he wanted to avoid the draft as he saw it. And that option was Canada. He could, like so many others of his age group, become a draft dodger. He could cut and run; head up north; cross the US/Canadian border and there, as a self-proclaimed exile, spend an uncertain future, wondering if he might ever again be able to legally return to the country of his birth.

Trouble was, Josh wasn't to keen on becoming a draft dodger. As much as he hated the idea of personally becoming involved in war he truly believe to be both immoral and unconstitutional, he still felt that he owed his country something.

The question he kept asking himself was: did the country's illegal prosecution of the War in Vietnam as he saw it, relieve him of his obligation to service in a branch of its' armed services, especially so since he had willing volunteered to do just that, but had been subsequently rejected due his a prior medical condition?

Then, compounding in on those circular ponderings of his, were the often verbalized opinions of both Bitsy and his mother, neither of which wanted to see him drafted into the army. They both feared that as a draftee, he would end up as a M16 totting ground-pounder, sloshing through the jungle and rice paddies of South Vietnam.

Josh was in a quandary as to what to do.

Even though she did her darndest to hide the fact, Josh knew that his mother was taking his father's death hard. Should he decided to comply with the draft notice and there by face the very real possibility of ending up as a grunt in South Vietnam, Josh knew that he stood the very real chance of either getting kill or severely maimed and, if something as traumatic as that should occur, he had grave misgiving about his mother's ability to cope the tragic news, even with Bitsy on hand to lend his mother her support. Also, upon taking into consideration his mother's rather fragile and frayed state of mind, Josh pretty much ruled out the Canadian option. Even with all the risk involved, there was a far better chance of his returning home from Vietnam than there was Canada.

If he went to Canada to dodge the draft, he would become a fugitive and as a fugitive, subject to immediate arrest and prosecution should he ever return to the United States.

There was a third option that Josh spent a lot of time seriously considering. He could comply with the draft notice; enter the army and dutifully comply with all that was required of him, save for his going to Vietnam. Upon receiving orders to report for a tour of duty in South East Asia, he could do as the infamous Fort Hood Three had done. Like them, he could claim that war in Vietnam was unconstitutional and that his participation in that undeclared war would be a clear violation of the oath he had sworn to protect and defend the Constitution and the county it had constituted; hoping that by doing so that his case might help to raise the national consciousness much the way the freedom riders had years earlier when they had blatantly challenged the legality of oppressive and unjust laws.

If it wasn't for his mother, Josh, knowing that he would face both the disgrace of a court marshal and the many years of imprisonment that would no doubt be metered out to him by an unsympathetic court, he would have elected to go that route in a heart beat.

Josh was nothing less a product of his times. He had been raised in the Catholic Faith, by good Catholic parents. Meaning: there's was right and wrong; there was good and bad! The true was the truth and a lie was a lie. The world was therefore, black and white for Josh. There was no grey areas where ethics could be molded and there by modified to fit the situation. There existed no fudge-factor for Josh.

Then, added into that equation was the fact that Josh had grown up on Saturday matinees; watching Hoppy, Gene, Roy, The Duke and a whole host of others who always let the bad guys go for their guns first. He had listen to Fess Parker, playing the part of Disney's version of the Frontiersman Davy Crockett extol: 'Be sure you're right, then go ahead!'. He knew the good guys wore the white hats. They didn't start trouble, but they sure as hell ended it. They'd take an affront. Maybe two. Maybe even three the way Audie Murphy would before being spurred on into taking action. But, then they'd stand their ground and you knew - sure as shootin' - there'd be hell to pay! The bad guys were going to get their comeuppance.

As he grew older, Josh realized that force of might wasn't the only way to bring about justice. Men like Gandi and King clearly demonstrated the fact to Josh that noncompliance, while much slower in achieving its' goal, was just as powerful weapon against injustice as was the force of arms.

Force of might does not lend itself to the making of converts. Following the Tenets of Noncompliance has had a historical tendency to create martyrs and martyrs have a tendency to create converts. As the number of converts increase, the prevailing injustices are scrutinized; questioned; reexamined and hopefully set aright as the hearts of mankind find they can no longer countenance the continuance of such disreputable behavior.

If nothing else, Josh endeavored to be true to himself.

Trouble was: Josh was aware of the fact that he didn't operate in an emotional vacuum. He was keenly aware that what he did or didn't do, affected others.

Having engaged in many a long night discussion with Bitsy, Josh felt fairly secure that, while she might not like any of his options, given the fact that she felt the same way about the war that he did, she would support him in which ever one he chose. If he went to Canada, she would stay with his mother until she felt that Mrs. Oats had reached a stage in her grief where it became feasible for her join Josh in his self-imposed exile. If he went to either Vietnam or federal prison, she had been dogmatic over the fact that she would wait for his return, however long it might take for the two to realize that reunion.

Josh's mother, as Bitsy was quick and incessantly pointing out, was something else altogether. Though she was trying to put a good face on the matter of her son's imminent induction into the United States Army, Mrs. Oats wasn't fairing very well at all. She dreaded his leaving and feared that if her only child did so, that the only way he would ever return home to her was in a body bag, just another hapless causality of a war that should have never been fought.

Each night, upon going to bed, Mrs. Oats would cry herself to sleep; not knowing if she did so for her dear departed husband, for her son, for herself, or for an elusive combination of the three. She was heart sick and growing more so with the passing of each and every day.

"I don't know what do, Bits!" Josh raged against the quandary he was dealing with.

"If I go to Canada, I may never be able to come home! If I end up getting killed in Vietnam, my mom will probably go right off the deep end and end up in a looney bin somewhere! And if I do what I'd really like to do! You know, and force 'em to court marshal me, there's no way in hell that she'll be able to handle the social stigma that'll most likely result from my actions!"

"I know, Josh... Believe me, I know..."

"Josh!" his mother called, beckoning him out of the kitchen where he had been busily attending to the diner dishes to rejoin Bitsy and herself at the dinning room table.

As her son took his seat, Mrs. Oats sighed a heavy sigh and said, "Alright! The time has come for the three of us have to a little heart to heart talk.

"First off, let me just say that I not blind and that neither one of you are pulling the wool over my eyes. Believe me, I know what's been going on down here damn near every night after I've gone up to bed. I've got ears and though I haven't heard everything the two of you have been saying to one another, I think I've pretty much caught the gist of what the two of you have been talking about.

"I know you don't want to go in the army, Josh. I know you've considered going to Canada. I know you're worried about me. I know you're worried about Bitsy. And, I know how you feel about Vietnam. I know you don't want to go.

"And I also I know that you've decided to just let them draft you and if that means that you eventually end up being sent to Vietnam, you've decided to just go and get it over with. Correct?"

Josh asserted that, while he wasn't the least little bit happy about it, that yes: that was the indeed the decision he had reluctantly arrived at.

Turning her gaze from her son and onto Bitsy, Mrs. Oats continued on to ask, "So, are you going to tell him? Or, are you going to force me to be the one that has to do it?"

"Tell me what?" an extremely curious Josh rudely interject.

"That Bitsy here has a solution to all your problems."

"She does?"

"She most certainly does." there was a stern, chastising matter-of-factness conveyed in his mother's rejoinder. "I suspect that the reason she hasn't told you about this rather farfetched sounding solution of hers is because she thinks its' more than a little bit selfish and self serving on her part."

"Farfetched? Selfish? Self serving?" Josh, feeling as if he were grasping for straws, quizzically quipped. "I must say: the two of you are being so... so... What's that word? Oh! I know! Cryptic! The word I'm looking for is cryptic!

"The two of you are being so cryptic that you have really piqued my interested as to what this so called solution of yours is all about!"

"So, what I'd like to know is: why haven't you told me about this before now, Bits?

"I mean, if you have a way that'll keep me from getting drafted, I sure as hell would like to hear it!"

Aware of just how hard this was going to be for that 'adopted daughter' of hers, Mrs. Oats defensively interceded on Bitsy's behalf, "Don't be to hard on her, Josh!"

"Any why shouldn't I be hard on her?

"I mean, I've only been racking my brain trying to come up with a way to get around this draft business for what? Two or three weeks now? And she thinks that she has a solution and hasn't seen fit to say one single word about it!

"I mean, I think I have the perfect right to be a little bit bent out of shape about it!

"Josh!" his mother chided. "That's enough of that! And, I won't hear anymore of it! You understand!"

Though it was half-hearted offered, Josh replied that he did, where upon, his mother continued on to say, "Believe me! This is hard on her as it is on you! So, just calm down a little and listen to what she has to say! Alright?"

Josh, somewhat disgruntly said that he would, prompting Mrs. Oats to relinquish control over the thrust of the conversation as she briskly directed, "Okay, Bitsy! Please, tell my son what you can do to him in order to keep him from having to comply with that draft notice of his."

Though it seemed to pain her to do so, Bitsy meekly managed, "I can turn you into a girl!"

Oh, that's a great solution!" Josh sarcastically quipped. "And, what am I going to have to do? Spend the rest of my life masquerading as girl?"

"I'm not talking about you masquerading as a girl. I'm saying that I can actually turn you into one!"

"That ridiculous!" Josh retort was harshly couched. "Absolutely ridiculous!

"Or, are your seriously suggesting, in a very round about manner, that I undergo the series of surgical procedures and hormone treatments necessary to cosmetically become one the way that Christine Jorgensen did! Because if you are, you can just forget it!"

"No. That's not what I'm talking about at all!" Bitsy replied evenly. "I said that I could turn you into a girl and that's exactly what I meant."

"Come on, Bits! That's crazy! There's no way you or anybody else can do something like that!"

"I can and have." Bitsy countered flatly.

"Josh!" his mother quickly interjected. "Please! Do us all a favor! Just be quiet for a few minutes and listen to what Bitsy has to say!"

"Mom! You don't mean to tell me that you seriously believe that she can change me into a girl?"

"Yes... Yes, I do!

"I didn't at first... but I do now."

"Josh!" Bitsy beseeched in an effort to regain his attention.

"Tell me something. Have I every lied to you?

"I mean, while I'll admit that I might have deceived you. You know, like when I didn't tell you about me and my leaving the novitiate. But, please! Think about it! Have you ever known me to have out right lied to you?"

Josh didn't need to think about his answer. He knew it as well as he did his own name.

"No. You've never lied to me."

Reaching across the table and taking both of his hands in hers, Bitsy proceeded on to emphatically say, "And, as hard as it might be for you to believe this, I'm not lying to you now! I can do what I said I could do! I can give you a whole new life by changing you into a girl!

"Josh!" Mrs. Oats, taking her right hand and placing gentle down upon theirs, sought to add her affirmation, "You know how Bitsy feels about you! You know she has your best interest at heart! So please! I implore you! Try to reserve your judgement until you've had the chance to hear her out! Alright?"

Josh, though he felt foolish for doing so, agreed to his mother's demands.

And so, Bitsy began her story.

"While I was out in Allegany County, staying in that commune I've been telling you about, I met and made friends with a beautiful and ageless looking full blooded American Indian woman that went by, what I believe to be, the assumed name of Aurora Nightwing.

"She claimed to be, what she herself termed, an Algonquian Composite; saying that she could trace her roots on her father's side to a mixture of Wyandot and Erie, and on her mother's, to the Lenape and the Nanticoke of the Delmarva Peninsula."

"Did you..." Josh, spurred on by surge of green eyed jealousy, felt compelled to ask, "...you know?"

"No! Aurora and I did have that kind of friendship.

"However, I will say that had she made any sort of ovation in that regard, I would have jumped at the chance to share that sort of intimacy with her.

"But, the point is: she didn't. So, you needn't get yourself all in a dither in that respect, Josh. Alright?"

Josh replied that he wouldn't and so, Bitsy, with a reassuring squeeze of his hands, returned to telling of her remarkable story.

"I met Aurora early in the evening of my first day at the commune. It was right after dinner, when I was being introduced around that I felt this - for a lack of a better way to put this - overwhelming presence behind me.

"I turned and there I was, face to face with the most fascinating person I have ever had the pleasuring of meeting.

"Then, before I could regain my composure in order to introduce myself and not sound like some sort of babbling idiot, this phenomenal woman reaches over; takes my hands in hers; looks me square in the eyes and proceeds to tell me things, things that she could never have known, things about myself that nobody could have told her about!

"I mean, she began by informing me that she knew that my spirit was tortured with the desires of a man's longing. She told me that my confusion and inner turmoil stemmed from the fact that I was seeking something I had already found but had long denied and that my heart beat in syncopated harmony with another's. Compassionately, Aurora drew me aside. Taking me into a small room that was right off of the commune's rather large common room where everyone seemed to gather for communal evening get-togethers, she drew me down onto a bench beside her and proceeded on to say that if I were willing, she would help me learn what I needed to learn in order to help myself find the peace and completion I so desperately sought.

"Basically, I guess you could say that Aurora served as the commune's spiritual guide, shaman, guru, high priestess or whatever you might call it all rolled into one!

"So anyhow, I was so intrigued with everything that Aurora had been telling me about myself, I eagerly accepted her offer to become one of her, shall we say, mystical disciples. Where upon, she hugged me and continued on to informed me that I best collect whatever belongings I had brought with me, due to the fact that if I was going to become one of her protegees, it would be best were I to relocated to the little log cabin where she and her two other students resided.

"I did as directed. I quickly collected my belongings and soon found myself following the amazing woman along a well traversed trailed that weave its' way to the other side of the mountain side property that the commune was leasing and finally delivered us to the cozy little rustic mountain cabin that Aurora Nightwing and her two protegees, Kelly and Pam, called home. As we walked, my curiosity got the best of me and so, I just came out and asked Aurora to explain how she had deduced all those personal things about me. Her answer was simple. She had read my aura; adding, in that slightly irritating cryptic manner she usually adopted when talking about mystical matters, that since I had the inherent ability to do likewise, that as soon as I learned to transcend the caprices of worldly concerns, she'd be more than happy to teach me to how to read auras as well. Then, once I had master that achievement, she promised that she would continue on to show me how to then manipulate their intrinsic nuances in order to bring about certain desired and dynamic results.

"The next day, after the four of us finished breakfast and the morning chores, Aurora, having assigned areas of study to her other two apprentices, took me out on the porch and taught me how to meditate through a process that she referred to as the 'Inner Journey'. Having tried and failed on numerous occasions before to reach a state of enlightened transcendency, I was both surprise and delighted at how easily and quickly Aurora's 'Inner Journey' produced the results I had been told to expect.

"Within three days, though I will freely admit that they were short lived and extremely elusive at best initially, I began to perceive these auras that Aurora had been talking about almost insistently. Out of the corner of my eye, I began to catch fleeting, snap-shot like glimpses of them everywhere. Sometimes they'd be surrounding others, who, like me, resided at the artist commune. Other times, I'd see a squirrel scampering along a branch or take note of a bird, you know, like a red tailed hawk or a turkey vulture riding effortlessly on a thermal, and for a mere second or so, perceive that it was enveloped within a faint, shimmering band of what I incorrectly took at the time to be, erratically vacillating hues.

"A day or after that, not only did my perception of auras gain in both duration and prominence, but I also began to see them everywhere; enveloping anything and everything that existed with the blessing of what Aurora called The Great Spirit's gift of life. Trees! Bushes! Animals! And of course people! I began to see auras everywhere, enveloping everything that was in any way, shape or form alive!

"Oddly enough, whenever I forced the issue and consciously tried to see them, I couldn't! Ironically, I could only perceive auras when my spirit was awash in a sense of inner tranquility and unparalleled serenity. Then, they were everywhere.

"At this stage in my rapidly expanding metaphysical attuned awareness, I began to take note of what Aurora liked to call metaphysical footprints. When a living thing came in contact with anything, whether that thing it came in contact was living or not, its' aura left a readable and intrinsic telltale of that intimate contact.

"Then, in an effort to enhance my abilities, the four of us would pass our evenings playing a little game of the metaphysical version of Hot Buttered Beans Come to Supper. Taking turns, Aurora would direct one or the other of us to exit the room; where upon, the remaining three would set about touching various objects that were contained within the room. Then, whomever had been sent out of the room a moment or so before, was called back in and directed to identify not only which objects had been touched, but also by whom they had been most recently touched by.

"Eventually, after about I good month or so of getting in touch with the inner 'me', I found that I was seeing auras practically all the time and because I was, Aurora deemed it appropriate that I participate in something that I had been excluded form participating in before.

"You see, in order to give the two of you some background on this, I have to tell you that the commune I was staying at served as sort of a layover on the present day version of the Underground Railroad that, I guess you could say, had been hastily resurrected in order to help the ever increasing numbers of draft dodgers make their way northward towards the Canadian border.

"So anyhow, on several previous occasions, for some reason or another that was never fully or adequately explained to me at the time, Aurora would take it upon herself to intercede on the behave of one or another of these young men who had opted to head up to Canada rather than face the prospect of being inducted into the United States Army. Taking the would be draft dodger and my cabin mates Kelly and Pam with her, Aurora, saying only that the three of them would be gone for the entire night and would return sometime the next morning, would, with flashlights and a couple of battery powered lanterns in hand, bid me a fond good-bye and slip off silently into the night. The next day, when Aurora did return, generally accompanied by either Kelly or Pam, but never both, she wouldn't say a single solitary word to me about what she and those two roommates and new found friends of mine had been up to.

"As the two of you might expect, I was as curious as all get out about what they had been doing!

"The only thing Aurora ever told me with respect to what they had been doing, was to patient; saying that if I kept progressing as quickly as I had been, it wouldn't be long before I found myself include in these nightly forays of their's.

"The odd thing I was: I never saw any of these so called draft dodgers ever again. Neither, I might add, did anyone else!

"And you best believe! I checked!

"Granted! People were always coming and going at the commune.

"I mean, some would stay for a day or even a couple of days and then, for any number of reason, they'd bug out. Some, might stay for a week. Others, for two. A few, a month or more. Some would come up for weekends. And still others, would drop by every now and again just to hang out and, as some would say, get back to nature.

"In other words, nobody paid a whole lot of attention to the comes and goings of the people at the commune, since it wasn't unusually for someone to spend only a night or two before hitting the road again

"That said, I still thought it rather strange at the time that I never caught sight of any of the guys that went off with Kelly, Pam and Aurora ever again.

"I mean, even though I eventually discounted the notion, given that I found no other evidence to support it, I have to confess that for a while there, I was beginning to have serious doubts concerning the three women I was living with. For a few days there, I actually found myself wondering if they were going off into the woods somewhere and engaging in some kind of satanic service involving human sacrifice; especially so since a fairly large percentage of the books that Aurora had that dealt with the occult and various forms of mysticism down through the ages, also dealt with aspects of voodoo, the darker, eviler side of witchcraft and satanic worship.

"You can't believe how relieved I was when those fears of mine were finally put to rest.

"One evening in late August, as Kelly, Pam, and I were in the process of preparing dinner for the four of us, Aurora, accompanied by a very nervous and ill at ease looking eighteen or nineteen year old draft dodger, returned to the cabin. Leaving the guy out in the living room to more or less fend for himself, our mentor waltzed into kitchen where the three us were and proceeded on to inform us that our special brand of services had once again been requested and that as soon as it began to get dark, we'd all be heading up to the Grotto where she would have Pam perform, what she termed, a Metaphysical Intervention; adding, in so many words, that my participation was not only requested, but required.

"The guy's name was Brad and on Aurora's urging, he joined the four of us for dinner. Afterwards, since we had a couple of hours to kill before we headed out, Kelly, who was an avid proponent of free sex and a self proclaimed nymphomaniac to boot, saying that since it would be his last chance to enjoy a roll in the hay as a man, took a delightfully stunned Brad up to the bedroom loft the four of us shared and there, proceeded to engage in no holds bar love making session with him.

"Then, just before nightfall, the five of us, with battery powered lanterns and flashlights in hand, plus one of those boat seat cushions type of loop handled flotation devices apiece, formed up in a single file behind Aurora and began to carefully make our way through the woods to this so called mysterious sounding Grotto that our mentor had made mention of earlier.

"I guess we walked for about an hour or so and do I know - Because Aurora told me. - that we cut across a small portion of Dan's Mountain State Park before we came to what I first incorrectly assumed to be a small, secluded, spring fed dell, but later learned to be in all actuality a sink hole, a sink hole that granted access to an ivy and fern conceal cave entrance. We had to get down on our hands and knees to enter the cave, but once we were all inside, I was pleasantly surprised the there was more than enough room for the five us to stand and move around a little.

"Aurora allowed Brad and myself a few minuets to look around the cave's main and roughly circular chamber and then, she called us over and turned control of the proceedings over to Pam, who, as I had been informed back at the cabin, would handle the Metaphysical Intervention from that point on. Taking charge, Pam directed Brad to place his cushion and sit down in what she deemed to be the chamber's approximate center, where upon, she, Kelly and Aurora placed their cushions in an equatorial triangle about his. I, as I had been previous instructed to do, placed my cushion to Aurora's immediate right, so that she could, employing non-obtrusives whispers, provide me with a blow by blow description of what was occurring.

"Next, Pam had Brad turn about so that he faced her. And, once he had done that, Pam restated that the purpose of the night's activities was to cause Brad to undergo a complete physical sexual reassignment, once again making sure to have him restate both his desire and permission to have her turn him into a fully functional female in the process.

"Having done that, Pam, getting down to specifics, ran through a fairly thorough check list of feminine physical attributes, so as to ascertain what kind of woman Brad would like to become. Then, once Pam felt that she had established a fairly accurate mental image of the girl that she was about to turn Brad into, she rummaged around inside of the knapsack she had brought with her and produced a small, velvet bound-up bundle. Unwrapping the bundle, Pam exposed a finely wrought crystal vile and, upon removing the several bands of earlier applied Scotch Tape that had secured its' stopper against jarring loose on the trail, passed it over to Brad.

"Then, prior to directing Brad to remove the stopper and partake of the liquid contents of the vile, Pam took another moment out to advise him of the fact that the vile contained an extremely powerful hallucinogenic agent and, that while it wouldn't in and of itself bring about his being turned into a member of the opposite sex, it would facilitate his being placed in a mental state that would grant Pam the necessary leeway to affect a substantial change in his intrinsic metaphysical signature. Which, in turn, would trigger a catastrophic upheaval in his genetic makeup, where in his maleness would be completely eradicate and an alien femaleness would be imprinted and there by, cause a fairly rapid and comprehensive reapportionment to occur in his physical deportment.

"At least that's more or less the way Aurora explained it to me.

"Basically, what Pam told Brad was that the liquid was nothing more than a hallucinogenic drug and that while it wouldn't change him into a girl, it would however make it possible for Pam to bring about the desired change through the manipulation of his aura.

"Also, after Pam laid all that highfalutin gobbledygook of Aurora's on him, she continued on to make mention of the fact that traces of the hallucinogenic would be present in both his blood and urine for sometime to come and that those traces would help to support the claim of amnesia that he would be eventually making, that would in turn, put the onus on the authorities to aid him in establishing a new identity for the young women he was on the verge of becoming.

"Brad, though the trepidation in his voice suggested otherwise, said that he understood, prompting Pam to direct him to drink all of the contents of vile.

"As I recall, Brad didn't drink, but once again sought clarification and reassurance as he meekly asked Pam if he would be pretty as a girl. Assuring him that he'd be a beautiful girl instead of being merely a pretty one, Pam once again urged Brad to partake of the hallucinogenic so that she could, as she put it, "Get on with the show."

"This time, Brad did as directed and within a few minutes of ingesting the liquid, was showing definite signs that the hallucinogenic was beginning to net the desired results. Modulating her voice, Pam soothing intonations dew him into a very receptive state of unburdened serenity and the rest us into a heightened plane of metaphysical awareness.

"Kelly, upon a almost imperceptible nod from Aurora for her to do so, reached over and turned off the lantern that sat on the cave's floor, just off to her right and a smidgen or so to her rear. Then, employing a twisting motion of her right hand's thumb and index finger, Aurora directed me to do likewise with the lantern that sat just off to my right. I complied, only to find the cave still dimly lit by the flickering rainbow hued radiance of our collective auras.

"As she slowly exhaled the deep, stilling breath she had taken but a moment before, Pam, in full and conscious control of the proceedings, extended a pair of luminous tendrils from her aura, one towards Kelly and the other towards Aurora. As she did so, Aurora completed her portion of the linkage by extending one of her own aura birthed and anchored tendrils towards me and another towards the one that Kelly was even then in the process of extending towards her. Then, as the spur modified tirade coalesced into a state of completeness, a oneness of consciousness was established between the four of us. The four of us were as one until Pam, exercising her authority, commanded the focus of our beings as she began to extend a slender, silver-white tendril of raw metaphysical power towards Brad's own enveloping aura.

"As it did so, I sensed Aurora's presence in the crucible of my mind's eye, subtly asking me if I could discern how Brad's aura differed from ours.

"Though I hadn't seen any difference at first, Aurora's mental urgings caused me to take a second look and as I did so, I came to the stark realization that Brad's aura was indeed significantly different from ours. Its' colors were more vivid, more intense. Where upon receiving my acknowledgement of such, Aurora proceeded on to informed me over the tendril spur that linked the two of us together, that the harsh, bold coloration of Brad's aura was what defined the maleness of his intrinsic nature.

"Having done that, Aurora next instructed me to pay close attention to how Pam went about modulating the color intensity of Brad's male attuned aura to match the much softer hued coloration of our distinctly feminine auras.

"I did so. I watch as Pam began to take those vivid, brash colors of Brad's manly pulsating aura and slowly engender and entice them to perceptible soften; to become more pastel in hue and therefore, more feminine in their intrinsic nature.

"As Aurora mentally informed me over the bond established by her aura tendril, Pam had to maintain control until Brad's genic makeup fully aligned itself with the essence of sublime femininity that Pam had metaphysically imprinted on his aura; continuing on to inform me that should Pam withdraw her influence before such was fully accomplished, his aura would polarize and quickly revert to its' former maleness. However, once Brad's genetic makeup echoed the quintessential essence of femininity that Pam had deftly imposed on his aura, she could withdraw her metaphysical influence and allow the physical change that she had precipitated proceed all on its' own accord.

"Suddenly Brad's newly pastel hued aura flared, fully illuminating the cave room as it did so and signifying the fact that the genetic fiber of his elemental being had completely excepted the aura imposed sexual alteration and therefore, had initiated a catastrophic and comprehensive re-proportioning of his physical deportment.

"Aware that her link to Brad no longer served a purpose, Pam began to withdraw it. As she did so, Aurora, without breaking the established link, transferred Kelly's tendril from her to me. Relinquishing control of the sustained tendril ring which continued to link the four of us together in the essence of our elemental unity, Pam settled into the equilibrium of a quiescent state of emphatic renewal and the metaphysical rapture of commiserative solace that the four of us continued to maintained for several more minutes before Aurora mind-intonations suggested that it might be wise for the four of us to terminate the aura link, due to the fact that she wished for me to see the progression of Brad's physical changes for myself; implying as she did so that were we to remain linked, I would be far to distracted to pay any attention to the transsexualization that Brad was even then in the process of undergoing. With some reluctance, from not only Kelly and Pam, but myself as well, the tendrils linking us one to the other were mutually, albeit reluctantly, willed into a state of nonexistence and we each returned to our own, seemly rather dulled and diluted sense of self.

"Then, as our collected auras began to gradually loose the illumination necessary to give us sufficient light to see by, Kelly, knowing what was expected of her, reached over and turned on her lantern. Needing no encouragement from Aurora, I did likewise, only to realize that the Brad that sat before me, was a far different looking Brad than the one Aurora had introduced me to earlier that evening. Though he was a far cry from being what one might call feminine, he was no were near as masculine looking as he had been a short hour or so before.

"Though it had been scraggly at best, the poor excuse for a beard and moustache that Brad had been attempting to grow, were gone without a trace. Also gone the way of the dodo were those muttonchops styled sideburns his. His eyebrows had thinned out considerably and his nose and ears seemed to be somewhat smaller than I remembered them to be. His jaw line was less rugged and cheekbones more pronounced. And, though a few of the deeper pits were still in evidence, a good portion of his acne scars had up and disappeared. His formerly straighter than straight, ill kempt jet black hair had taken on, what I thought to be, a chestnut hue and had also appeared to have gained some body and a mere hint of a natural curl in the process.

"Moving downward form Brad's face, I took note of the fact that his T-shirt had just begun to showed some evidence of the conical development of female breast.

"The clink of his high school ring impacting hard on the Grotto's limestone floor, drew my attention to Brad's hands, hands that were, for my money, a whole hell of a lot more feminine in composition than they were masculine.

"Suddenly, as I sat there, utterly transfix with what was going on right before my very eyes, Brad went from being what I would term an effeminate looking boy, to being a somewhat masculine looking girl. A few minutes later, all sense of his former masculinity was eradicate as I beheld Brad turn into a reasonable cute, tomboyish and somewhat underdeveloped looking teenage girl. Shortly thereafter, that cute looking teenage girl that Brad had become blossomed into a very attractive and well endowed young lady, who in turn, continued on to develop into a absolutely beautiful piece of feminine topography if ever there was one!

"So anyhow, even though the young lady that Brad had become was still deep in the throws of a hallucinogenic stupor and so, would remain for sometime to come and therefore, to some degree or another, oblivious to her new sexual status as a fully functional member of the fairer sex, Aurora directed Pam and Kelly to remove the male clothing she was wearing and dress her in a very unflattering granny dress and cheap pair of tennis shoes that, unbeknownst to me, my cohorts had seen fit to provide her with.

"Next, Aurora produced a set of car keys and a rolled up wad of dog-eared one dollar bills from one or another of her bell bottom's pockets and handed them both over to Kelly who would, as I was perfunctory informed, be driving our new made little lady to a safe house that was located just outside of the Township of Berkeley Springs, West Virginia. Where, as I was duly informed, our newly feminized draft dodger would receive a very comprehensive crash course in how to adequately function in this world of ours as a viable and believable woman. Then, sometime after experiencing her first period, the young woman that Pam had turned the former Bradley Whateverhislastnamewas into, would be taken to a city such as Washington, D.C.; Richmond, Virginia; Baltimore, Maryland; Columbus, Ohio; Philadelphia or Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, or some other large metropolitan area within in, shall we say, a five hundred mile radius and there, turn up one day at a hospital or a police station with the clam that she didn't know who she was, or where she lived, or what had happened to her, there by forcing the loacl authorities to move Heaven and Earth in an all out effort on their part to aid her in establishing a brand new legally verifiable identity for herself.

"Then, with all of that taken care of, we collected the various paraphernalia that we had brought with us and, once again on our hands and knees, exited Aurora's so called Grotto and started to make our way back to our cabin. About forty minutes or so later, at a fork in the trail that we had been following, Pam, Aurora and I bid Kelly and her still extremely dazed charge a fond adieu and parted company. Kelly and her charge, as I had been informed by Aurora, would head back to the farm complex that served as the hub and living quarters of the commune and there, climb into a sun bleached forest green VW bug that was parked out behind the barn for the drive over to the safe house in Berkeley Springs.

"The following week, I watched as Kelly turned another fellow who was fleeing the draft into a beautiful, long legged, freckled faced redheaded virgin. Two days after that, it was Pam's turn to once again step into the batter's box and do a number on some geeky guy's aura, turning him into a raven haired sexpot in the process. Then, upon her pronouncement that I was ready to move on to the next stage of my training, Aurora had me, shall we say, metaphysically piggyback her, as she took it upon herself to performed the next three Metaphysical Interventions that the four of us undertook over the course of the next two weeks.

"Then, with repeated assurances from Aurora, Kelly and Pam that I had reached a stage where I was more than adequately prepared to do the deed myself, I was informed by Aurora that it would be my turn to officiate at the next Intervention. Two days later, with Aurora piggybacking me, you know, instead of the other way around, I turned this great big strapping hunk of a guy into a petite, to be almost pixieish, hourglass figured and angelically faced brunette. Three days after that, with almost no help from Aurora, I took a fat slob and turned him into a very young looking Marilyn Monroe facsimile. And the week following that, working all on my own, I employed a little creative license and changed this poor slob of a guy into a first class babe, if ever there was one!

"Also, on Aurora's urgings that I thoroughly acquainted myself with the crash course of How to be a Woman that a pair of Aurora's former male to female makeovers were running as, shall we say, an adjunct to the Metaphysical Interventions that Aurora, from time to time, took it upon herself to offer as a viable alternative to becoming a fugitive to a select group of handpicked young men that had stopped by our commune on their journey northward to Canada, not only did I end up doing most of the chauffeuring, but I started splitting my time equally between the cabin and the roomy Victorian styled safe house in Berkeley Springs.

"And, though it has absolutely no bearing on anything that I've been telling you, it was at that time that I, along with whomever I could cajole into accompanying me, began to start driving all the way down here to hear you perform and, whenever possible, stop in and see how your mom and dad were doing..."

"So," Bitsy, sighed, "I guess what it all this comes down to is this, Josh! You don't have to go into the Army if you don't want to! I have the means at my disposal to give you a new life! As incredible as it sounds, I really can change you into a girl!"

Josh, who was having a hell of hard time coming to grips with the sheer and utter absurdity of all of what Bitsy had just been telling him, sought his mother's input. "Mom! And you're saying that you actually believe that she can do what she says she can do?"

"Yes, Josh. I do. I really, truly do.

"Besides, if she can't, you've haven't lost anything. You'll still be facing the same dilemma over the draft business you're facing now. Right?"

"Yeah, I guess so..." Josh, with some trepidation evident in his voice, reluctantly admitted.

Then, turning the full thrust of his attention back on Bitsy, Josh demanded, "Okay! Let's say, just for kicks and giggles of it, that I buy into this rather farfetched malarkey of yours about how you can turn me into a girl, you know, so I can make an end around on this pending draft notice business that I'm facing!

"My question is why! Why in the world haven't you told me about this before?

"I mean, you've had opportunity to do so up the yin-yang and for some God forsaken reason or another, you haven't seen fit to say a single, solitary word about it!

"What I want to know is: how come? What gives?"

"Josh!" Bitsy pleaded. "The reason I didn't tell you was because I was afraid!"

"Afraid of what?" Josh tersely demanded.

"I was afraid that you wouldn't believe me! But more to the point, I was afraid that if you did believe me, you would think me selfish and self-serving!"

"Selfish? Self-serving?" thoroughly confused, Josh repeated Bitsy's words quizzically. "I sorry, Bits! I wish I knew what you were driving at! But, I'm sad to say: I don't! I really don't! So please, do me a favor! Explain it to me! Will ya?"

"Josh!" Bitsy began, taking great pains to emphasis each and every word she spoke. "You know how I feel about you! But, you also know all about these damnable sexual tendencies of mine!"

Josh, seeking clarification, interjected. "You mean, about you and your liking girls pretty much the same way I do?"

"Yes! That's it in a nutshell!

"I like other girls! You know, in a way we women aren't supposed to!

"And because I do, given that this lesbian business that I've been saddled with is all that stands in the way of you and I having the kind of relationship that we both dearly want, I was afraid that you'd take my offer to turn you into a girl in the wrong light! I was afraid that you would think that I was making the offer only as a means to satisfy my own needs!

"You see, Josh, while I have never told anyone but Aurora Nightwing and your mother here about this, as crazy as it's going to sound, would you believe that I have fantasized about my being able to somehow find the means where by I could turn you into a girl since the very first time the two of us went out together! "

"You have?" Bitsy's revelation, coming out of left field as it did, took Josh by complete surprise.

"Yes, Josh! I have! In these admitted far out and down right wacky fantasies that I used to concoct to entertain myself all throughout our high school days, I came up with a whole slew of ways by which I would manage to turned you into a girl. Sometimes, in these fantasies of mine, I would use a witch's spell to turn the tables on you! Other times, I would employ a wide variety of magical items! You know, such as a piece of women's clothing or jewelry that I would somehow coerce you into trying on for me!

"Would you believe that, more times than not, when it came to wishing, that's exactly what I'd wish for! You know, as in nine out of ten times when I'd made a wish back then, I'd be wishing for a way to make one of those far fetched fantasies of mine a reality!

"And then, what in the hell happens! I go and meet Aurora Nightwing! And, what does she do? She, having perceived my needs right from the get-go, proceeds to teach me how to do the one thing I've been fantasizing about doing since you, Mr. Joshua Oats, came into my life!

"Let me tell you something! The day after I presided over my first Metaphysical Intervention without any help whatsoever from Aurora, I was so tempted to come back here and turn you into the girl of my dreams that it wasn't funny!"

"So why didn't you?" Josh, his curiosity peeked, heard himself ask.

"Because!" Bitsy pleaded.

"Because, isn't going to cut it, Bits!

"I asked you a question and I would really like to hear an answer!"

"Because... I couldn't do something like that to you without at least getting your permission first!"

"Well, I must say: I'm sure glad to hear you say that!

"I mean, had you gone and turned me into a girl without so much as a by your leave, mother may I or something along those lines, I tend to believe that I would have be more than a little bit pissed about it!

"However, that doesn't explain why you didn't get in touch with me and at least give me the option."

"Had I told you back then what I've told you tonight, would you have believed me anymore then, than you do now?"

"No... No, I don't suppose so..."

"And had you, would you have allowed me to actually turn you into a girl?"

"You mean," Josh sought clarification, "so the two of us could be together?"

"Yes. So the two of us could be together..."

"I'm not sure.

"I mean, while I'd like to think I would be willing to do almost anything so the two of us could be together, you know, the way we both would like us to be, I'm not sure that even if I did believe that such a thing as what you're suggesting is possible, I could bring myself to actually see my way clear to the prospect of living the rest of my life as a female."

"I'm aware of that, Josh." Bitsy reassuringly offered. "And that is precisely why I haven't said anything about this Intervention Business before tonight."

"And that's precisely why I did!" Mrs. Oats fumed.

"Look! It goes without saying that the two of you are hopelessly in love with one another!

"Furthermore, though I find it hard to believe that I'm actually sitting here, condoning something that I formerly would have looked upon as a sinful perversion, I finally realized that somebody had to say something! And if that someone had to be me, so be it!"

"Mom!" Josh was incredulous. "So, if I'm hearing you correctly, you're saying that not only do you believe that Bitsy can do what she claims she can do, but that you actually think I ought to let her change me into a girl?"

"To answer your first question: yes! It's like I said before, I truly believe that Bitsy here can do exactly what she claims she can do!

"I've never known Bitsy to be a liar! And, I really can't conceive of her lying about this!

"Besides, it like I said before, if she can - Great! You both come out winners! If you become a girl, Josh, you don't have to worry about being drafted! Plus, as an extra bonus, you get to spend the rest of your life with the girl you love!

"And, if she can't do what she claims she can do, what have you lost?

"Nothing! Not a damn thing!"

"Mom! Are you saying that you want me to become a girl?"

"No, Josh! I'm not saying that at all! That's entirely your choice! You and you alone have to make that decision! No one else can make it for you!"

"However, I will say that while I've loved having a son, a part of me always longed for a daughter.

"So, if you do decide to take Bitsy up on her offer, I think you should know that I wouldn't be adverse to it.

"In fact, there's a part of me that would actually relish it!

"In other words, if you should chose to become a girl, know that you do so with my blessings.

"However, if chose not to, I will fully understand your decision.

"I will say one thing though. As you are probably already aware, I don't want you going to Vietnam! I don't think I could take loosing you right on top of loosing your father..."

The three of them spent the better part of that evening at the dinner room table discussing, dissecting and examining Bitsy's reluctantly offered proposal from every which way imaginable. However, though they did, Josh remained thoroughly perplexed as to what to do. All throughout their discussion, he kept asking himself two questions. Should he just say the hell with it and allow himself to inducted into the army. Or, should he take Bitsy up on her offer to change him into a girl and there by, sidestep his draft notice?

Though the answer to both of those questions seemed to be simple ones, Josh found himself in a real quandary as to what to do. Becoming a female seemed, at face value, the most advantageous way for him to go. It would relieve him of the need to participate in what he truly believed to be a constitutionally illegal use of the military in an undeclared foreign war. It would also allay his mother's fears and concerns for his welfare. While his mother had, to some degree, skirted the issue surrounding how she truly felt about him becoming the daughter she never had, she hadn't minced words when it came to his pending induction into the Army. She had been adamant. She did not want him to go. Case closed.

Bitsy, feeling that she had more than a little bit of a vested interest in Josh's decision, had stubbornly resisted the damn near omnipresent urge to speak up and give her opinion as to what she though Josh should do. However, when Mrs. Oats got her dander up and, in no uncertain words, demanded that her 'adopted daughter' stop pussyfooting around and tell her son exactly how she felt about the situation, Bitsy complied; informing Josh that nothing would please her more than to have him allow her to follow through with her suggestion. Then, having done so, she sheepishly continued on to point out the fact that by his agreeing to become a girl, Josh would remove the only impediment that stood in the way of the kind of relationship they both so dearly desired.

Josh would have eagerly opted for Bitsy's option, were it not for two things. On one hand, he really felt that he owed his country a few years of service. And while it was true that he had tried to fulfill that obligation by enlisting in the Navy, he wasn't sure in his own mind if their subsequent rejection of him negated his obligation out of hand. Though he tended to think it did, there was always that nagging and pervasive doubt that it might not.

And that trouble Josh, so much so that he had been agonizing over that very thing ever since he received his draft notice in the mail.

And then, on top of all that, Josh wasn't all that sure that he could face the prospect of living the rest of his life as a fully functioning and anatomically correct female.

Truth was: Josh liked being a male. And because he did, the mere thought of his living the rest of his life in a body that was diametrically out of sexual sync with that staunchly male mind of his scared the living bejesus out of him. Though Bitsy and his mother tried, over and over and over again to reassure him that they be there to help him make the necessary adjustments, repeatedly and emphatically stating that being a girl wasn't anywhere near as bad as he was making it out to be, Josh remained stubbornly resistive to the idea of his actually being changed into a girl.

Having thoroughly discussed the subject for about three and a half hours with her son still unsure as to how he would proceed, Mrs. Oats, saying that she was going to take a bath and then turn in for the night, bid the two of them goodnight; got up from the table and headed upstairs. An hour or so later, Bitsy, saying that she had to be at the Playboy Club at eight o'clock the next morning to attend a special meeting of all the Bunnies, did likewise; there by, leaving a very perplexed and indecisive Josh to mull the matter over on his own mind.

Feeling betwixt and between, Josh, having fixed himself a mug of hot apple cider in the kitchen, went into the living room and there, alone with his muddled and conflicting thoughts, began to once again endeavor to logically reexamine his options.

Round about three o'clock of the following morning, Josh, having arrived at a tentative decision, quietly opened the door to Bitsy's room and, though he hated like hell to disturb her, softly intone, "Bitsy..."

Bitsy stirred and still more asleep than awake, groggily inquiry, "Is that you, Josh?"

"Yes. I sorry I woke you, but I really need to talk to for a few minutes?"

Though she dearly wanted to ask him if it would keep until the morning so that she could go back to sleep, Bitsy, keenly aware of her soulmate's inner turmoil didn't do that. Instead, she sat up and with a couple pats directed at her bottom sheet, invited Josh to join her on the bed. As he did so, Bitsy reached over and taking his hands in hers gently urged him to proceed as she said, "Alright. You have my full attention. So tell me. What - exactly - do you want to talk about?"

"Bitsy, though I hope to hell I don't come to regret this, I've come to a decision. As crazy and as absurd as it sounds, I want you to change me into a girl."

"That's great, Josh!" Bitsy began as she joyfully and tearfully drew him into an emphatic embrace of a chaste lover. "You can't begin to believe how happy I am to hear you say that and I promise you: I will do everything in my power and then some to make sure that you don't come to regret this decision of yours!

"I know that you feel that there's no way you're going to like being a girl now! But, I promise: you will! You are going to absolutely love it!

"And, make no never mind about it! I will move Heaven and Earth to ensure that you do!"

"I certainly hope so, Bits!

"Because, I might as well come clean and tell you that if it weren't for you and my mom, there's no way in hell I would be doing something as mind boggling as this!"

"I know, Josh... I know you wouldn't...

"And that's exactly why I love you like I do!"

A few minutes after that, having touched upon some of the related matters that Josh still had some concerns about, Bitsy asked, "So, I guess the only the thing we have left to discuss is just when would you like me to do the deed?"

"Well..." Josh began thoughtfully, "...since I've already committed to performances on both Friday and Saturday nights, plus the kids show I promised to do on Saturday morning, not to mention, the anti-war rally their holding over in the quadrangle in front of Briarcliff Hall on Sunday afternoon, I guess I'd kind of like to hold off until after I've finished up with those."

"That's perfectly understandable." Bitsy commented, before continuing on to inquire, "Oh! Hey! What about the open mike session at the Town Crier on Sunday? Didn't you say the other day that you were planning to go? You know, given the fact that this was to be your last opportunity to do so before being inducted into the Army anyway?"

"Yeah... But, I can always miss it if I have to..."

Having been informed on the QT that his fellow folksingers were planning to throw a surprise send-off party for Josh at the Town Crier, the locally based coffeehouse that hosted the weekly Sunday evening open mikes, Bitsy, who's job it was to ensure that he be there, continued on to say, "I wouldn't want you to do that.

"Besides, since it'll be your last opportunity to do so, you really ought to go! You know, if for nothing more than for old time sake!"

Though it took some more cajoling on Bitsy's part, Josh finally gave up the ghost and informed her that, since she was so insistent, he'd go on the one condition that she go with him. Bitsy, who rarely if ever missed one of his shows and only did so on account of her work schedule at the Playboy Club, kiddingly informed him that if he thought she was going to miss his last performance as a male, he had another think coming.

Having said that, Bitsy proceeded on to suggest that, since Josh had prudently not scheduled any performances after the upcoming weekend due to his pending induction into the Army, she could, baring any unforeseen events and his mother's concurrence, undertake the Intervention sometime late Monday evening. Josh, though it astonished him to realize that he was actually doing so, agreed that since he could thinking of nothing that he absolutely had to attend to after his weekend commitments, Monday evening seemed as good as time as any for him to opt out of his life as a man.

A minute or so later, Josh said, "Do you know what I'm really going to miss about this old male life of mine, Bits? I really going to miss my music!"

Then, upon reconsidering what he had just related, Josh, before Bitsy could offer comment, hastily amended his former statement as continued on to say, "Well... not my music, per se. What I really meant to say was: I going to miss performing.

"I mean... I really found something that I'm good at and that I really, really enjoy doing and now, because of that damn draft notice, I've up and lost it all!"

"Just what in the hell are you talking about, Josh?, Bitsy countered with a harsh hint of sternness conveyed in her voice.

"Just because you're going to let me turn you into a girl doesn't mean that you have to stop performing!

"True, it'll be a set back and you'll have to start all over from scratch! But, that's the be all and end all of it!

"Besides, I'll have you know that I had already planned to give the new you a lovely voice with a range that's akin to Barbra Streisand's! You know, so you'll be able sing practically any sort of thing you want!"

"You can do that? You can actually do something like that? You can give me a voice that's, shall we say, to die for?"

"I sure can!"

"That's fantastic! Simply fantastic!"

"However, if you don't mind my suggestions, I think you ought start off with a whole new repertoire of songs at first. Then, after awhile, if you want, you can always begin to slowly incorporate some of your own songs into your sets.

"Oh, and since you can't very well use you old instruments, you might want to see about picking up an autoharp and maybe even a lap dulcimer. Then, once you've more or less establish yourself as an up and coming folksinger on the local scene, you can always reintroduce your old instruments; saying, in one fashion or another, that you had the good fortune to have purchased them from Josh Oats' mother..."

"My, my!" Josh said. "You really have given this upcoming feminization of mine a lot of forethought, haven't you?"

"I most certainly have. I have been hoping, praying and planning for this for a long, long time and, while I know that I have probably overlooked a few things, I do believe I've got most of the bases covered."

"Well, it sure as hell seems to me like you have."

"Trust me, Josh! Believe me, you're in good hands!"

"I know I am, Bits! I know I am..."

The next morning, at breakfast, Josh, with Bitsy there to add her support, informed his mother of his decision. Elated at the fact that her son would not have to face the dreaded possibility of his going to Vietnam, Mrs. Oats insured him that he had made the correct choice and that she would do anything and everything she could to made his transition to womanhood as easily as possible for him. Then, she continued on to suggest that the three of them celebrate her son's decision by going somewhere nice for dinner, just as soon as Bitsy returned home from her Bunny duties late that afternoon.

All throughout the day Friday, Josh, who was having a hard way to go to keep himself from thinking about the traumatic change he would in a few short days be undergoing, was beset with an extremely melancholy and introspective mood. However, as soon as he mounted the small stage of the Weavers Guild Coffeehouse and took note of Bitsy smiling up at him from him from a front row table, that melancholy mood was displaced by a rare gusto that infested each and every one of the songs he played and the anecdotal stories he told as a means by which he introduced them. The Weavers Guild's audience absolutely loved him, so much so that their boisterous and insistent applause called him back to the stage for not one, not two, but three well received and equally well earned encores.

Josh was a little disheartened and a tad bit put out over the fact that Bitsy was unable to attend his Saturday morning library hosted children performance that revolved around American folk heros such as John Henry, Casey Jones and the like, due to the fact that she was off, busily hooping tables in the ears, collar, cuffs and fluffed tail sheared satin ensemble of a scantily clad Playboy Bunny. However, like the night before, that disheartened mood of his vanished as soon as he kicked off his presentation with a short, attention garnishing banjo piece that set the stage for the rest of his presentation and pretty much defined who he was in the process.

Josh threw himself into his music to the rapt and ardent delight of the youngsters, who had been, but a moment or so before, a fidgeting mass of unfocused energy. Soon he had them singing along with him; asking him questions about his instruments and hanging on every word he spoke to them. He told them stories created out of the wonderment of a Peter Pan like imagination and set in an era of a bygone America; all the while, using flourishes of his longneck banjo to create the various sound effects with which he enunciated and enhanced those marvelous and enchanting tales he told. He beguiled them and in so doing, he also beguiled their parents; causing the oldsters who comprised the outermost fringe of his audience to wonder how he - a total stranger - had managed to so completely enthrall all those young and otherwise restless and unruly minds.

That evening, though she did so rarely, Mrs. Oats, on Bitsy's insistence, accompany her son and 'adopted daughter' to what was being touted on the handbills that had been posted all around the campus that was hosting the event as Josh's farewell concert.

For a second night in a row, Josh pulled out all the stop and put on another stellar performance. Once again, as he had the night before at the Weavers Guild, he enchanted the audience with his selection of songs and anecdotal stories. Inviting many of his friends and fellow folksingers up on stage to help him out with a song or two, Josh weaved a tapestry of music that tugged at the heartstrings of the audience. He gave his all to his music and his music responded in kind; there by, transforming the night into a joyous celebration of commonalty of the human spirit.

Mrs. Oats was impressed. Impressed and elated. While she knew her son had become one of the mainstays of the both the local and regional folk scenes, due to the fact that he seemed to be in demand, playing somewhere or another almost every night of the week, and because he was, he had gained for himself a respectable following, she had no idea that his music and the casual, homespun preforming style he had adopted early on, had gained for him the sort of widespread recognition that it had.

Sunday was unseasonable warm and because it was, the quadrangle in front of Briarcliff Hall were the anti-war rally was being stagged was a sea of blankets, students, hippies and a varied assortment of interested onlookers. Josh, with that sweet sounding, second hand, small bodied Epiphone 12-string in hand, having been introduced by the event's organizer, the college's activist student chaplain, stepped up behind the pair of microphones that awaited him on the rear portion of the psychedelically painted ex-army duce and half that was being used as a makeshift stage for the rally and, after a quick sound check, launched into a rousing rendition of Tom Paxton's 'Lyndon Johnson Told The Nation'. Then, even before the applause died out for that first crowd pleasing number of his, Josh followed up with Phil Ochs' rococos and irreverent 'Draft Dodger Rag'. Buffy Saint Marie's 'Universal Soldier' was next, setting the stage for Ochs' power charged proclamation of 'I Ain't A Marching Anymore'. Then, as a change of pace, Josh, having handed his guitar down to Bitsy who was standing on the ground beside the wildly painted truck, who, in turn, handed his banjo back up to him, proceeded on to asked the crowd if they would please help him sing Oscar Brand's poignant 'Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream'.

Though he had used his allotted time, the crowd wasn't about to let Josh off the hook having heard him sings a mere four songs. Giving in to their demands for more of his music, the event organizer coaxed Josh back to the mics. Wrapping both his hands around the neck of his longneck banjo and raising his eyes to the red, white and blue banner that symbol of his country's constitutional credo, Josh once again began to exercise his First Amendment Rights as he threw his head back and launched into an acappella rendition of Pete Seeger's 'Where Have All the Flowers Gone'.

As he ended the song's first couplet, Josh took his right hand and, reaching out with it, beckoned the crowd to add their voices to his. They did and once again, the quadrangle in front of Briarcliff Hall resounded with the joyous noise of patriotic dissent.

As the song rounded in upon itself with a repeat of its' first verse, Josh looked to the student chaplain, who, with a slight nod and the raising of his index finger, informed Josh that he should do one more song. Josh, taking off his banjo and handing down to Bitsy, reclaimed his 12-string and proceeded to introduce his next offering by asserting that as far as he was concerned, the most powerful word in the entire English Language was comprised of only two letters. Then, in an effort to support his assertion, Josh explained that if one were to replace the 'I' in any sentence, with the two letter word 'we', one could begin to understand the essence of power.

Having said that, Josh continued on to give a few examples.

"Think about it!" he urged the crowd. "If one were to take the 'I' out sentences like: I will do this; or, I won't do that, and replace it with a simple 'we', one can begin to feel the power. We will do this! Or, we won't do that!

"Take for instance the old church hymn 'I Will Overcome'. Somebody... some inspired genus somewhere went and took that 'I' and changed it to 'we' and in so doing, found a power so strong that it changed out nation's conscious. And though the struggle to set aright that great injustice that our ancestors unknowingly saddled us with is still ragging in the hearts and minds of our fellow citizens, that old church hymn still has a great deal of relevancy and so, can be applied to other causes as well.

"So," Josh said as he readjusted his capo so as to allowing him to sing the song in the Key of B using a G-Chord progression, "if you've a mind, I ask you to please join me in singing 'We Shall Overcome'..."

They did. The crowd sang with reverence and a rugged purpose of spirit that in turn, set the tenor for the rest of the speakers and performers that would, in their turn, step to the microphones that Sunday afternoon and there, lend their own form of zeal and righteous indignation to the thrust and scope of the anti-war rally.

Having done his part, Josh, upon receiving the thanks and praise of the college's student chaplain, along with some of the event's other organizers, not to mention a few of the designated speakers and other performers who were patiently awaiting their own turn to participate, packed up his instruments and with Bitsy carrying his beloved banjo for him, headed off to grab something to eat for lunch at a near by greasy spoon.

As they waited for the half-subs they had ordered to be brought to the rear booth they had seated themselves in, Bitsy broached a subject that had just then and there pooped into her head. "Josh! Something just occurred to me that I hadn't thought of before. You really need to come up with a new name for yourself. You know, given the fact that your mom and I are going to have call you something other than Josh starting Tuesday."

"You're right! I hadn't thought of that either, but it's true! I am going to need a girl's name aren't I?"

"You most certainly are." Bitsy, with a smile, concurred.

"However, it doesn't have to be permanent."

"It doesn't?" Josh responded, somewhat bemused.

"No! You have plenty of time to come up with a girl's name that you really like for yourself. Right now, your mom and I just need something to call you during your acclamation period.

"Oh! I understand what you're getting at!

"Right now all I have to do is come up with, shall we say, a temporary girl's name for myself! Later, once I've reached a point where I will be able to convincingly pass myself off as the young woman that you are going to be turning me into tomorrow night, I will be able go to the authorities with the claim that I'm suffering from sort of amnesia and they, according to you, will help me establish a new identity in which, if everything goes as planned, I will be able to pick any name I want! Right?"

"That's the way it's always worked in the past. So, since it has, I don't foresee any reason why it shouldn't work the same way again.

"So, tell me!" Bitsy prompted. "Are there any girls' names that tickle that fancy of yours?"

"Yeah, come to think of it, there's a couple...

"However, the one I happen to like the most is already taken by this cute little lesbian who wants to dicker around with this aura of mine." Josh teased.

"Well, though I must say that I'm flattered, it more or less goes without saying that we can't have two Bitsys living under the same roof, now can we?"

"No..." Josh faked being chagrined. "No! I guess we can't at that..."

"So what other names do you have mind?

"I mean, do you what to go with something like Joycelyn or Josie or something else that sounds something like your own name?"

"No!" Josh was emphatic.

"I think I want to go with something that sounds totally different! Something new! Something unique! Perhaps, even something that sounds a little exotic!"

"Exotic!" Bitsy was noticeable intrigued. "Like what? Give me a for-instance!"

"How 'bout Sabra or Sasha or even Sabrina?"

"Hmmm... Interesting...

"I take it that you like girls' names with the 'sa' sound..."

"Hadn't thought of it like that, but now that you mention it: yeah! I guess I kind of do at that..."

The surprise send-off party at the Town Crier went off with out a hitch. Though Josh usually got there a little early in order to shoot the shit with some of his fellow folksinger buddies, Bitsy procrastinated just long enough before leaving the Oats' to ensure that they arrived about fifteen minutes late. Descending the flight of steps to the room that served the dual purposes of outer foyer and coat room, Josh was dully informed by the Crier's owner and self appointed MC that he needed to hurry up and unpack his instruments, due to the fact that, according to the performers open-mic sign-up list, he was on tap to perform next. When Josh question as to why that was so, pointing out the fact that he had just arrived and therefore hadn't had a chance to add his name to the list, the owner simply replied that one of Josh's friends must have taken it upon himself to have signed Josh up.

Having been introduced by the Crier's owner, Josh, with his trademark longneck slung comfortably over his shoulder, bounded up onto the stage and launched into a medley of up beat southern mountain banjo tunes. As he made his first transition, going from 'Old Joe Clark' and into the rippling and rollicking 'Cripple Creek', Josh took note of the fact that the Town Crier seemed to be a lot darker than it normally was. Then, as he made his second transition, going from his second playing of the B-part of 'Cripple Creek' to the A-part of 'Buffalo Girls', Josh realized that the coffeehouse was indeed a lot darker than it usually was, due to the fact that not one of the candles that normally graced each and every one of the circular tables where the place's patrons sat, were lit.

Oddly enough, when Josh finished his instrumentally medley, his efforts netted no applause whatsoever. Pretending to be unruffled by the lack of the damn near obligatory expression of appreciation for his preceding efforts, Josh simply and silently re-positioned his capo; dropped his low 'D' string to a 'C' and launched into the golden moldy old 'Oh, Susannah', which had never once failed to get everyone singing along on its' well known chorus with him. However, though he believed the place to be fairly well filled, given all the coats he had seen hanging on the coat racks located in the outer foyer upon arrival, not one single solitary soul did. No one joined in, not even when he went so far as actually take it upon himself to urged them to do so. And, once again, there was no applause when he brought the tune to its' conclusion.

It was at that moment that Josh realized that there was something really strange going on.

It all started with a muted and halfheartedly checked chuckle, sounding from somewhere to the rear of the room. That was immediately followed by a stifled snicker, off to the left and a little bit closer to where Josh stood bewildered upon the Crier's stage. Another snicker followed the first, triggering a spattering of subdued laughter and then the dam broke as unfettered laughter and good cheer filled the place.

The house lights flicked on as a unsynchronized and completely unexpected 'SURPRISE!' resounded about the room, informing Josh that he had been thoroughly had in the process. The Crier's owner relieved Josh of his banjo and, upon leaning it against the wall abutting the rear portion of the stage, briskly lead Josh to the center front row table, where upon Bitsy and the owner's wife appeared from the kitchen alcove bearing between them a huge, olive drab iced sheet cake and the festivities began in earnest. All throughout the evening, Josh's friends took turns mounting the stage and delighted everyone as they preformed ribald parodies of either Josh's own songs or songs he was known for singing.

The evening was a rousing success and Josh thoroughly enjoyed himself. With heart felt thanks to all who came, Josh, feeling extremely done in and saying he had a lot to attend to in the morning, bid everyone who was left a fond adieu and, with Bitsy accompanying him, made his way up the steps, out the door and across the parking lot to his dilapidated VW micro-bus.

Arriving home just after twelve, Josh, as tuckered out as he was from an exhausting and demanding weekend of performances, with a tender, but short lived kiss to those kissable lips of hers, bid Bitsy goodnight and went straight to bed. Though he didn't think that he would be able to manage to get much sleep at all, given his inner turmoil over the monumental and mind-boggling changes that were scheduled to occur within the next twenty-four hours, he did. He slept like a baby.

The next morning, on Bitsy's suggestion that she keep her son as busy as possible so as to keep him from dwelling on what was to going happen to him later that evening, Mrs. Oats kept Josh on the go running errands for her. First, with the chaffering duties falling to Josh, the two of them drove over to the regional offices of the Department of Motor Vehicles where Josh prudently transferred the title of his rust eaten micro-bus and put it in his mother's name. Next stop - the bank. There, Josh closed out both his checking and savings accounts and deposited most of his money, with the exception of a hundred dollars in cold hard cash, into his mother's savings account. The grocery store followed that. The pharmacy followed the grocery store, which, in turn, was followed by a quick stop at a local bakery shop that, according to his mom, made the most sinfully delicious apple and cherry pies she had ever tasted.

Returning home late that afternoon after a physically exhausting day of shopping, Josh, always the dutiful son, helped his mother put away the groceries they had purchased. Then, having accomplished that, Mrs. Oats informed her son that she still had a few things to attend to that required her to go out for a while; informing him that she be home no later than seven; adding in a dismissive way, that when she did return home, she would simply call and order pizzas for the three of them.

No more then fifteen minutes after Mrs. Oats pulled away from the front of her house in that little metallic blue Corvair of hers, Bitsy came waltzing in the door, prompting a surprised and startled Josh to inquire, "Hey! You're home early! What gives? I thought you told me that you were scheduled to work the dinner crowd tonight!"

"I was! Luckily, I managed to pawn off a few of my hours on one of the girls who's always on the lookout to scarf up as many hours as she can in any given week."

"How come?" Josh asked, as he got up from the couch and began to return his banjo to its' plush lined hardshell case.

"Because," Bitsy coyly replied, as she casually slipped out of her jacket and hung it on the knurl post, "I just thought that since this is your last day as a male, you might like to fool around."

"Are you serious?"

"As serious as that night we did it behind the pumphouse." she proclaimed as came over; knelt down next to him, and, cradling Josh's head in those demur little hands of hers, kissed him for all he was worth.

"But," a dazed, mildly perplexed and highly aroused Josh protested as their lips tentatively parted, "you're a lesbian!".

"That I am." Bitsy freely admitted. "But nevertheless, the only thing I want to do right now is for you to take me up to your room and make love to me the way you did that night!"

"Are you sure?"

"I never been more sure of anything in my life, Josh!

"But, what if my mom comes home and catches us in the act?"

"Trust me! She won't!"

"What do you mean?"

"She knows what going on."

"She does?"

"Of course she does. Furthermore, she approves."

"We are talking about my mother here, aren't we?"

"We most certainly are!" Bitsy smugly replied as she gentle push Josh to his back and then, re-positioned herself so that she provocatively straddled his mid-section.

"Now, silly, you have a decision to make." Bitsy impishly teased as she bent over and eagerly kissed him again. "We can stay down here in the living room and debate this business about your mother till she returns home around seven or, you can take me upstairs and make wild, crazy and passionate love to me!"

It was a no-brainer. Josh, as one might expect, chose the latter.

Gleefully, the two dashed up the steps; entered Josh's bedroom; scrambled out of their clothes and got down to business at hand.

Bitsy unbridled love for Josh allowed her the mental and physical wherewithal to be able to ride roughshod over her lesbian instilled revulsions, revulsions that would have under other circumstances made even the contemplation of her participation in such heterosexual based interactions an anathema to her. Though it taxed her to the breaking point to first fondled and then, to actually feel the insertion of that manly shaft of his thrust deep up inside the sanctum sanctorum of her womanly crease, Bitsy, telling herself over and over and over again that she was giving Josh the gift of herself, managed to somehow transcended her homosexuality and in so doing, became for the next hour or so, the brazen hussy and willing, if not eager participant that Josh so ardently needed and dearly desired her to be. Employing a mental image of the drop dead gorgeous young woman that she would be turning him into later that very same night to fuel her fantasies, Bitsy became an unabashed pillow-eating nymphomaniac. She squiggled. She squirmed. She screamed. She cried. Her hips swayed. Her thighs tingled. Her tummy undulated in syncopated rhythmic counterpoint to Josh's lustful pelvic thrusts.

Though her mortal awareness lacked the comprehension necessary to grasp the kaleidoscoping clarity of it all, as the two of them became helplessly enthralled slaves to their savage primal urges, there occurred a flaring and subsequent intermingling of their auras. Sharing an intimacy that was entwined around and permeated with the blissful Essence of the Eternal and Everlasting Oneness their spirits united and became as one, they began to rise on the unstoppable upwelling of their passions. In a billowing torrent of libido torque longings, they crested on the multifaceted crescendo point of their lust and so, experienced the gushing onrush of the beatitudes and wonderment of a shared moment of orgasmic fulfillment.

As a thoroughly enchanted, bemused and bewildered Josh experienced yet another in a rather truncated series of orgasmic after-surges, heralding yet another mini-expulsion of his long tailed semen nodules, he knew on an intrinsic level of his being that something stupendous, yet totally foreign and unexpected had just occurred. Bitsy, who was flush in the joyous contemplation and subsequent savoring of a spirit billowing afterglow, was of like mind, save that she had a far better insight on what had just happened than did soulmate.

"Josh." Bitsy weakly managed.

"Yes." Josh, though he did so with a degree of reluctance, replied, as he felt his penis begin to lose its' blood infused rigidity, as it began to return to its' normally flaccid state, while still nestled snugly up inside the warmth of Bitsy's vaginal canal.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can. You can ask me anything. Anything at all."

"Well, since it's more or less a given that you have had a lot more first hand experience with this sort of stuff than I have, can you tell me if what we just did felt in any way different from any of the other time you did what we just did with another girl?"

Keenly aware that he could well be treading on thin ice with whatever answer he might provide Bitsy with, Josh, though he would speak truthfully, took pains to choose his words wisely. "Yes! Yes, it was different!"

"How was it different?" Bitsy prompted.

"Well... for a moment there, though it was as pleasurable as all get out, I felt really discombobulated."

"Explain what you mean by discombobulated." Bitsy urged.

"Well.." Josh felt really funny saying what he was about to say, "...for a minute or so there, everything got really weird! While I could feel my you-know-what up inside of you, as crazy as it sounds, it also felt like I had that very same you-know-what shoved up inside of something that I don't even have!"

"Josh! Are you saying that you felt like you may have been feeling the same sort of physical sensations that I was feeling?"

"Yeah! Now that you mention it, that might be it in a nutshell!

"Though it was short lived at best, while I experienced all the stuff I usually experienced, you know, like whenever I've made love before, just now, it seemed like I also felt that the sort of things that you might have been feeling.

"I mean, as crazy as it sound, for a moment there, I actually felt as if I were you and you were me and that you had that icky male thing of yours crammed up inside of that oh so familiar female thing of mine, save that I could still feel my male thing shoved up inside of your female thing!"

"It doesn't sound crazy at all, Josh. Because, I experienced damn near the very same sort of thing that you just described."

"You did?"

"Yes! Yes, I did. And I think I know what happened."

"You do?"

"Yes. I believe so...

"Unless I miss my guess, I think that somewhere along the line, our auras melded together and, for all practical purpose, you and I ceased to exist as individuals. Though it was, as you have said, rather a short lived experience, we became but two manifestations of one single entity in which I felt what you felt and you felt what I felt."

"Is something like that possible?"

"Aurora seemed to think it was.

"In fact, if my recollections serves me right, without coming right out and saying it, she more or less eluded to the fact that I could and, probably should, expect any number of, what she termed, strange phenomena to occur where you and I are concerned."

"How come? I mean, why would she say something like that?" Josh asked with a renewed interest.

"Because, Aurora claimed that our two souls are somehow intrinsically tethered, one to the other. And because they are, our spirit selves existed in a state of resonance.

"Josh! Have you ever noticed the high degree of empathy we have for one another?"

"Yes... Now that you mention it, I have.

"And you're right, we do seem to have an uncanny knack for picking up on each other's moods.

"And if that's true..." Bitsy paused briefly as she mulled the matter over in her mind, "...I'll bet that there's a very real possibility that we can, and probably already have, influenced one another's moods as well."

"You know, you might have something there."

"Josh! Something else just occurred to me!" Bitsy said with unbridled enthusiasm ringing in her voice.

"And what might that thing be?" Josh responded, supplying the obligatory question as he did so.

"Had I had an inkling of what was going to happen when we made love, you know, so that I might have retained the presence of mind to do so, I really believe that I could have brought about the complete eradication of your aura's masculinity and subsequently, imposed a thorough feminization, you know, like right then and there!

"I mean, had I had the presence of mind to have done that, you, my love, would be well on your way to developing the kind of super-sensitive female erogenous zones that could really begin to enjoy something such as this!" she said ere she began to swirl her finger provocatively around the aerola surrounding his manly underdeveloped left nipple. "Or this..." she seductively purred, as she proceeded on to lowered her head and, employing her saliva lubricated tongue, began, in a series of flicks and twirls and occasionally impassioned lip-sucks, to teasingly minister to his other superfluous teat. "Or even this..." she interjected, as she seductively withdrew her hand from his left nipple and, sliding it ever so tenderly, ever so teasingly, ever so erotically, down across his tummy and lower abdomen, began to expertly caress the upper portion of his inner right thigh, much as she would have had Josh been a cherished lesbian lover of hers.

As she did so, on a calculated effort on her part to enhance her stimulation efforts, Bitsy, trying something that she had never thought to have tried before, enveloped Josh's aura within her own. Then, having done so, instead of melding her aura with his as had just occurred during their prior love making, she very subtly moved a major portion of her own aura through the porous membrane of Josh's; in effect, isolating him from the major influence of his own masculine encrypted aura; there by, bestowing upon him a muted sense of her own homosexually influenced femininity in the process.

While she hadn't actually engendered any sort of physical change by her metaphysical meddling, Bitsy had tinkered with Josh's perception in such a way so as to allow him the mental wherewithal by which he could experience and there by, enjoy such erotic stimuli the way a woman might. His tits, while they where no were as near as sensitive as an average female's, not only felt huger then huge to him, but were rendered in his feminine aura augmented perception as being a whole hell of a lot more sensitive than they ever had been before.

Gaining ascendancy over his inborn sense of self, Bitsy up the ante further by engendering within Josh an impression that not only were his breast that of a woman's, but also his primary sexual apparatus as well. When she touched his testicles, Josh's feminine influenced perception made it feel as if Bitsy caressed the multiple lip folds of his nonexistent vagina. And when she up the ante and began to fondle and occasionally stroke the blood engorged manly shaft of his, Josh felt as if he had die and good to heaven, thinking in that cunningly diluted state of mind of his, that Bitsy was toying with the miniscule nub of his also nonexistent clitoral protrusion.

Knowing that something wasn't as it should be and knowing implicitly that Bitsy was seducing him in much the same manner that he had seduced quite a few of the young women he dated during the span of the last year and a half, Josh, loving and luxuriating in the way he was feeling at the moment, didn't lift a finger to stop her from what she was doing to him.

Though she would have never thought she would or could ever actually do what she was about to do, given her avowed abhorrence for such an aberrant act, Bitsy, having created for herself an echo of Josh's femininely altered perception within the crucible of her own mind's eye, found herself gleefully and energetically re-positioned herself in such a way as to allow her the ability to slid those ever so luscious lips of hers around the straining shaft of her soulmate's manhood.

Instantaneously, Bitsy's act of oral stimulation was translated in those resonating minds of theirs into the sublime act of cunnilingus.

It was Josh's turn to squiggle. To squirm. To wiggle. To jiggle. To scream. To cry. To implore the Almighty on High.

The pleasure he was deriving was so excruciatingly unbelievable that it was beyond his ability to thoroughly comprehend. In an act of utter futility, Josh endeavored to muffle his frantic entreatments by reaching over and, after a few fumbling, half-hearted attempts, managed to somehow acquire a pillow, which he proceeded to energetically draw down over his face.

Conjuring up a mental image of the golden haired seductress that she would turn her beloved into later that very evening, Bitsy formulated an erotic fantasy that clearly depicted a marvelously talented tongued and ultra lesbianized Joshua Oats turning her into a brazen hussy of an unadulterated sex fiend and not, as it was in reality of the then transpiring scenario, the other way around.

Josh, upon reaching the crescendo point of his over-torqued and aura deluded libido, instead of feeling the orgasmic rush of sperm ejaculation, felt the gushing resonance of the wondrous torrent-like cascade of Bisty's clitoral attuned and engendered orgasms surge and rage within him and so, was provided with a muted glimpse of the promise of his future as a fully functional and anatomically correct female.

Laying there, in the blissful contemplation of their shared orgasmic afterglow, Bitsy, with some reluctance, began to slowly, but steadily, retract the damn near all encompassing influence of her pastel hued aura, allowing Josh's manly attuned aura to gradually seep through hers and there by, re-assert itself.

Bemused and bewildered, a delightfully confused and thoroughly astonished Josh took his right hand and, upon reaching down to inspect his own groin with it, was surprised to the nth degree to find that his genitalia was still that of a male.

"Bitsy!" he finally managed to gasp. "I don't know how you did what you just did, but I've got to say, it was the most fantastic thing I've ever experienced!

"I actual felt like I was a girl!

"I mean, it felt like I had those... those..." he frantically groped for the right word, " those what-do-you-call-'ems all of the place!

"Erogenous zones?" Bitsy offered.

"Yes! Yes! That's it! That's it exactly! Erogenous zones! Whatever in the hell you went and did just now made it feel I had erogenous zones all over the place!

"And let me tell you something! They were as sensitive as all get out!

"And would you believe that I actually felt like I had not only a set of women's breast, but that I had a woman's pussy as well!"

"Theoretically, you did, Josh... Because, in a manner of speaking, I guess you could say that I sort of lent you the use of mine.

"You did?

"Yeah..." Bitsy snuggled closer and kissed him tenderly on the lips before continuing on with her remarks, "So tell me! Do you think you're going to like at least the sexually aspects of becoming a girl?"

"Oh, yeah! I'm going to like them a lot!

"In fact, if that sample of yours is any indication of what it's going to be like for me on - shall we say - the flip side of things, I'm not going to just like 'em! I going to love 'em!

"Fact is, Bits: it more or less goes without saying that I already do! You know, love 'em!"

"I mean, though I wasn't before, I have to say, I'm so excited about what you're going to do me later this evening that it isn't funny! I mean, if I knew weeks ago, what I know now, you know, about how good it feels, I would have had you turn me into a girl long ago!"

"Are you serious, Josh? Are you saying that you actually liked it that much!" Bitsy, in an attempt to gain further reassure for herself, demanded.

"Yes! I was never more serious in my life! And, yes! As crazy it sounds for me to be saying this: I loved the way you made me feel just now!" Josh's emphatic rebuttal clearly conveyed an eager sense of sincerity.

"You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that, Josh!

"All along, my biggest fear in all this is: that you'll end up hating me for being the one who turned you into a girl..."

"I could never hate you, Bits! I love you!" Josh insisted.

"I know you do! I know you love me!

"But you're a man now! Not a woman! And these concerns and fears of mine are only going to kick in after you're a girl!"

"True." Josh found himself forced to agree. "However, you've got to remember something, Bits. While it is true that you're the one who is doing the changing, it was my choice to make. And, though it took one hell of a lot of soul searching on my part to come a decision, I made the choice of my own free will!"

"I know you did, Josh! I just want you to be sure that you're satisfied that you made the right choice!"

"Have no fear, Bits! Believe me! I now know that I made the right decision! For my mom! For you! But, most of all for me! I know, without the shadow of a doubt, that I'm doing the right thing!

"Besides, it that little sample of yours is any indication of what it's going to be like for me from here on out, I think I can safely say that in so far as the erotic aspects of this upcoming sexual switcheroo of mine is concerned, I'm going to take to it like a duck takes to water!"

"Well, in that case, I think I ought to let you in on a little secret." Bitsy replied coyly.

"And what secret is that?" Josh felt compelled to ask.

"If you thought that so called 'little sample' of mine was something to, shall we say, write home about, guess what! You're in for a big surprise!"

"How so?"

"Because, it's like they say, you know, when they say: you ain't seen nothing yet!"

"Just what in the hell are you talking about, Bits?"

"What I'm talking about is those female orgasms I let you experience!

"Believe me! They pale in comparison to the real thing!"

"You're shittin' me! Aren't you?"

"No, Josh! I'm not!

"What I had you feel was only a dumb downed version of the real thing! You know, as in those female orgasms I had you experience were extremely diluted ones!"

"You mean to tell me that real ones are even better?"

"They most certainly are!"

"Holy shit! They must be some real humdingers!"

"Believe me, Josh! They are!"

Then, after a moment of introspective thought on Josh part, he felt compelled to ask, "Hey, Bits! Tell me something!"

"Sure. What would you like to know?"

"When you did whatever you did that had me experiencing sex from a female's point of view, could you have just gone ahead and changed me into a girl?"

"I most certainly could have and, for your information, I almost did!"

"Then, why didn't you?"

"Because, silly, I promised your mom that she could be on hand when I did it! And, I guess what it all comes down to is: I wouldn't feel right to just go ahead and do it without her!

"I mean, your mom's been there for all the other major events in your life so far, so it more or less go without saying that she wants to be there for this one as well."

"You're kidding me! I mean, you're actually suggesting that my mom wants to be there to watch you turn me into a girl!"

"She most certainly does, Josh!

"May I remind you: she was there at your birth! Your baptism! She walked you to and form school on your first day! She attended your First Holy Communion and your Conformation! She was there when we both graduated from eighth grade and again when you graduated from high school! She went to damn near ever Little League, soccer, basketball game and swim meet you played or participated in! She was, if I may remind you, an Assistant Den Mother when you were in Cub Scouts! And, if memory serves me right - Which I assure you, Josh: it does! - your mom seemed like she was always either up at school or church, doing some sort of volunteer work or another! You know, like she was always chauffeuring the nuns around, taking them wherever they wanted to go!"

"So, if you think I'm going to be the one that cheats your mom out of being on hand to see her son get turned into the daughter she's always wanted, but never had, then you've got another think coming!

"Because, were I to do something like that, you know as well as I do, though she more than likely forgive me eventually, there'd be hell to pay for awhile and I doubt that she'd ever let me forget it!"

"What can I say, Bits? When you're right! You're right!"

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say that because, here's something else that I think I'm right about!"

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"That we'd better get up and get dressed and that we'd better do it P.D.Q.! You know, as in right now!"

"And just why would we want to do that, Bits?" Josh asked playfully.

"Because, unless I miss my guess here, I do believe that I may have just heard your mom's car pull up in front of the house! And, though she knows fully well what we've been up to, I don't think we ought to tempt Providence by our being flagrant about it!"

"Neither do I, Bits! Neither do I!" Josh was quick to agreed as he clamored out of his bed and began to hurriedly redress himself.

Bitsy's sneak preview worked wonders on Josh's attitude. Instead of being apprehensive and nervous about his forthcoming transition into the mysterious world of the feminine mystique, he was more than eager to get on with it. However, though he was, his mother, having just gotten off the phone from placing an order for their pizzas, insisted that they eat first. Bitsy was quick to concur, pointing out the fact that the change Josh was about to undergo would sorely tax his system and that it would prove beneficial for Josh to eat a good meal before he underwent his sexual makeover.

Josh, though he did so with some reluctance, complied with both his mother and Bitsy's wishes.

As the three of them sat around the kitchen table, devouring the pizzas that Mrs. Oats had ordered upon her arrival home that evening, following Bitsy lead, the two women employed levity to make light of Josh's imminent transsexualization. Taunting with good natured teases pertaining to how they thought he'd take to wearing bras, panties, pantyhose, heels, earrings, not to mention, the much dreaded makeup and other such sundry feminine stuff, Mrs. Oats capped the light hearted conversation with the quip that it was only a matter of few short hours before her son and soon to be daughter would be able to answer the eternal and perplexing question, "Do blondes really have more fun?" for himself.

"Bits! Question?" Josh suddenly injected.

"Yes!"

"Am I going to have to drink that hallucinogenic that you made mention of, you know, given how easy it was for you to dicker around with this aura of mine earlier this evening?"

Bitsy pondered Josh's question before answering. "I'm afraid so...

"I'll grant you that it might not be absolutely necessary, given the degree of report you and I have with one another, but I think it might be for the best if you did."

"I was afraid you say that."

"Why? I mean, it's not going to harm you in any way.

"It just..." Josh, who felt somewhat inhibited due to his mother's presence, began with a noticeable degree of hesitancy clearly evident in his voice.

"Well..." he started over. "It just that I'm really leery about taking a hallucinogenic. You know, because, given my druthers, as crazy as this might sound for me to say this: I was really hoping that I'd be able to experience the changes as they happened."

"Don't worry about that, Josh! I assure you! You will!"

"I will!" Josh was elated and his tone clearly conveyed the fact that he was.

"Yes! You will not only be able to feel every single, solitary nuance of the change, but you'll be able to remember them as well!

"However, I should warm you that the hallucinogenic may tend to make the whole thing feel a little surrealistic. But, though it does, be advised that it shouldn't dull your awareness one iota.

"Fact is: by all accounts, it'll probably have the opposite effect! You know, as in it'll more than likely sharpen your perception than dull it!

"You know, it'll be like when you're smoking hash or marijuana while you're listening to music and you begin to feel as if you can actually crawl up inside the music and..."

"Josh!" his mother snapped with a good deal of consternation and disbelief raging in her voice. "What this business about you and your smoking hash and marijuana?"

Though it took him a good while to address his mother's concerns about his casual and infrequent use of illicit drugs, Josh, with Bitsy's whole hearted support, finally managed to calm her down to a point where the three of them could discuss the subject on a rational level. Truthfully, Josh told his mother that he had never: one, purchased any of the drugs he had used himself; and two, that he had never brought any illegal drugs into their home. Then, to ally his mother's fears about how his use of hash and marijuana were gateway drugs that lead to the use of heroin, cocaine, LSD and the like, Josh, telling his mother to hold on one darn minute, dash up to his bedroom and, after fumbling through his chest of drawers to find what he was looking for, brought down the bottle of prescription pain killers that his chest specialist had directed him to take in order to help alleviate the pain and discomfort revolving around that Naval Service disqualifying pneumothorax of his.

Handing his mother the dark amber hued pill container, Josh directed his mother to poop the top and take a good look inside, pointing out as he did so, "As you can see, mom! Though you gave me a hell of a hard way to go at the time for being so boneheaded about it, I only took a few of them! You know, because I didn't like the way they made me feel! And they're Darvon, mom! You know, as I have been lead to believe, by all accounts, they're supposed to be the good shit!

"So, what I saying is: if I didn't take those, rest assured mom, I'm not about to take anything else as heavy duty as those bad boys!

"I mean, it's like this, mom! I'm not about to take anything that makes me feel like I'm not in control of myself!

"Besides mom, I don't make a habit out of it and I don't smoke either one of them often! Also, be advised: I make sure I know where, when and with whom I'm smoking them with! You know, as in I take all the necessary precautions..."

Somewhere around ten thirty, Bitsy pronounced that she deemed it was time for them to get down to the business at hand. Suggesting that Josh go upstairs and put on a pair of his skimpy, Chlorine stained, nylon Speedo racing trunks and his rarely used terry cloth robe, she got up and helped Mrs. Oats close all of the downstair venetian blinds and as an added, extra measure to prevent anyone walking by outside from inadvertently catching sight of what they were about, pull the drapes closed. Urging her Aunt Mary to double check that all the doors were locked and dead-bolted, Bitsy, turning off all the lights as she circumnavigated the Oats' living room, placed and subsequently lit several devotion candles, so as to provide what she deemed to be the proper amount of illumination required to establish an atmosphere that would be, to her way of thinking, conducive for the arcane metaphysical procedure that the three of them were about to undertake.

As Josh descended the stair, Bitsy asserted herself, briskly directing Josh to slid the coffee table back and up against the couch and them to seat himself, Indian fashion, in what seen had guesstimated to be the approximate center most section of the carpet, requesting that he turnabout to faced her as she did so. Next, she asked Mrs. Oats to join her; suggesting that her Aunt Mary occupy a space on the carpet immediately to her right, taking pains to position Josh's mom in such a way so as have Mrs. Oats' left knee gentle abutted her own right one.

"Is everybody comfortable?" Bitsy inquired.

Both said that they were, prompting Bitsy to continue on as she concurrently reached into her pocketbook and procured a small vile that contained what appeared to be a clear liquid substance, "Do either you have any questions you'd like to ask before we proceed any farther?"

Here again, both replied, in so many words, that they didn't.

"Alright, them... Though I feel like I'm beating a dead horse here, Josh, I also feel that I am under an obligation to once again ask you if I have your permission to turn you into girl?

"Yes, Bits. Whatever it is that you have to do to turn me into a girl, I want you to go ahead and do it!"

"Alright, then let's get to it!

"Here, Josh! Take this and drink every last little bit of it!" Bitsy urged, as she extended the liquid filled vile towards her soulmate.

Josh took the vile and without the slightest hesitation, removed the cork and, wielding it as one might handle a whiskey filled shot glass, drew it to his lips; threw his head back and partook of its' hallucinogenic contents in one fell swoop.

"How soon?" he asked.

"Soon. So, just try and relax. Concentrate on maintaining a steady breathing pattern consisting of a deep inhalation followed by a relaxed and over emphasized exhalation.

"Just be carefully not to over do it! We don't want you hyperventilating on us now, do we?"

"That's right, Josh! That's the ticket! A deep breath, followed by a nice long and steady exhalation...

"Alright, Aunt Mary." Bitsy said, as she reached over and tenderly enfolded Mrs. Oats left hand in her right one. "It's our turn.

"Just do what you've been doing these past few weeks and you'll be just fine.

"That's right, Aunt Mary. Breath in... And out. In... And out. In... And out. Smoothly... Steadily... Serenely...

"Now, close your eyes and begin to recite that seemingly nonsensical mantra I taught you..."

Taking a moment, so to as ensure herself that her 'Aunt Mary' was beginning to settle into the serenity of self, Bitsy, employing a few cleansing breaths to unburden herself of otherwise intrusive and irrelevant matters, was quick to followed suit.

Though Bitsy's aura was the first of the three to fully manifest itself within the visible spectrum of human perception, Mrs Oats' blossomed only a second or so after that of her 'adopted' daughter's. With a twinge of well merited pride for her extremely adapt pupil, Bitsy, employing the physical links she had established of knee and hand to aid her in her endeavors, expanded her own aura and in so doing, enveloped Josh mom's within its' femininely pastel hued envelope. Maintaining a marked degree of ascendancy, Bitsy proceeded to blend and meld her aura with that of her Aunt Mary's, much as she had earlier that evening with Josh, in effect, making the two of them appear as one intrinsic being within the metaphysical plane of existence.

Then, as Josh's manly hued and brightly colored aura began to manifest itself, Bitsy reached out with her mind and, proceeding in a clockwise progression around the room, began to telekinetically snuff out one candle after another.

With that little and insignificant mood enhancing nuance accomplish, Bitsy opted to go with a further expansion of her and her Aunt Mary's blended auras over a mere extension of a simply contrived, governing aura tether. Enveloping Josh's boldly colored aura within their combined softer hued metaphysical shroud, Bitsy, mentally encouraging Mrs. Oats to do likewise, inundate Josh's manly attuned aura with a sense of unbridled love, ere she began the long anticipated task of modulating the composition of her soulmate's illuminated metaphysical essence, muting its' brashness as she artistically imprinted it with an image of an angelically faced, golden haired seductress, the very same image that she had painstaking crafted in the secret garden of her most cherished fantasies.

Josh, with his eternal spirit riding effortlessly upon the Heavenly ascending thermals of his mother's and Bitsy's radiating sense of love and conciliatory well being, aided by the perception enhancing presence of the time altering hallucinogenic that coursed and cavorted within the physical component of his being, was easily able to discern for himself the disembarkation point that would, in its turn, trigger a totally eradication of his masculine attuned physicality and a coinciding and comprehensive feminine restructuring of the same.

Knowing that she had achieved all that she had set out to achieve, Bitsy, feeling a sense of elated and anticipatory satisfaction, reluctantly began to withdraw her and her Aunt Mary's melded presence; revealing, as she did so, the brilliant and momentary flaring of Josh's femininely imprinted and vibrantly hued pastel aura in the process. Acting on a whim, a whim born on an ardent desire to repaid in part the kindness that Josh's mother had accorded her with all throughout the years of their association with one another, Bitsy, ceased the opportunity presented in the brief period of time left to her to tweak and there by, rejuvenate the tarnished colors of her Aunt Mary's somewhat bedraggled aura.

Then, as she gently went about the task of disentangled the nimbus of her metaphysical being from Josh's mother's, Bitsy, aware that their collective auras were beginning to dim perceptible, once again reached out with the focus of her mind's eye and, using a nifty little technique that Aura Nightwing had taught her, employed a pyrotechnic inducement of her telekinetic wherewithal. One by one, the candles that were situated around the room were coaxed back to life with an extremely short-lived surge of intense heat that she deftly directed full upon the exposed and charmed wicks.

With a gasp that conveyed a startled sense of pure unadulterated astonishment, Mrs. Oats broke the silence, "Can you teach me to do that too?"

"Sure I can. I be more that happy to, Aunt Mary. In fact, we can start tomorrow, while this soon to be new daughter of yours is sleeping off the residual effect of the hallucinogenic..."

Though he knew, on some intuitive level of his drug distorted perception, that Bitsy and his mother were carrying on some sort of whispered conversation, Josh, feeling as if he was in some wacked-out fashion or another, phasing in and out of several overlapping and disjointed realities created by none other than the author Lewis Carroll, was by far to caught up with what was going on within his own muddled and seemly elastic frame of existence to even begin to comprehend what they were saying to one another. In a sort of cascading, domino, daisy-chain like reactionary manner, Josh, though he was never sure if he was deluding himself or not, believed that he felt the influence of that new femininely attuned aura of his begin to work its' way inward, proceeding from the epidermal layer of his physical being and moving steady from one subcutaneous layer to another, drawing ever closer to quintessential epicenter of his mortal self.

He felt as if he could actually observe the systematic feminine re-coding of his DNA and subsequent conversion of the XY pairing of his chromosomes into the feminine defining YY Chromosomes combination.

Seconds seemed as minutes and minutes, conversely seemed like hours as a much beguiled, thoroughly enchanted and undeniable bemused Joshua Oats experienced his fluid transition into womanhood. Though his transsexualization was occurring concurrently all through out his system, the hallucinogen that held sway over his perception, granted him the rare ability to multi-task the various levels of his comprehension, thusly granting him the wherewithal necessary to monitor the fantastic and radical changes that were occurring all throughout his physiognomy.

He felt those formerly superfluous manly nipples of his enlarge and distend themselves as the bumpy, darker skinned areola bands surrounding them damn near doubled in size. He felt the skin beneath those erotically upgraded nipples of his swell and swell again and again and again, forming themselves over the course of what was to him, drug elongated time, into a jim-dandy pair of firm and ever so flattering, man beguiling mounds. He felt his legs emasculate, as they trimmed, lengthen and gracefully smooth into a pair of man trouble gams that ran all the way to an ass that was, in like fashion, undergoing the delectable re-apportionment into a nicely rounded, heart shaped, male libido torquing derriere. Likewise, he felt his stomach flatten into the taught trim tummy of a provocative, hourglass figured centerfold's. He felt his waist constrict and his hips splay. Concurrently, he felt his skin go creamy and seductively smooth and he saw it take on the flattery bronze tone of a sun loving California beach bunny.

Having raised his hands so to afford his steadily herifiying self a better view of them at the beginning of the aura induced makeover process, a pleasantly astonished Josh looked on as those masculine and string callused hands of his progressively became the dainty and dexterous hands of a very attractive young woman's.

As interested as she was with the monumental changes that were occurring all throughout her system, the area of her swiftly feminizing physique that captivated the glamorous seductress that Josh was on the cusp of becoming were the mind boggling and thorough mystifying alterations that her male genitalia were progressively and undeniable undergoing.

Through the sensual nylon material of her ill fitting Speedos, Josh could feel her formerly male, sperm spewing insemination rod dwindling, growing smaller and smaller with each and every heartbeat of the femininely down-sizing heart of hers. Suddenly, she realized, that the former mainstay of her maleness had reached the disembarkation point where any gynecologist worth his salt would have been hard pressed not to recognize that part of her reconstructed anatomy as nothing more than a grossly enlarged nub of a female's clitoral protrusion. Keeping pace with the eventually eradication of his penis and the subsequent installation of a clitoris, Josh's testicle sacks began to draw inwards and as they did, they began to fold in upon themselves - Once! Twice! And the all important third time! - becoming in process, the satinized multiple lip folds of her very own new, neat and nifty little vagina.

Though she had witnessed, not to mentioned, been the catalyst for quite a few male to female re-apportionment's in her own right, Bitsy, given her degree of personal involvement, was nevertheless held awestruck as Josh began to increasingly take on the characteristics of her intricately fabricated female fantasy lover.

As for Josh's mom, though she had long ago accepted her 'adopted' daughter's assertion that such a thing was possible, still had a hard time believing that her one and only son was swiftly becoming her one and only daughter right there - right before her very eyes.

And what a daughter she was becoming.

Bitsy had repeated assured her Aunt Mary that Josh would be blonde, beautiful and built like a brick shithouse. However, as Josh's makeover neared its' conclusion, Mrs. Oats realized that Bitsy's assertions had been nothing more than a gross understatement. To simple refer to that new daughter of hers as being merely beautiful would be a flagrant disservice. Josh, who had already reached a stage where she was exquisitely gorgeous, was becoming even more so with the passing of each and every moment.

Bitsy, aware that with Josh, she had come as close to achieving the personification of physical female perfection as was humanly possible, sought Josh's mom's reassurance of the fact, as she timidly asked the loaded question, "So, Aunt Mary, what do you think of the finished product?"

"Oh, Bitsy! He's... or I guess I really should have said: she's adorable! Simply adorable!"

"So, you're saying that you think I did good then, Aunt Mary?

"Good! What you did is absolutely fantastic!

"I mean, I've seen a lot of beautiful women in my time! But, I can tell you one thing! Not one of them can hold a candle to this new daughter you've given me!

"I mean, she's as beautiful as beautiful can be!

"So, I take it that you're please?"

"Please! I'm way beyond pleased! I'm ecstatic!

"What you've done so far exceeds my expectations that I can't begin to express what I'm feeling right now!

"I mean, all I want to do at the moment is: give this new fantastic looking daughter of mine a great big hug and tell her how much I love her and how happy I am for her!"

"Well, Aunt Mary, I suggest that since that's what you want to do, you ought do just that! You know, so I can do likewise after you're finished!"

Josh, though hazily aware of her new status as a bonafide member of the opposite sex on one mystified and befuddled hand, while on the other, thoroughly preoccupied and captivated with all those new erotic gadgets and femininely attuned nuances of hers, operated in a drug induced fog of distorted time and kaleidoscope-like perception. With the hallucinogen making her feel like some sort of huge, surrealistic Ragged Ann like ragamuffin, Josh felt herself drawn somewhat forcible into the emotional fraught and time-elongated embrace of loving mother, before being gingerly passed, like some irreplaceable, finely crafted and much cherished Dresden Doll, into Bitsy's encircling and emphatic arms.

Though she knew that both her mother and Bitsy endeavored to communicate with her, Josh only heard their speech as so much undecipherable guttural gibberish and because she did, she could make neither hide nor hair out of what they were saying. Bitsy, informing Mrs. Oats that Josh's auditory capabilities were on the fritz, due to the ongoing effects of the drug, awkwardly clamored to her feet, drawing a rather uncoordinated and anything but ladylike Josh along with her.

"Aunt Mary. I do believe that the best thing we can do right now is get this new little Sabra of ours upstairs and into bed. More than anything, what she really needs right now is to get some sleep, so she can get beyond this drug induced stupor of hers."

"What can I do to help?"

"Well, since she's, as they say in the medical profession, ambulatory - You know, as in she can get around a little. - I think it might be best if I take it upon myself to help her up the steps. However, just to be on the safe side, what I'd like you to do, Aunt Mary, is: follow the two of us up the stairs. You know, just in case Sabra here misjudges and there by, makes a misstep and starts to stumbles.

One step up from the landing, Mrs. Oats called a halt, pointing out the fact that the Speedos Sabra was wearing had begun to slip down about those well proportioned thighs of that new daughter of hers, suggesting as she did so, that it might prove prudent for the two of them to remove the skimpy and ill fitting swimsuit before it caused any sort of mishap to occur. Bitsy concurred and the task was accomplished posthaste.

Though it was slow going, Bitsy, with Mrs. Oats help, gingerly managed to coax an extremely disoriented Sabra up the stairs, down the hall and into her bedroom. Removing her soulmate's rob before doing so, Bitsy turned Sabra about and gently seated her on the side of the bed.

"While I have half a mind to dress this new daughter of yours in that skimpy, black satin teddy I purchased last week on a whim, just to see her reaction when she finally wakes up and finds herself decked out in such a revealing number, I really think that we ought just go with one of Josh's regular old pajama tops."

Mrs. Oats readily agreed with her 'adopted' daughter's suggestion and, going to his chest of drawers, quickly procured one.

A minute later, having first made a thorough survey of Bitsy's handiwork before helping Sabra into a pajama top that was by far to big for that new frame of hers, Bitsy and her 'second' mother exercised a marked degree of caution as they carefully maneuvered Sabra's head onto a pillow and that new bodacious physique of hers under the covers.

"Now what?" Mrs. Oats asked.

"We wait." Bitsy replied thoughtfully. "It'll take a good twenty four hours and them some for all the effect of the drug to completely work its' way out of Sabra's system. However, be that as it may be, I would hazard a guess that sometime late tomorrow morning, say sometime after eleven o'clock or so, this new daughter of yours will wake up and, probably remain awake for an hour or so before finding herself so tuckered out that she'll gladly climb back into bed for what will most likely prove to be a fairly long afternoon nap.

"She'll probably need to go to the bathroom and, though she'll most likely want to anyway, we need to ensure she drinks at least one full glass of water.

"But, even though she'll be sleeping a lot over the course of the next few days, for the time being, until she has had sometime to come to grips with her new lot in life, I think one or both of us should be here for her should she wake."

"Oh, I couldn't agree more, Bitsy.

"So," Mrs. Oats, taking an extravagated and much belabored breath to re-enforce her resolve for what she was about to say, reached over and taking Bitsy hands in hers, continued on to say, "while I know that the three of us have yet to discussed this particular matter, in lieu of what has just happened to night, given the way the two of you feel about one another, I think it's pretty much a given that you and Josh - Excuse me! - Sabra are going to be sharing the same bedroom from here on out.

"So, since that's the case, I really think it would be best for you to crawl in there alongside of her when you're ready for bed tonight. That way, you'll be here if she needs you.

"However, since I am still kind of keyed up over all of this, would you mind if I stayed in here with the two of you for at least a little while? You know, just so the two of us can talk?"

"Of course I wouldn't mind, Aunt Mary! I'm as keyed up as you are and I would really appreciate if you did stay!

"Tell you what, since there's not much chance of this Sabra of ours stirring for good while, why don't the two of go downstairs and make us some herbal tea. Then, when we come back upstairs, I'll go get your rocker out of your bedroom and put right it here, right next to the bed. That way, you can be on one side of this new daughter of yours and I'll be on the other!"

"Sounds like a plan to me!"

Mrs. Oats, saying that she had to avail herself of the bathroom first, sent Bitsy downstairs ahead of her. A few minutes later, as Bitsy set a pot of water on to boil, Mary Oats, gleefully humming the tune to the Beetles' 'With A Little Help From My Friends' under her breath, joined her in the kitchen; quizzically demanding to know if her 'adopted' daughter had done something to her; asserting that she not only looked, but felt a good ten years young than she was.

Bitsy, aware that it had only been a matter of time before her 'second' mother took note of the youthful changes she had engendered, owned up to them.

"Yes, Aunt Mary. I did.

"And I know that I took a liberty that I probably shouldn't have! I also know that I should have asked your permission first!

"However, I've been wanting to do something really special for you! Something to show you how much I appreciate all you've done for me! And I just thought that, given everything that has happened here of late, you could use something like this metaphysical beauty treatment of mine to, shall we say, pick up your spirits!"

"Well," Mary Oats said, as she began to critique a hand of hers that was a good deal more youthful looking than it had been at the outset of the evening, "I must say, that as far as beauticians go, you are by far the best I've ever run into.

"I mean, my face, for all practical purposes, is wrinkle free! And, there's not a trace of gray in my hair either!

"My breast feel firmer! My tummy flatter! My skin smoother! And, more to the point, this dress I'm wearing is a couple sizes to big for me!

"So tell me, child! Did you tinker around with anything else of mine while you were doing whatever it was you did to me?"

"Yes, Aunt Mary, I have to confess: I did..."

"So, are you going to keep me in suspense? Or, are you going to just come clean and tell what you else you did?"

"Well... let me see...

"For one thing, I took care of all of that bothersome cellulite that you're always complaining about whenever you to put on either a pair of shorts or a bathing suit. And for another, I got rid of your stretch marks."

"You did!" Mary Oats gleefully exclaimed. "That's great! I mean, I can't begin to tell you how much I've always hated them!

"So, what else did you do?"

"Well... you won't have to go through all the hassles involved in shaving your legs or underarms anymore. Plus, I might add, you're not menopausal anymore either."

"I'm not!

"You mean to tell me that I'm not going to have to those pesky hot-flashes and terrible mood swing of mine anymore?"

"No, Aunt Mary. Not anymore. However, as sad as I am to be the one to have to tell you this, you are going to have to content with that bothersome little monthly visitor of yours once again."

"Well, since I've had to deal with that little messy inconvenience most of my life anyhow, I'd rather that than the other."

"You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that, Aunt Mary.

"And, am I to take it that you're not mad or upset with me for doing what I did?"

"Heavens no! How could I be mad at you?

"May I remind you: you spared Josh from having to go into the Army and possible to Vietnam! In the process, you've given me the opportunity to have the daughter that I've always wanted, but never had! Plus, you gone and make me look a good ten younger than I am and you're worried that I might take offense!"

"But, I did do it without asking your permission first, Aunt Mary."

"Yes. Yes, you did. And now that you had some time to think about it, you feel like you may have somehow violated some sort of trust in doing so, don't you?"

"Yes. I guess so..."

"Well, you didn't. Alright?

"And even if you did, I am very happy that you did what you did!

"Besides, I know if I asked you, you would undo whatever it was you did to me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Aunt Mary. I most surely would. I wouldn't want to, but I would."

"Believe me! Everything is hunky-dory! There's absolutely no problem here, save for the fact that it's pretty apparent that I going to have to go out over the course of the next several weeks or so and purchase a whole new wardrobe for myself!

In other words, Bitsy, save for the fact that I'm going to dip into some of my saving to be able to afford some new clothes for myself, I am very, very happy with what you did to me! That's to say: I am thoroughly pleased with the new and younger looking me!

"So, let's get something straight here! I don't want to here anymore about it! Alright?"

A minute or so later, Mary Oats returned to the subject of her rejuvenation as she proceed on to inquired about something that had just occurred to her.

"Bitsy. Tell me something.

"Just how young could you have made me look?"

"Let me put it this way, Aunt Mary. Had I chosen to do so, you could be just as young as beautiful looking as that former son of yours is.

"Truth be told, I could have tweak your aura in such a way as to have you now looking like Sabra's identical twin sister."

"You could have?" an astonished Mary Oats returned briskly.

"I most certainly could have and still can, should you like me to do so!

"However, Aunt Mary, doing something like that now would present us with a whole lot of problems that we really don't need to deal with right now, so I'd advise against it.

"Later, once Sabra has established herself in her new identity, if you want, we can always explore the possibility of doing something along those lines.

"Besides, if you keep progressing the way you are now with all the things I've been teaching you about the metaphysical manipulation of auras, before you know it, Aunt Mary, you won't need me to make the changes we've been talking about. You'll be able to attend to them yourself."

"I will?"

"Of course you will!

"I mean, if you think I got these nice ample breast of mine from my mother, let me set you straight! I didn't!

"I'll grant you, that while I had a fairly descent shaped body to begin with, if it wasn't for everything that Aurora Nightwing taught me, I'd still be just as flat chested as my mother is!

"Basically, to avoid calling any undo attention to myself with a fairly noticeable radical change in my looks, I took Aurora's suggestion to heart and gradually began to make subtle improvements in my overall appearance. And, I suggest that you might take my advice and do likewise..."

About five minutes later, Mrs. Oats, in an ongoing effort to confirm some of the things she thought she might have heard Bitsy say a moment or so before, tentatively asked, "Did I hear you say that I'm not going to have to worry about shaving either my legs or underarms ever again?"

"You most certainly did, Aunt Mary.

"While Aurora has more metaphysical potential in her little finger than you or I or that new daughter of yours upstairs will ever have, she lacks creativity. I, on the other hand, am as creative as creative can be! Early on, I learned how to manipulate a person's aura in such a way as to inhibit unwanted and unsightly hair growth in certain areas of a individual's body among other things."

"So tell me!" a very intrigued Mary Oats continued on to inquiry. "What else did you learn to do?"

"Well," Bitsy replied thoughtfully, "though it took some trial and error on my part, I dickered around with some ideas I had and came up with a way to both speed up and ease the acclimation process in one fell swoop.

"You see, Aunt Mary, while it's a rather easy to modulate a person aura and there by engender a complete sexual realignment of a person's physicality, for some reason or another, that person's mind remains unaffected.

"That's to say that that gorgeous young woman that I turned your son into less than a hour or so ago, still possess a mind that is as manly as it ever was.

"Even though that new daughter of yours possess a brain that is - on a cellular level - unquestionable that of a female, in that its' chromosomes are all of the double XX pairing, mentally speaking, her ego, superego, id and libido are still as manly attuned as they ever were!

"Now, as to why that is: I have to confess that I haven't a clue! Neither, I might add, did Aurora!

"You'd think that if you changed a person's DNA from one sex to another, that person's mental makeup would simply follow suit!

"Regrettable, for some inexplicable reason or another, that is not the case! And, as you might suspect, Aunt Mary, that little fly in the ointment causes no end of problems!

"Even though a person, be that person male or female to being with, undertakes the change willingly, you know, knowing fully well that he or she will be dealing with a body that is one hundred and eighty degrees out of sexual sync with their mind's sexual alignment, such knowledge doesn't, in and of itself, adequately prepare the individual for the ordeal involved in their coming to terms with their new lot in life as a functional member of the opposite sex.

"Believe me, Aunt Mary, having spent a fair amount of time as a man myself, I can tell you, it ain't all that easy coping with the incongruity of it all!

"You mean to say that you've actually been a man?" an incredulous and awe struck Mrs. Oats broke in on her 'adopted' daughter.

"Yes! Yes, I have! In fact, I did so on quite a few occasions.

"You see, Aunt Mary, as part of our training, Aurora Nightwing, falling back on that age old adage about walking a mile in someone else's shoes, insisted that all of her protegees find out what it was like to experience life from the other side of the gender gap.

"So, tell me!" Mary Oats, intrigued beyond belief, inquisitively prompted. "How was it?"

"Strange, to say the least... Strange and somewhat intimidating... But, it was also very enlightening! Enlightening and speaking for myself, extremely usefully at times!

"You see, Aunt Mary, some of the times when I came all the way down here to go hear that former son of yours perform at one or another the more intimate establishments he'd be playing at, I would take the extra added precaution of changing myself into a guy first. Then, usually on the ride back home, having coned someone else into taking a stint behind the wheel, I'd re-modulate my aura and turn myself back into a girl."

"That's amazing! Simply amazing!" Mrs. Oats declared, before continuing on to ask, "Did you like being a man?"

"No. Not particularly...

"However, I did learn a few things."

"Like what, for instance?" Mary Oats urged.

"Like we women are real pigs when it comes to public restrooms!

"I mean to tell you, Aunt Mary! Men's restrooms, though messy, look clean when compared to women's restrooms!"

"They do?"

"They most certainly do!" Bitsy said, re-confirming her prior assertion as she did so.

"Tell you what, Aunt Mary! Since, I was going to have you do a couple day stint as man yourself as part of this metaphysical training I'm putting you through, you know, like somewhere down the road apiece, since I'm made arrangements to be off until Friday, why don't we just go ahead and do it over the course of the next few days! That way, you'll have a pretty good idea of the flip-side of what Sabra will be contending with?"

While she wasn't at all happy about the prospect of spending even a brief period of time as a man, Mary Oats couldn't fault Bitsy's reasoning and so, with a few very definite stipulations on her part thrown into the mix, halfheartedly agreed with her 'adopted' daughter's proposal.

Knowing that her suggestion wasn't sitting any to well with Josh's mom, Bitsy sternly reminded her Aunt Mary that what was good for the gander was also good for the goose; saying that being a man was no where near as bad as she was making it out to be and suggesting as she did so, that her second mother look on the experience as nothing more than a right of passage.

A few minutes later, Mary Oats, realizing that no matter what she said or did, she was not going to easily dissuade Bitsy from following through with what she had in mind for her, in an effort to change the subject, made the point that they had somehow gotten off on a tangent and because they had, Bitsy had yet to explain exactly what sort of measures she had taken to accelerate and ease her son's acclimation to that newly imposed womanhood of hers.

"Oh! That's right!" Bitsy exclaimed. "I never did tell you about that, now did I?"

Mrs. Oats assured her she hadn't and so, as her Aunt Mary poured the two of them a another cup of tea, Bitsy began to clarify and expound upon what she had done in her effort to ease Sabra's transition into this new found womanhood of hers.

"You've heard something or other about post-hypnotic suggestion, haven't you, Aunt Mary?"

Mrs. Oats acknowledged that she had, prompting Bitsy to continue.

"Well... what I did was, in a manner of speaking, something akin to a post hypnotic suggestion.

"Using some of your son's - Now, what's that darn word that Aurora used to like use when referring to this sort of stuff? Oh, I know! Predilections! You know, predilections, as in: things he really, really likes! You know, things that he likes but fall just this side of actually being classified as what one might term as a real, dyed in the wool, no holds bar sexual fetish!

"So anyhow, getting back to what I was saying, I used some of Josh's predilections surrounding what he liked in so far as women were concerned and, I guess you could say, fabricated a sort predisposition for Sabra to appease herself by satisfying those well ingrained predilections of hers.

"For example, Aunt Mary, whether you are aware of this little foible of Josh's or not, take it from me, that former son of yours was - or, I really should have said still is - a legman turned legwoman. Meaning: he tends to like to see women wearing sexy, short, tight, tush enhancing skirts; flattering hose and a pair of your classic, stiletto heeled pumps!

"So, knowing that, what I did was to, shall we say, here again employing one of Aurora's terms, enunciate those particular predilections when I modulated your son's aura.

"Though Sabra will, if she runs true to course, start off by being more than a little resistive to the notion of dressing herself in such items of, what is to her, extremely provocative clothing, eventually, whether we force the issue or not, she will find herself hard pressed to resist the darn near omnipresent urge to please and pacify that staunchly male libido of hers by donning such apparel.

"Basically, Aunt Mary, by turning your son Josh into your new daughter Sabra, I think it's fair to say that I've also turned him - her - or whichever - into a first class narcissist. Once she's beyond this drug induced stupor of hers, Sabra will find herself so turned on by her new body that she will have a hard time keeping her hands off herself.

"So, I should warn you, she's going to be crassly groping and fondling herself all throughout the course of the next several weeks or so.

"Believe me, Aunt Mary! As crude as it might seem, that sort of self-indulgent behavior is a natural part of the acclimation process and, though I know it may not be the easiest thing for either one of us to do, the best thing we can do under the circumstances, is to just ignore it. And the worst thing we can do is: for one or the other of us to call attention to it when she does do it! Alright, Aunt Mary?"

Mrs. Oats, aware that it wouldn't be easy for her to hold her tongue in such instances, also realized the validity of Bitsy's assertion, and so, readily agreed that she would do everything she could to abide by Bitsy's prudent suggestion, prompting the younger woman to continue on with her explanation.

"Also, in an effort to reinforce and enhance these, what I have come to term, aura laced pseudo post-hypnotic suggestions of mine, I've infused Sabra with an uncanny sense of familiarity that, for a lack of a better way to put this, will tend to lend her a eerie and compelling sense of deja vu whenever she puts on a piece of feminine clothing, or adorns herself with the sort of jewelry she likes, or puts on the sort of makeup that has a tendency to tickle and entice that thoroughly male entrenched fancy of hers. I should also point out the fact that this so called aura laced deja vu of mine seems to have a cumulative effect. That's to say, Aunt Mary, that each and every time Sabra satisfies one of those narcissistic predilections of hers, the deja vu effect will kick in, there by, first creating and then continuing on to reinforce the naturalness of the act itself.

"In other words, by my using the post-hypnotic suggestion business in conjunction with the deja vu effect, I've managed to cut weeks off of the acclimation process.

"Frankly, Aunt Mary, I think you'll be amazed at how quickly Sabra takes to her new sexual status. Though it won't seem so at first, before you know it, you'll find yourself hard pressed to think of her as anything other than the woman she's become.

"The trouble is though, given that beautiful new body I've fitted her out with plus, the way she's going to be dressing in just a few short weeks from now, our little Sabra is going to find herself on the receiving end of a lot apprising glances that you can bet, aren't going to sit at all well with her. It's pretty much a given, that she isn't going to like being ogled by guys - not in the least little bit!

"However, since I'm not about to tone down those new looks of hers one iota - As if she'd ever want or allow me to! - I guess she's just going to have to learn to deal with them! You know, since it pretty much goes with the territory of looking the way she does now..."

A few minutes later, as the two of them began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, Mrs. Oats, speaking back over her shoulder, coyly queried, "So girl, since you seem to be the authority on what that former son of mine likes in the way of women and the type of clothing they wear, why don't you give me a run down on what to expect."

"Sure thing, Aunt Mary! As soon as I get you settle in that rocker I promised you, I'd be more than happy to do just that."

Following through on her promise, Bitsy, with Mrs. Oats tagging along for the express purpose of procuring a quilted comforter from the top shelf of her closet, dutifully moved her Aunt Mary's black lacquered rocker form out of the master bedroom, down the hall and into the bedroom where the curvacious form of the former Joshua Everett Oats lay sound asleep beneath the covers of her double bed. While Mrs. Oats settle herself into her rocker and arranged the comforter about her, Bitsy proceed around to the far side of the bed; quickly climbed out of her pants, pantyhose and underpants and slipped ever so gently beneath the covers and gingerly snuggled right up alongside of her Sabra's supple, femininely re-proportioned physique.

Taking a moment to loving jostled and there by relocate a few unruly strands of radiantly hued blonde hair from off of Sabra's unfurrowed forehead, Bitsy, unabashedly staking her claim as she did so, planted an ever so endearing goodnight kiss on her soulmate's brow before returning her attention to her second mom.

"Alright, Aunt Mary! Now, as to your inquiry as to what sort of women's clothing Sabra here is probably going to go for, I've got to tell you that if you were hoping for a daughter who liked frilly and lacy things, I'm afraid you are going to be sadly disappointed.

"You see, Aunt Mary, while I can, to some degree, make a person's likes and dislikes either more pronounced or subdued, you know, by finagling around with their aura in subtle ways, I cannot affect that sort of change. You know, as in I can't make them like something that they don't already like.

"For example: since this former son of yours was never, shall we say, enamored with women wearing either frilly or frumpy outfits, you know, resplendent with bows and other such decorative doodads, it's pretty much a given that now that he's physically a girl himself, you can bet your bottom dollar that Sabra here isn't going to be caught dead wearing something that is such a blatant turn-off for her.

"By the same token, I think that I can safely say that save for maybe a slinky paisley blouse or dress and quite possible a matching headband, you can pretty much forget about our little Sabra here wearing much in the way of prints as well.

"However, you needn't lose heart, Aunt Mary! I can assure that when it comes to clothing herself, our little Sabra here will find plenty of stuff out there to suit her tastes!

"For instance, having monitored Josh's aura for a while now in order to get a good feel for his various likes and dislikes just in case he ever opted for the girlhood option, I think I can safely guarantee that once this new daughter of yours gets beyond her initial revulsions and reservations revolving around her having to dress this new body of hers in women's clothing, once those heavy weight male libido driven narcissist tendencies of hers kick in, she is going to make a real fashion statement out of herself, that I believe will be both sensually striking and extremely flattering, all wrapped up in one stunning and adorable little package!"

"So," Mrs. Oats inquired, "can you give me some sort of an idea as what to expect."

"I sure can, Aunt Mary.

"While this new daughter of yours isn't into frilly and lacy feminine things, she is into the luxurious stuff! You know, like silks and satins! Meaning: when it comes to bras and panties, it's another safe bet that your basic cotton stuff isn't going to cut it for her.

"Oh, and that reminds me, Aunt Mary! I think it might be advantageous for one or the other of us to run out sometime during the day tomorrow and see if we can hunt down a set of satin sheets to fit this double bed.

"Trust me! A night spent nestled ever so snugly and serenely in a set of satin sheets will work wonders when it comes to the task of our trying to entice and persuade this new daughter of yours to at least try on one of the satin bra and panty sets of that I picked up for her the other day at that intimate lingerie and apparel shop that's located just down the block and around the corner from the Playboy Club where I work.

"So anyhow, Aunt Mary, getting back to the subject of what I think Sabra here is going to be wearing, basically, my best guess is: she'll end up wearing more a less a feminized version of the kind of stuff she was wearing before I pulled this sexual role reversal on her. And since Josh was either dressed in boots, jeans and a denim work-shirt or a sedate and stylish three piece, vested suit and one of those hideous, over large paisley ties that are the current rage right now, you can pretty much expect that our beautiful little Sabra here is going to do likewise. Save that the jeans - I'll wager - will be so darn tight fitting that they'll look like they've been painted on. And, instead of those hiking boots, cowboy boots or moccasins that your former son here used to like to wear with those faded blue jeans of his, you can pretty much figure that our Sabra will still more than likely opt to wear boots with jeans, save that the boots she'll probably opt for will be very stylish and distinctly feminine ones. You know, something in the order of the kind that high fashion models are wearing now a days.

"Oh, and as far as the moccasins go, though she'll probably want to get another pair to fit those dainty new feet of hers, you know, to lounge around the house in, I don't foresee them getting a whole lot of use. Given your son's rather obvious obsession for women wearing high heels, I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts that she'll end up being so fanatical about wearing heels herself, that she'll probably end up using a pair of them as house-slippers. Plus, I'll wager, within says the next six months or so, she have a pair of them in practically every color she can find!"

"So what, in your estimation, Bitsy, is going to replace those three piece suits that, as I understand it, has earned this beautiful former son of mine the nickname 'The Deacon' among those folksinger friends and compatriots of his?"

"More than likely, an understated skirt and blazer combo! You know, worn over either a smart and snazzy looking glossy satin blouse or a refine and classy looking silk camisole. That, or, when the occasion calls for it, an elegant, yet also somewhat understated dress. You know, that - I think it's safe to assume - will showcase that simply scrumptious new figure of hers in a most flattering and flirtatious manner by drawing attention to those new and nifty ample endowments of hers, while at the same time, displaying a lot of shamelessly shimmering pantyhose encased and exposed leg in the process."

"So, if I'm hearing you correctly, by doing whatever you did to both shorten and ease this new daughter of mine's acceptance of her newly imposed womanhood, has, in effect, turned her into what used to be called a strumpet, but, unless I'm severely out of touch with what's going on now a days, is generally now referred to as a dickteaser, albeit, a classy and elegantly attire one at that?"

"No, Aunt Mary! While it might seem so at first, all I did was to accelerate the acclimation process. Sabra's inherent narcissist tendencies would, all on their own accord, have taken care of the rest eventually!

A few minutes later, as Bitsy reached out with her telekinetic abilities and, employing a short lived but nonetheless furiously intense focused beam of her pyrotechnic wherewithal, the younger women gave life to a stubby votive candle that she had previously placed atop of Josh's bureau, she continued on to asked if Mrs. Oats could see her way clear to reaching over and turning off the little 25 watt lamp that resided on the night table just behind her. Mary Oats, saying that she'd be happy to oblige Bitsy's request, twisted about in her rocker and turned the light off.

"Aunt Mary," Bitsy, with an almost malleable sense of brooding trepidation conveyed in her voice, broached a subject that had been playing on her mind, "are you going to be able to handle this?"

Knowing fully well that Bitsy was referring to the lesbian relationship that the younger woman ardently looked forward to pursuing with that so angelic looking new temptress of a daughter of hers, Mrs. Oats, taking a rather ominous and poignant moment or so to marshal her thoughts on the matter, sought to explained to Bitsy just how she felt.

"Though it surprises me to hear myself actually saying something like this, to answer your question, Bitsy: yes! I do believe that I'm going to be able to handle this relationship that the two of you seem so eager to engage in just fine.

"Odd, isn't it?

"I mean, if anybody had ever ask me if I would ever countenance or condone a homosexual relationship occurring in my house, I would have told them no! I would have told them in no uncertain terms that there was no way I'd allow something so sinful, so personally abhorrent to me to go on!

"And here I am, doing just that!

"And do you know what's really funny about the whole thing, Bitsy?

"As crazy as it sounds, I'm not the least little bit upset with the notion that I'm going to be living under the same roof with two practicing lesbians, one of whom is none other than my son turned daughter, and the other, given the way I've come to feel about her, might just as well be a daughter of mine as well!

"All I ask, is that the two of you restrain yourself, you know, like whenever I'm around!

"That's to say that while I'm not in any way adverse to the two of you holding hands or, even snuggling together on the sofa while you're watching TV or, even going so far as exchange an occasional kiss or two every now and again, as I'm sure the two of you are going to want to be doing for quite awhile to come, all I ask of the two of you is: that you don't get to carried away with what you're doing and that you extend me the curtsey of saving the real intimate, icky lesbian love-making stuff for the privacy of your bedroom.

"Basically, all I asking of the two of you is to behave like a married couple who, for whatever reason or reasons, find themselves living under the same roof with one or both of their parents.

Though Mrs. Oats had selfishly wanted to be on hand to once again welcome a hopefully more lucid and alert Sabra to her new life as a woman when she awoke that Tuesday morning, Mary Oats also realized that one: it was more important that Bitsy, who was an old hand at attending to that sort of stuff, be there to assist that fantastically re-proportioned new daughter of hers; and two, that Bitsy's suggestion about obtaining a set of satin sheets was extremely apropos. And so, since that was the case, having fixed her 'adopted' daughter and herself a cup of coffee and some corn muffins for breakfast, Mrs. Oats, upon informing Bitsy as to what she was up to, left the house around nine thirty; climbed into that nearly new Corvair of hers and drove over to a local department store in order to be there when it opened at ten.

Adhering to Bitsy prediction of the night before, Sabra stirred, grudgingly squinting in the morning with those seductively imploring, luscious baby blues of hers as she did so.

"Well, good morning, sleepy head! Welcome back to the land of the living!"

"What time is it?" a clearly befuddled and still more asleep than awake Sabra meekly muttered, unaware that she did so with a voice that reeked with a subdued and silky sense of throaty sensuality.

"Just a little after eleven.

"In other words, you've slept away most of the morning."

"Shit! I've gotta take a pee! And I've got to take a pee really, really bad!" Sabra emphatically proclaimed as she endeavored, with not a whole lot of success, to extricate her new self from the bed.

"Here," Bitsy said as she rose up and out of Mrs. Oats' rocker and, reaching down, began to draw her soulmate upwards, "let me give you hand getting to the bathroom."

"Whoa!" Sabra exclaimed, as she quickly and frantically reached out and grabbed Bitsy forearms with both of her hands in and all out effort to steady herself and there by, keep herself from the very real possibility of falling flat on that all new and angelically sculptured face of hers. "I don't know what in the world is wrong with me?

"I feel so lightheaded! Plus, I also seemed to have lost my sense of balance!"

"Don't worry! You'll be fine in a moment or so!

"You just need a little help getting to the bathroom!"

With Bitsy providing the stability that her soulmate lacked, Sabra, taking itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny baby steps to guard against the omnipresent hazard of premature urination, managed to maneuver out the room, down the hall and into the bathroom.

"Bits," Sabra began, as she reached out a hand to the wall in an effort to provide support for herself, "if you could do me just one more little favor and be so kind as to reach down and raise the toilet seat for me before you go, I do believe that I'll be able to manage things from here on out on my own."

"I don't think you really want me to do that!"

"And just why is that?"

"Because, you're not who, or I should say, what you think for are anymore! You're no longer Josh Everett Oats! You're simply Sabra with no last name now! And that means: from here on out, standing to empty your bladder isn't an option open to you any longer!

"It's not?" Sabra, slurring her words as she did so, uncomprehendingly replied.

"No! It's not! And from here on out, you've going to have to sit down every time you have to go to the bathroom!

"So here," Bitsy said as she reached over and began to turn Sabra about, "let's get you situated so you can relieve yourself before you have an accident that I'll end up having to clean up! You know, given the fact that it's pretty apparent that you're in no condition right now to do so for yourself!"

Though she was sitting there, on the toilet, with her left arm slung tightly across her upper body in such a way as to lend a sense of support to those new ample endowments of hers, it wasn't until a steady stream of odious, golden hued droplets of bodily liquid by-product began to rudely spritz, spray and splatter out of that new omnidirectional urination aperture of hers that it began to dawn on Sabra that something was strangely and severely amiss.

"Bitsy!" Sabra, grappling with the mind jarring epiphany that she had just then and there experienced, manically clamored.

"You did it! You actually did it!" she gleefully and excitedly expounded.

"And here I thought I had dreamed the whole thing! But, you did it! You actually turned me into a girl!"

"I told you I would." Bitsy, quickly spinning about in the hallway so as to frame herself in the doorjamb, returned evenly.

"So tell, how do you feel now?"

"Woozy... Woozy and discombobulated!"

"That's to be expected. But, don't worry. The wooziness should pass within the next few minuets.

"However, I'm sad to be the one to have to tell you this, Sabra, but you might as well get used to being somewhat discombobulated for sometime to come. You know, until that is: you start to become accustomed to all the little nuances and persnickety idiosyncrasies of that totally revamped and thoroughly feminized new body of yours.

"So, tell me! Are you finished?"

"Yeah, I think so..."

"Okay! Why don't you grab a wad of toilet paper and dab yourself off down there.

Sabra, clearly unsettled by the experience of having urinated for the first time as a female, did as Bitsy directed.

"Good! Now drop that wad in the bowl and I'll be right over to help you up."

Having helped Sabra to her feet, Bitsy reached over and flushed the toilet, saying as she did, "Okay! I know that you're probably busting a gut to have a look-see at this new and beautiful body of yours, but, if you want me to be able to help you, the first thing we need to attend to is for you to take care of that god awful halitosis breath of yours before I end up gagging all over the place!"

Opening the medicine cabinet mounted above the sink, Bitsy extracted a half-spent tub of toothpaste and a fairly new bottle of mouthwash, directing Sabra to both brush and gargle. Sabra, leaning her body up against the sink to steady herself, squeezed a dab of toothpaste onto her brush and, looking to the mirror as she did so, began to comply with Bitsy's directives.

Though she continued on with the mundane and all but forgotten task of brushing her teeth, Sabra found herself thoroughly and effortlessly captivated with the ever so aesthetic visage of the astonishing young woman that tenaciously mimicked her every move form within the mirror's most compelling depths.

"Bitsy!" Sabra declared, as she straightened up having just emptied her mouth of the refreshing and zesty mint flavored mouthwash. "I'm beautiful!

"I mean, I can't believe that you made me as beautiful as you did!"

"I told you I would."

"Yeah! I know! But, you didn't tell me that you were going to make me this beautiful!

Never one who handled flattery well, Bitsy endeavored to shrug off her soulmate's back-handed compliments by teasingly suggesting, "So, what you're saying is: you want me to tone these new looks of yours down a bit?"

"No!" Sabra asserted in a most demonstrative manner. "No! I'm not saying that at all!

"I mean, don't get me wrong! I absolutely love the way I look! It's just... just.... just..."

"It's just what?" Bitsy teasingly prompted.

"It's just that I look good enough to eat!"

"I know!" Bitsy sheepishly returned. "And I promise, I have full intentions of getting to that eventually...

"But, for right now, how about we avail ourselves of the full length dressing mirror that's in your mother's bedroom? You know, so that you can get an eye-full of the complete package I've fitted you out with!"

A few minutes later, all Sabra could say at first was, "Wow!"

"You like?"

"Of course I like!

"I mean, who in their right mind wouldn't?" Sabra offered commented, as she turned, first one way and then the other, in a concerted effort on her part to gain as much of view of that curvaceous new body of hers as was humanly possible.

"I mean to tell you, Bits! Though I'd still rather be a guy, this new body you've fitted me out with is so far beyond sensational it isn't funny!

"Why, I don't know! But all of a sudden, I feel so... so... so..."

"Sexy?" Bitsy offered by way of suggestion.

"Yes! That's it exactly! Sexy! I feel so, so sexy!

"So sexy, in fact, that I do believe that I'm starting to actually turn myself on!"

"That's completely understandable, since you're turning me on as well!"

"I am?"

"Oh, yeah! You most certainly are!"

Then, as Sabra began to once again survey the amazing results of her soulmate's metaphysical tamperings, she exclaimed, "Oh, Bits! How can I ever begin to thank you for what you done to me?"

"Well, for starters, if you can drag that beautiful new body of yours away from the mirror for a moment, you can come over here and give me a great big kiss!

And Sabra did just that.

Exuberantly, Sabra darted over to where her benefactress stood supervising and, manfully enveloping Bitsy in an emotion charged embraced, planted an impassioned lip-lock to end all impassioned lip-locks on her metaphysical sculptress.

"Whoa, girl!" Bitsy - gasping - chided. "That was some kiss! However, as sadden, as I am to have to say this: that's quite enough of that sort hanky-panky for now!

"Later!" a clearly impassioned Bitsy stammered over her heaving and labored breaths, "Once you've had another day or so to adequately recuperated from the traumatic ordeal that your body's been put through, I fully intend on the two of us climbing into that bed of yours - or, maybe be I should have been more precise and said our bed - and there, further your education into this new found womanhood of yours by showing you how those marvelous new attributes of yours work!

"For right now, though, we need to get you downstair and get to some food into you. Plus, to safeguard against dehydration, we need to get as much liquid into you as possible before you once again feel the need to go back to sleep, which, bye the bye, won't be all that longer in coming!

"So, needless to say, we best get crackin'!"

Wearing her own robe and a pair of Bitsy's socks, Sabra, keenly aware that there had been a significant shift in her center of gravity, gingerly made it down to the kitchen all on her own. There, having directed Sabra to take a seat at the kitchen table, Bitsy fixed her soulmate a heaping bowl of cereal and a large glass of Tang, suggesting that if Sabra could manage it, a second helping of both was not only available, but also advisable. Then, feeling that it would be extremely prudent for her to more or less forewarn Sabra about her mother's new youthful appearance, Bitsy, with a cup of freshly brewed tea in hand, joined her soulmate at the table and proceeded to do just that.

As the two sat talking about how Bitsy accomplished the feat of rejuvenating Mrs. Oats' appearance, Sabra's mother, with a couple of large shopping bags in hand, walked in the front door and, while in the process of closing it behind her, promptly call out, "It's just me! I'm home!"

Singing out from her seat at the table, Bitsy quickly replied, "We're in kitchen, Aunt Mary!"

Mrs. Oats, pleased to see that new daughter of hers up and about, starting with a huge hug and a warm welcoming motherly smooch, proceeded on to make a big deal about how terrific she thought Sabra looked as a female; continuing on to say how nice she thought it was going to be for her and Bitsy to have another women around the house. Then, though it took a few minutes before Mrs. Oats relinquished the floor, Sabra, though she did so amidst an every increasing number of yawns, returned the compliment; saying, in so many words, that her mother look terrific; adding as an afterthought that her mother had best be on her guard once Mr. O'Malley, the leering old widower and seemingly self-appointed neighborhood geriatric gigolo and all around busybody, who, unfortunately, lived directly across the street, got an eyeful of Mrs. Oats' new, youthful and ever so flattering appearance.

Fully aware that Sabra's yawns clearly indicated that that new daughter of hers would soon be heading back to bed, Mary Oats, saying that she had to attend to something upstairs, picked up her previously discarded shopping bags and politely excused herself. Bitsy, knowing what her Aunt Mary had in mind, picked up Sabra's glass; rinsed it out and, filling it with back up with tap water, handed it to her soulmate with instructions to drink every last drop.

A few minutes later, acting on Bitsy's prudent suggestion, Sabra, with her soulmate dutifully following on her heels, headed back upstairs. As the two of them entered the manly decor of the former Joshua Oats' bedroom, they found Mrs. Oats stuffing the second of two pillows into a shimmering white satin pillowcase.

Feeling far to done in to even offer a comment about her new lustrous bedclothes, Sabra allowed Bitsy and her mother to bundle her into the cozy comfort afforded her by her bed. Snuggling into the scintillating satin sheets, as fagged out as she was, Sabra was, in a matter of moments, soon fast asleep.

Placing a finger to her lips so as to caution her Aunt Mary against speaking, Bitsy, using her other hand, silently motioned that the pair of them out of the bedroom. Once in the hallway, having softly and silently closed the door behind her, Bitsy curiously inquired, "So, tell me, Aunt Mary! What else did you buy while you were out?"

"Well, since it's more or less a given that I'm going to have to purchase a whole new wardrobe for myself after what you went and did to me last night, I figured that since I was out anyway, I might as well get a start doing just that."

"So what did you get?"

"Two blouses. A pair of slacks. Several pairs of panties. And five new bras!"

"Five bras!" Bitsy exclaimed.

"Yes, child! Five!

"Though I failed to mention this to you this morning over breakfast, would you believe that I had a hard time finding a bra of mine that even came close to fitting me this morning! And, the one that I finally managed to squeeze into, was, to say the least, far to tight and constrictive and therefore, as uncomfortable as all get-out!

"In other words, my dear, last night, I do believe that you neglected to make mention of the fact that along with this new youthful appearance of mine, you also tampered around my breast, upgrading them from a sadly sagging 34C to an upstanding and magnificently pronounced 36D!"

"Oh, I did do that, didn't I?" Bitsy coyly replied.

"Yes, dear. You most certainly did!"

"Well, Aunt Mary! I can always change them back! You know, if you want me to..."

"No... As long as my back can handle them, I think I'd like to keep 'em! If, that is, that's all right with you?"

"Oh, it's perfectly alright with me!

"And, just so you know! You needn't worry about your back, Aunt Mary! I made doubly sure that it'll handle those new and improved attributes of yours just fine!

"So, tell me! What what's in that other bag, Aunt Mary?"

Hefting the shopping bag that Bitsy had eluded to, Mrs. Oats replied, "Another set of satin sheets.

"You see, while I fully intended on picking up only one set of satin sheets, when it came to a decision as to which color to pick, I had trouble making up my mind. So, since I wanted to get back here as quickly as I could, I decided that I might as well just go ahead and purchase both the white set I just now put on yours and my daughter's bed and a real pretty silver set they had as well."

"You are going to let me reimburse you for them, aren't you, Aunt Mary?"

"Heavens no, child!"

"But, Aunt Mary!" Bitsy complained.

"There's no 'buts' about it, Bitsy!

"I wanted to do something nice, something special, something for the two of you and I did it! Case closed! And, I don't want to here another blessed words about it! You here?"

"Knowing it was an argument that she wasn't going to win, Bitsy wised up and did the smart thing, with that smart thing being: she graciously thanked her Aunt Mary for her generosity, suggesting as she did so that while she really appreciated Mrs. Oats' kindness, she needn't make a habit out it.

To wit, Mary Oats got her dander up and emphatically responded that she would do with her money as she would; pointing out the fact that her house and car were paid for and that Mr. Oats had more than adequately provided for her with stocks, bonds and several life insurance polices and that while she wasn't by any stretch of the imagination wealthy, she was financially secure and that if she wanted to help that new daughterized son of hers and Bitsy out every now and again, she would. Besides, as Mary Oats proceeded on to informed a thoroughly chastised and tongued tied Bitsy, once her Sabra reached a point in her acclimation to this new womanhood of hers where she didn't need constant looking after, she fully intended to go out and find herself a job.

"I think that's great, Aunt Mary!" Bitsy proclaimed as she started down the steps.

"Tell me! Have you given any thought as to what you'd like to do?"

"No. Not really... Save that I know I want to do something..."

"Well, in that case, I think I might have something that might be right up your alley, Aunt Mary."

"You do?"

"Yes, I believe I do!"

"And just where would I be working if I took this job you're talking about?"

"At the Playboy Club with me!"

"You're not seriously suggesting that I become a Bunny are you?"

"No! Not a Bunny per se! But a Bunny Mother!

"You see, Aunt Mary, the woman that started off with the job of Bunny Mother isn't working out the way they hoped she would and, though he's doing it on the QT, the local manager is looking for someone to replace for her. And, I really think you'd be just right for the job."

"I would?"

"Yes, Aunt Mary! You would!"

"And just what would being a Bunny Mother entail?"

Bitsy, upon taking a seat on the sofa, began to explain. "Well, basically, you'd be responsible for scheduling and training all the Bunnies and making sure that we all adhere to rules and that our costumes are kept up to snuff..."

Just then, the phone rang and Mrs. Oats got up and went into the kitchen to answer it.

After what had been a fairly brief conversation with some nebulous someone on the other end of the phone, Mrs. Oats returned to the living room, saying as she did so that the call had been from the Music Emporium, informing her that the item she had order the week before had just arrived and that she could stop by anytime over the course of the next week or so and pick it up. Bitsy, wishing to afford her Aunt Mary some quality time alone with that new daughter of hers, prudently used the opportunity to suggest that if she could possibly borrow Josh's rust-eaten VW micro-bus for an hour or so that afternoon, she'd be more than happy to run out and pick up whatever it was her Aunt Mary had ordered.

A still slightly muddleheaded Sabra woke somewhere around three thirty that afternoon, only to find her mother, seated across the room in that rocker of hers, reading, as was her want, the current copy of the Readers Digest.

"Hi, mom." Sabra meekly managed. "Where's Bitsy?"

"She out, picking up something I ordered especially for you at the beginning of last week."

"And, just what, may I ask, is it?"

"It's a surprise! And, I think that you're going to like it! And, that's all I going to say about it right now!

So, please! I implore you! Don't ask me anymore about it! Alright?"

"Sure, mom! Anything you say!"

"So tell me! How's it feel being a girl now?"

"I'm not really sure yet."

"I mean, you've got to understand that I'm still pretty foggy-headed. You know, due to the aftereffects of that rather heavy-handed drug Bitsy had me drink to get the ball rolling last night.

"However, I do know one thing! Bitsy wasn't kidding in the least little bit when she said she was going to turn me into an extremely attractive girl!"

"No!" her mother concurred, "No, she wasn't.

"The truth of the matter is, Josh - Excuse me! - Sabra, irregardless of the fact that you're my own flesh and blood, I have to say that you are by far the most beautiful young woman that I, myself, have ever laid eyes on!

"And, that's saying something! Because, in my life, I've seen a lot of truly beautiful woman and, even though I might be a little bias about this, given the fact that I'm your mother and all, I must say: you out class them all!"

"Yeah..." Sabra finding herself pretty much sharing her mother's opinion, readily agreed. "I kind of thought so too...

"So, mom, what do you think? Are you going to like having a daughter instead of a son?"

"I most certainly will!

"I'll grant you that it'll take some getting used to on both of our parts, but the answer is: yes! While I'm going to miss my not having a son anymore, I'm going to absolutely loving having a daughter!"

"You do know that you're going to have to take it easy on me for awhile, don't you mom?

"I mean, that's to say that you do know that you're going to have to cut me some slack until I get used to being a girl?

"Of course I do, honey. I know that it isn't going to be easy for you to make the transition, but believe me: Bitsy and I are going to do everything in our power and then some to make it as easy for you as we can! Alright?"

"I know you will, mom. I know that you and Bitsy have my best interest at heart..."

"So tell me, Josh - Sorry! Sabra! - what, if anything, would you like me to do for you now?"

"Well, for starters, a hug would be nice..."

Mary Oats was quick to comply with that new daughter of hers' wishes.

Bitsy timing was impeccable. Having allowed Sabra and her Aunt Mary a good forty five minutes to say the things that needed to be said to one another, she waltzed in the front door, and as Mrs. Oats had done earlier, called out to appraised the house's occupants that she had returned home. Stashing the parcel she had pick up at the Music Emporium in the living room closet, Bitsy, having been thoughtful enough to having asked first if either one of them needed her to bring anything upstairs with her, upon receiving a 'no' form her 'second' mom for an answer, briskly mounted the steps to second floor, only to find her Aunt Mary helping Sabra into a sweat suit ensemble that Bitsy had prudently provide for just that purpose.

Saying that she had best go downstairs and attend to their dinner, Mrs. Oats informed her 'adopted' daughter that she could take over the chore of helping Sabra get dressed. Bitsy did so, handing her soulmate a pair of her own white socks to put on once Sabra had the sweat shirt in place about that sensationally revamped torso of hers.

Downstairs, as Mrs. Oats busied herself in the kitchen, Bitsy, having procured a glass of ice water for her soulmate and a chilled bottle of Coke for herself, proceed to give Sabra a fairly broad brush overview of some of the various things that would be occurring over the course of the next several weeks or so.

Then, upon informing her soulmate that she would begin teaching her how to achieve the mental disciplines necessary to perceive auras over the next several days so that she could eventually continued on to instruct Sabra how to go about modulating them, Bitsy continued on to appraise that new lesbian lover-girl of hers that the next morning, right after the three of them had breakfast, she would be temporarily turning Sabra's mother into a man.

"You can do that? You can actually turn my mom into a man?" a clearly astounded Sabra asked what was to her the obvious question.

"I most certainly can!"

"Alright! So you can do it! That brings me to my next question! Why in the world would you want to do something like that to my mother?

"I mean, you're not seriously suggesting that my mom actually wants to become a man, are you?"

"No! Relax! Believe me! Your mom doesn't want to becoming a man.

"She's only doing it on my instances, as, shall we say, an integral part of what I've been teaching her.

"Besides, by spending a good portion of tomorrow as a man, your mom will get a real insight into some of the stuff that you're contending with, that will in turn, help her to help you."

"So, tell me, Bits! Did that Aurora Nightwing of yours ever turn you into a guy?"

"No! No, she didn't...

"However, she did teach me how to do it to myself."

"You mean to tell me that you've actually been a man?"

"Oh, yeah! I've spent quite a bit of time as a man, if I do say so myself!

"Remember me telling about you about how I used a wig to disguise myself sometimes when I came to hear you perform?"

"Yeah!" Sabra replied uneasily.

"Well, I did do that! In fact, I did that on several occasions.

"However, more times than not, when I came to hear you, I came as a guy. Especially, when you were playing in one of the smaller, more intimate establishments. You know, like when and wherever the audience and the performer are seated up close and personal like!

"In fact, on several occasions when I was in the self-assumed guise of a guy, you and I actually talked with one another."

"We did?"

"We sure did!"

"Like when?"

"Like when you were playing at The Last Homely House over in Falls Church back in October."

"You mean to tell me that you were that guy who came up to me between sets and asked me if I would please do Bitsy's Song in my next set for him and, one thing kind of lead to another, and we ended up carrying on a rather lengthy conversation about where I got my inspiration for some of the songs I've written?"

"Oh, yeah! That was me alright!"

"No shit?"

"No shit!"

"Well, if that's the case, didn't we cross paths again in either late November or early December when I participated in that all day songfest over in Wheaton?"

"We sure did..."

"So, what your saying is: after you teach me what you're in the process of teaching my mom, I'll be able to turn myself back into a guy, you know, like whenever I want?"

"Yes..." Bitsy replied tentatively. "However, even though you will, I don't think your doing so is advisable until you're really, really comfortable with being a girl."

"That's understandable...

"However, it's nice to know that I'll always have the option. Plus, it'll be a real incentive for me to learn how to do it!"

Just then, Mrs. Oats poke her head around the corner and said, "I couldn't help overhearing what the two of you've have been talking about and, I just thought of something that, while it might sound a little perverted at face value, it also might be something for the two of you to consider. You know, down the road apiece."

"And what - Pray tell! - is that, Aunt Mary?"

"Well, though I haven't as yet told the two of you about this one and only reservation of mine, you know, surrounding this business of my son Josh becoming my daughter Sabra, my only regret was, and for that matter, still is: that I wasn't going to get to be the grandmother I've always hoped of becoming.

"However, this business about being able to change one's sex at will, suggests to me that my having grand children isn't outside of the realm of possibility, now is it?"

"No, Aunt Mary. It most certainly isn't! Specially so, since I would kind of like to be a mother myself one of these days."

"You would?"

"Yes, Aunt Mary. I most certainly would.

"Granted, Sabra and I haven't talked about this and the last thing I want to do right now is put any pressure on her, given all that she's contenting with right now, but yes: I would like to have at least one child myself and maybe even a couple more."

"And what about you, Sabra?" her mother playfully teased. "Now that you're a woman, wouldn't you like to give your mother a grandchild too?"

"Mom!" Sabra exclaimed in unrestrained alarm. "You're not seriously suggesting that I have a child!"

"Sure! Why not! Remember, you're a woman now! And, women have kids! So, why shouldn't you?

"You know, as in: in for a penny, in for a pound!"

"Right! And just who do you suppose is going to father this hypothetical grandchild that you want me to bear for you?"

"Why Bitsy of course!

"You know, as in you'll father the children she bears and she'll simply return the favor by fathering the child or children you bear."

Needless to say, a good deal of her mother's proposal surrounding the child bearing business didn't sit at all well with Sabra. While she couldn't as yet come to terms with the disparaging notion of becoming a mother herself, Sabra did take a shine to the idea that she could, via a little transitory metaphysical manipulation on her part, father the children she had always planned on fathering at some point in her life and it further heartened her to no end to hear Bitsy affirm the fact that not only did she want to become a mother herself, but that she also dearly wanted Sabra to be the one who would impregnate her when the time came for them to settle down and raise a family.

"Sabra!" Bitsy, reaching across the table and taking her soulmate's hands in hers, gentle intoned in an all out effort to draw Sabra out of her introspective ponderings. "Your mother was just teasing you!"

"No she wasn't!"

"Oh, yes she was! So don't you go copping and attitude on us! Alright?

"Look! While it's true that this new body of yours can indeed become pregnant, that doesn't mean it's going to all on its' own!

"And if it does, and I'm not the one to do it, you, missy, are going to find yourself in a heap of trouble!

"Remember what I told you, you know, about how that new body of yours is as much mine as it is yours? Meaning: if you think for one moment that I'm going to let some horny assed SOB have his way with you, then you've got another think coming! Because, believe you me! I'm not!

"In other words, this motherhood business is nothing more than an option!

"No one..." Bitsy stopped in mid sentence.

"Aunt Mary! Can you hear me?"

"Yes!" Mrs. Oats called out from the kitchen. "I can hear you just fine!"

"Good! I glad! Because what I'm sayings applies to you as well as does to me!

Locking eyes with her noticeable distraught soulmate, Bitsy returned to what she had been saying before.

"No one - And that's a promise! - is going to pressure you into having a baby! Not me! And certainly not your mother! Alright?

"If, someday you find that you'd like to have a go at having a baby, fine! If not, that's fine too!

"Right, Aunt Mary?"

Calling out from the kitchen, Mrs. Oats, acknowledging the fact that she had been dead wrong to have teased Sabra about becoming a mother, whole hearted agreed with Bitsy's prior statements as she echoed Bitsy sentiments about how Sabra wouldn't have to do anything that she was uncomfortable doing, other than the stuff she had to do to pass herself off as a woman, such as wearing women's clothing and makeup and all that other razzmatazz that born and bred women normally did on a day in, day out bases.

Having taken another moment or so to further console Sabra with the hope of smoothing out those ruffled feathers of hers some more, Bitsy prudently suggested that, since dinner was almost ready, the two of them should lend a hand and set the dinning room table.

Dinner, as always, was delicious and Sabra, feeling the need for sustenance, wolfed down her food. Then, after a generous piece of Mrs. Oats homemade apple pie, washed down with a cup of coffee that Bitsy allowed her in return for Sabra's sworn promise to drink several glasses of water that evening to offset the diuretic effect of the coffee, Mary Oats got up; went out and into the living room; opened the hall closet and produced the package that Bitsy had stash there earlier. Returning to the dinning room, Mrs. Oats passed the package to Sabra, directing her to open it as she did so.

Sabra did as directed, only to find a medium sized, rectangular shaped, hardshell musical instrument case, which in turn, contained a standard, black painted, fifteen chord-bar Oscar Schmidt autoharp nestled within the plush lined felt interior.

"Mom! You shouldn't have!"

"And why - Pray tell! - shouldn't I have?"

"Because, you shouldn't be spend your money on me like this!"

"That nonsense and you know it!

"Look! As far as I'm concerned, that insurance money we got from those polices of your father's is as much yours as it is mine!

"Besides, Bitsy here is right about how you shouldn't be using your old instruments out in public for a good while, if ever.

"So, I just figured that since it'll be a quite awhile before the Martin Company will be able to fill the order on that D28 that I also ordered for you, that autoharp should put you in good stead when you find yourself ready to get that music career of yours underway again...

"Oh, and just so you'll know, while I really wanted to get you a new longneck banjo as well, I wasn't sure as to exactly which one you wanted to replace that Ode of yours. So, tell you what, you tell me which one your interested in and we'll see what we have to do to order you one. Alright?

A thoroughly delighted Sabra replied that not only was it alright, but that her mother really didn't need to do what she was doing; saying, rather emphatically, that once she reached a point where she was out working, she fully intended to repay her mother for the instruments.

Replying with a whimsically and dismissive, "We'll see..." Mary Oats continued on to asked, "So, tell me! Do you like it?"

"Oh, yeah! I like it a lot!

"I mean, is the very one I've been eyeing up for sometime now!"

"Well," Bitsy, adding her voice to the conversation, "are you going to just sit there looking at that new autoharp of yours? Or, are you going to play us something?"

"Oh, I'll play you something alright! However, before I do, I need to go get some picks out my guitar case!"

"You just stay put and keep your mother comapany!" Bitsy returned briskly. "You just tell me which picks you want and where to find them and I'll go get 'em for you!"

"Well, I need a thumb pick and - I guess! - two National fingerpicks! You know, the metal ones that I wear on my index and middle fingers when I'm playing my 12-string."

A few minutes later, having re-adjusted the metallic fingerpicks to fit those dexterously lovely fingers of hers, Sabra cradled the autoharp against those new endowments of hers and pushing the appropriate buttons, strummed each of the fifteen chords.

"Sounds sweet and surprisingly, it's in tune!"

"They said they re-tuned it this morning." Bitsy asserted.

"Well, they seemed to have done a fairly good job of it."

"Okay!" Sabra's mother chimed in. "So, come on, how about playing us something!"

Strumming a C Chord, Sabra attempted to do just that, as she strained to sing the opening line of 'The Long Black Veil'.

"Whoa!" Sabra exclaimed in feigned dismay. "This new voice of mine isn't going to let me sing that one in the Key of C anymore! Better try it in the Key of D!"

She did and, after a little trial and error, found that her voice was not only lovely and as clear and crisp as a singer could what, but also granted her a range that was damn near phenomenal.

As Sabra ended the song with a flourish stroke of her thumb that ran, bass to treble, across the autoharp's conglomeration of muted and un-muted strings, she looked Bitsy square in the eye and exclaimed, "You weren't kidding about the voice business, were you?"

"Are you saying that you like that new voice of yours?"

"Like it! I love it! It's absolutely, no holds bar beautiful! And, I can't even begin to thank you enough for it, Bits!

"Granted, I'll probably have to transpose all my songs into other keys in order to sing 'em with this new feminine voice of mine, but I'm not complaining! After all, that's what they make capos for!"

On Bitsy and her mother's urgings, Sabra, delighted them with a few more song and then, acting on her soulmate's suggestion, returned the autoharp to its' case so she and Bitsy could clear the table and attend to the dishes as the two of them normally did in the evenings. Then, having tidied up the kitchen and dinning room, the two of them join Mrs. Oats out in the living room.

"Okay, girls!" Mrs. Oats spoke up, gaining Sabra and Bitsy's attention as she did so. "I'm not trying to be a Killjoy here, but I think it prudent for me to run down the rules again! First off, let me say that I don't mind the two of you cuddling and holding hands in front of me! I don't even mind it if you kiss each another every now and again, just as long as you don't get to carried away with it! Understand?"

Sheepishly, they both replied that they did and so, Mary Oats continued, "Fact is: I'd be concerned if the two of you didn't kiss one another every now and again!

"However, I would appreciate it if you two refrain from engaging in any sort of heavy lesbian stuff while I'm around!

"What I saying is: while the two of you are free to do whatever you want to do behind closed doors, given my druthers, I'd really rather not have to see any of it! Alright?"

Once again, both girls acknowledged that they would refrain from engaging in anything of an overtly homosexual nature while in Mrs. Oats' presence.

"Okay! Now that that's out of the way, I've only got one question!" Mrs. Oats said. "Why in the world are the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch? You know, when it is perfectly obvious that you both want to cuddle up next to one another?

"Go ahead, Sabra! Scoot yourself down there next to Bitsy! You know, so the two of you can snuggle to your hearts content..."

The three of them watched TV until shortly after nine, when Sabra, with a yawn, announced that she was sleepy and that, though she'd like to stay up a little while longer, she thought it would be for the best if she headed up to bed. Bitsy, saying that the vigil of the night before had taken its' toll on her as well, replied that she was also tuckered out and so, said that she thought it would be prudent for her to turn in as well and so saying, got to her feet and accompanied her soulmate to their bedroom. Mrs. Oats, asserting that she would make sure that the house was lock up tight for the night and attend to turning off all of the downstairs lights before following them up, made the decision to call it a night unanimous.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them were all sound asleep.

The satin sheets worked like a charm. On a subliminal level, the hours spent with the sinfully sensual feel of the satin sheets against her skin, combined with the aura laced post-hypnotic suggestion that Bitsy had so cunningly planted, had broken down Sabra's libido-driven resistance and pretty much primed her for the calculated ploy that Bitsy was to play shortly after waking that Wednesday morning.

Though thoroughly embarrassed to find herself making such a silly request, Sabra, upon seeing her soulmate slip into a scintillating pair of mint green satin panties and a sexy matching satin bra, sheepishly asked Bitsy if she had another pair of similar undergarments that she could perhaps borrow; suggesting, in so many words, that the coarse fabric of the sweatshirt that she had worn the prior evening, had, in fact, mildly irritated those super-sensitized nipples of hers. With a, "Why of course you can." Bitsy quickly furnished that new bedmate of hers with a shy blue hued set of the very same style of satin underwear that she had cunningly selected that morning to don; informing the former Joshua Everett Oats as she helped Sabra fasten the bra about those new nifty protrusions of hers that if her soulmate found that she liked the way they both fit and felt, Sabra was to just go ahead and consider them hers.

"Bits! This is going to sound really weird!" Sabra gleefully exclaimed as she released the panty's elastic lined waistband and let it snap against her lower abdomen, totally unaware that she was feeling the effects of Bitsy deja vu ploy. "But, though this is the very first time I've ever worn female underwear, while I have to say that I do feel a wee bit icky and out of sorts, I don't feel anywhere as icky and out of sorts as I thought I would!

"I mean, though I can't believe I'm actually saying something as crazy and absurd as this, I find that I kind of like the way they make me feel! Not to mention, the way this new body of mine looks wearing 'em!

"I mean, I feel so down right sexy right now that I do believe that if I still had a guy's thing - I mean to tell ya! - given how turned on I am right now, it's a safe bet that it would be well on the way to becoming as hard as a rock right now!

A few minutes after that, both girls, looking to all the world like sisters, entered the kitchen wearing tight fitting jeans and bulky knit, turtleneck sweaters, with the only easily discernable difference in their outfits being: Sabra's sweater was white; whereas, Bitsy's was a bright, eye-catching, golden yellow.

After a hardy breakfast of pancakes, sausage and bacon, washed down with fresh brewed coffee and a tall glass of orange juice, the three of them went back upstairs to the master bedroom. There, under Bitsy's directives, they arranged themselves on the floor at the foot of Mrs. Oats' bed, Indian fashion, with their knees touching one anothers.

"Hopefully, Sabra" Bitsy began, "if I can get you to clear your mind and just let yourself relax, I might be able to use this resonate, metaphysical whatever you want to call it of ours to wield enough control over you to be able to once again combine our auras so that you can gain a fairly good insight into what I'm about to do to your mother.

"Aunt Mary. While I'm trying to meld my aura with Sabra's, what I want you to do is to just work on establishing a euphoric, transcendental state for yourself. Alright?"

Though she wasn't looking forward to what was to come, Mary Oats, having more or less reconciling herself to spending the greater portion of the day as a man, complied with Bitsy's request by taking several deep, cleansing breaths to begin the process.

"Alright," Bitsy softly intoned, as she gently reached over and lovingly enfolded Sabra's left hand within the ever so tender embrace of her right one, "just breath in and out with me.

"That's the ticket. Now, focus your thoughts on your breathing and my voice and nothing else.

"Good girl!

"Now, I want you to picture an image of a lit candle in your mind's eye.

"Got it?"

"Yes..." Sabra replied in a wafting and fragile whisper.

"Good...

"Now focus all your thoughts on just the flame..."

Gently, flowing like a river of intricately laced ambrosia, Bitsy's aura effortlessly entwined itself within the porous fabric of Sabra's pastel hued metaphysical essence, melding them as one within a idyllic cocoon of the singularity of shared coexistence within the celestial firmament of God's unending promise.

Sabra, in her subservient role, opened her eyes under Bitsy's mental urgings only to perceive a sparkling, effervescent tendril of raw metaphysical power extend outward from the all encompassing halo of their interlaced auras. A half a heartbeat later, Sabra felt the warm inflection of hers mother's love backwash across the extended tendril as Bitsy began the oh so intricate task of modulating the pastel coloration of her Aunt Mary's aura; causing the ever so serene and pleasing hues of Mrs. Oats' aura to grow bolder, brighter and more defined with each and every passing moment.

Then, it was done. Bitsy's, with a blissful and heartwarming pulse of her and Sabra's unqualified love for the older woman, gently broke contact with Mary Oats' masculine re-attuned aura and swiftly withdrew the controlling tendril. Quickly, acting so as to ensure that her soulmate had the opportunity to fully view the physical change that her aura manipulation had just then and there engendered, Bitsy began to unravel the delicate weave of their interlaced metaphysical personas.

Jarred and more than a little saddened by the heart wrenching unbinding of their auras, Sabra, on Bitsy's urgings, watched with rapt attention as her mother began to change into a man.

Unlike Sabra, Mary Oats' perception of the changes that were progressively bestowing manhood upon her physicality, was neither dulled nor diluted by a drug induced stupor. Meaning, that unlike that new and ever so fetchingly beautiful daughter of hers, she could provide Bitsy and Sabra with a running commentary on everything that was happening to her.

Mary Oats' transition to manhood occurred rapidly. In something under ten minutes, her body fluidly went from being unquestionable female to being discernible and undeniable that of young, thirty-something male.

"Mom!" Sabra's voice resounded with raw and rebellious sense of incredulity. "Is that really you in there?"

"Yes!" in a husky and unquestionably male voice, Mary Oats replied, as she began to pat her new self down in an effort to ascertain the damage. "It's me alright!"

"How are you feeling, Aunt Mary? I mean, you are alright, aren't you?"

"Other than being more than a little disoriented and completely unnerved by the whole experience, I do believe that I'm doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances!"

"So, tell us!" Bitsy urged. "How's it feel having a man's body?"

"Strange! Really strange!

"Good! It should feel strange! If it didn't, then we'd have cause to be concerned..."

As one might expect, that particular Wednesday was a one strange and mixed up day for all concerned at the Oats'. Everyone, including Bitsy, felt the residual effects of Mary Oats' short tenure as a man. Sabra, though she knew it was completely idiotic and extremely paranoid on her part to harbor such feelings, especially so since it concerned her mother, felt uneasy and, at times, actually threatened by the mere presence of a male in their household.

As ill founded and as admittedly asinine as Sabra's problem was, it stemmed from the fact that her mother, who had, on Bitsy' suggestion, adopted the male name Mark to go along with that masculine attuned persona of hers, now had a penis that could - theocratically speaking - fit snugly up inside of that new vagina of hers.

Like some ghastly specter, born in the whirling torment of a paranoia infused surrealistic nightmare, the merest contemplation of such an incestuous invasion of those new femininely crafted loins of hers gave Sabra an extremely pervasive and unrelenting case of the heebie-jeebies.

Though she told herself, over and over and over again, that she was being ridiculous feeling the way she was feeling, for a good while there, Sabra felt extremely threatened by Mark's presence. However, as the morning spilled over into the early hours of the afternoon, Sabra, without any form of intervention on Bitsy's part, found that uneasiness of hers begin to slacken to a point where she began to feel a lot more comfortable interacting with her mother Mark.

Later, as the three of them sat about the dinning room table, playing a cut-throat game of Monopoly and basically, just having a good old time together, Bitsy, who was well aware of all the strange and almost palpable undercurrents that had been stifling her companions' earlier interactions, offered up her take on the matter.

"Well, it seems to me that the two of you are doing a whole lot better dealing with the current situation than either of you were this morning. And, that's good! I congratulate you both!

"Fact is, Aunt Mary - Excuse me! - Uncle Mark! Let me say that you're handling your first foray into this manhood business a whole lot better than I did!"

"I am!"

"You most certainly are!

"I mean, while your mannerisms are still just a tad bit to effeminate for you to risk venturing out of the house for the time being, you seemed to have adjusted to this reapportioned body of yours just fine. And, I think it's safe to say that with a little practice and concerted effort on your part, you won't have a bit of trouble passing yourself off as the man you appear to be.

"Now, in so far as our little Sabra here is concerned, though it was nip and tuck there for awhile, I must say, in the last hour or so, she seems to have gotten beyond those earlier qualms of hers."

"What qualms?" a mildly befuddled Mark Oats curiously inquired. "Just what in the world are you talking about, Bitsy?"

"I'm talking about how that new manhood of yours has unnerved Sabra here!

"You see, Uncle Mark, you were so caught up in dealing with a body that is - I guess you could say. - one hundred and eighty degrees out of sexual sync with that staunchly female attuned mind of yours that you failed to take note of the effect that that temporary manhood of yours was having on her."

"Oh! Okay! You're right! I guess I have been kind of preoccupied at that!

"So tell me, what effect was this manhood of mine having on her?"

"To put it bluntly, Uncle Mark. It intimidated the hell out of her!

Directing his next comments towards his daughter, Mark Oats asked, "Is that true? Does my being a man intimidate you?"

"It doesn't anymore. But, it did..."

"How come?"

Knowing that her beloved would have a hard time putting her misgivings into words, Bitsy, having seen the very same sort of reaction on numerous occasions before, stepped into the breech and alleviated her soulmate of the need to explain herself.

"For the first time, Sabra came face to face with the realization that she was, shall we say, vulnerable. That she was no longer the instigator of a sexual act, but rather, the recipient and the irrefutable knowledge that she could now be violated unnerved her to know end."

"It did?"

"Oh, yeah! Rest assured! It most certainly did!

"You mean to tell me that she actually saw me - Her own mother! - as some sort of threat?"

"In one respect, the answer to your question, Uncle Mark, is: yes. In another, it's: no.

"What I saying is: she didn't see you, per se, as a threat to that new virginity of hers. But more so, what you, as a male, represents.

"In other words, your becoming a man this morning served a two fold purpose.

"On one hand, the insight that you've gained this morning, not to mention, that which you will also gain later this evening when I re-modulate your aura to set things aright, should put your metaphysical training on the fast track, so to speak; helping you to achieve over the course of the next several weeks what it might have otherwise have taken you months or even years to master. And on the other hand, it served as an object lesson to drive home the point that, as far as sexual matters are concerned, our little Sabra here is definitely now on the receiving end of things."

The Monopoly dice hadn't been kind to Sabra and due to that fact, she was the first to go bankrupt. And, since she hadn't as yet played that new autoharp of hers that day, she politely excused herself; saying that she was going to go upstairs; go to the bathroom and then, keep herself occupied by playing some music for awhile up in her and Bitsy's bedroom.

Sabra's leave taking presented Bitsy with the perfect opportunity to make a suggestion that she deemed to be both apropos and extremely educational.

"Uncle Mark! Look! I don't no how to say this tactfully! So, since you've only got a few more hours to log as a man, I just going to say what I have to say and have done with it! Okay?"

"Sure, sweetie! You just go ahead and say whatever it is you have to say to me and have done with it."

Bitsy, though she did so with a good deal of trepidation evident in her voice, did as her Uncle Mark directed.

"I'll tell you exactly what Aurora Nightwing told me, you know, the first time I ever turned myself into a guy!

"As much as you might not like doing this, in order for you to get a better insight into what being a man is all about, you need to go upstairs to the bathroom and masturbate. You know, in the time you have left."

"You're not serious!"

"Oh, but I am Aunt Mary - Excuse me! - Uncle Mark!

"As much as it might disgust you to do something like that to yourself, you really need to do it!"

"And why - Pray tell! - do I really need to do it?"

"For the experience!" Bitsy offered to buttress to her proposal.

"Believe me, Uncle Mark! It's a real eye-opener!"

"Oh, I can just bet it is!

"You're not pulling my leg here, are you? You're really serious about me doing this, aren't you""

"No, Uncle Mark! I'm not pulling your leg! And yes, I am serious about you at least giving it a try!

"Believe me! You really need to do this!

"In fact, I insist that you do it!"

"And if I don't, what are you going to do? Leave me like this?"

"No! No threats! I wouldn't do that to you! No matter what, I'll turn you back whether you do it or not!

"It's just that I think that you ought to avail yourself of the opportunity! You know, in order to get some first hand experience of how the other half lives!

"Believe me! Though you might think so now, trust me! You won't regret it!

"Fact is: you'll probably end up enjoying it!

"I know that I sure as hell did!"

"You did?"

"Yes, Uncle Mark! As ashamed as I am to admit it, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience! So much so that I made it a point to repeat the experience each and every time I turned myself into a man!"

"Okay! So tell me, Bitsy! In th off chance I give this rather perverted suggestion of yours a go, how - exactly - do you suggest I go about doing it?"

"You do fantasize every now and again, don't you?"

Sheepishly, Mary/Mark Oats replied, "Well, yes... I guess I do... You know, like every once in a great while..."

"Good! That's a start!

"A picture might also help to put you in the mood. You know, of some guy you really, really like! You know, like perhaps a movie or television star or something along those lines! You know, that you can use as an erotic focal point for your endeavors! You know, that'll help to you reach a sate of arousal!

"Then, once you've manage to arouse yourself, you just sort of go with the flow and do what comes naturally!

"Believe me, Uncle Mark! While that female mind of yours might not know what to do, that body of yours most assuredly does..."

Though he did so without any undo fanfare, Mark, having given Bitsy's suggestion one hellacious amount of introspective forethought, while his two charges attended to the after dinner chores, elected to availed himself of the privacy that the bathroom afforded him, and played an erotic and ejaculation producing game of pulling his own pud.

Later, when the three of them were making preparations for the metaphysical intervention that would restore Mary Oats to her normal state of being, Mark, with a wink, nod and a smile, all three offered in conjunction with a quick flash of a short lived thumbs up gesture, communicated with Bitsy; confirming the fact that he had complied with her suggestion and, in doing so, confirmed her assertion that, all in all, it had been a most pleasurable and enlightening experience.

By eight thirty that evening, the deed was done and Mary Oats was happily, once again a very attractive and aura enhanced thirty-something appearing woman.

Following Bitsy's metaphysical intervention, on Sabra's suggestion, the three of them went downstairs and enjoyed another piece of homemade apple pie and a fresh brewed cup of herbal tea apiece. Then, upon finishing her tea, Mary Oats said that the rigors of the day had taken their toll on her and because of that, she was calling it a night and heading off to bed. Sabra and Bitsy, saying that they'd be up in awhile, opted to have another cup of tea before heading up to bed themselves.

Having followed her soulmate's example, Bitsy placed her teacup, saucer, pie plate and utensils in the sink for washing with the next day's breakfast dishes as she innocently inquired, "So, tell me! Just how tired are you?"

"Actually, now that you've mentioned it, I'd have to say that I'm not tired at all.

"I guess that's because of how much sleep I've been getting these last few days.

"How 'bout you, Bits? Are you getting sleepy?"

"No, though I probably should be, I'm not tired yet either."

"So, since neither one of us is ready to call it a night," Bitsy casually proposed, "how about you and I go up to bed?"

"Go to bed! Why in the world are you suggesting that the two of us go to bed when neither one of us is anywhere near ready to go to sleep?"

"Why do you think?" Bitsy, with a wickedly impish grin flashing across her face, returned in a most coquettish manner.

"Oh!" Sabra exclaimed once Bitsy's implication dawned on her. "You mean: go to bed! So the two of us can fool around?"

"Exactly!

"Now that you've flushed most, if not all of that hallucinogenic out of your system, I think it's high time that I give you a proper introduction into how all those new girlish gadgets and erogenous zones of yours function!

"In other words, young lady, I strongly suggest that you prepare yourself to be thoroughly seduced and then expertly ravaged! You know! Like up one side and down the other!

Energetically, with an appraising eye firmly affixed on the seductive gyrations of her soulmate's delectably sculptured derriere, Bitsy sprang up the steps in Sabra's wake.

Entering the room, Bitsy spun Sabra about and, in a very manfully way, enfolded that shapely new lesbian lover-girl of hers into the heated embrace of an impassioned lover. A kiss, as impassioned as the embrace that spawned it, was quick to follow.

A confusion of tongues, brought the couple up short; producing in its wake a titillating cascade of poorly stifled giggles and muted guffaws from both of the participants.

"Alright, already!" Bitsy finally managed. "It appears that the two of have a slight problem here! Meaning: before we proceed any further, we need to come to a meeting of the minds!

"Though I fully expect you to return the favor - Tit for tat! - once you've had an adequate amount of time to, shall we say, recuperated from what I'm about to do to you, for right now, all I want you to do is: lay back and just enjoy what I'm about to do to this beautiful new body of yours!

"In other words, Sabra, you're not to worry about me or my pleasure right now!

"You're not the instigator here! I am!

"Like I said, later, after I attend to you, we'll reverse the roles and then you can make me squirm and whimper the way I'm about to make you squirm and whimper!

"For right now though, you need to understand that I'm the one who's going to be doing the all the love making!

"Your job is: to just kick back and enjoy the experience!

"Alright?"

Though she did so reluctantly, Sabra, under Bitsy thinly veiled threat of duress, gave up the ghost and halfheartedly agreed; saying that she would do her utmost to restrain herself from doing what used to come naturally.

Eager to get down to the business at hand, Bitsy expeditiously helped Sabra out of her clothes and then, quickly doffed her own. Then, wrapping Sabra in another impassioned embrace, Bitsy backed that new lesbianized lover-girl of hers to the foot of their bed and from there, down onto the sensual luxury of its' scintillating satin sheets.

Lacing their auras in a subliminal and non-obtrusive manner in order to create a muted down resonating bond by which she could gauge but, in no way become overwhelmed by the effectiveness of her own ministrations, Bitsy, with a tongue intrusion of a manfully delivered and passion infused French Kiss, began in earnest to turn her soulmate into an unmitigated, self-proclaimed, pillow eating nymphomaniac of the First Water. Taking her time, targeting first Sabra's lips before moving down to her sublimely fashioned aristocratic neck stalk, Bitsy cunningly used her own lips and a swirling motions of the tip of her tongue to delicately entice her partner to entertain the elusive possibilities of those new distinctly feminine needs of that thoroughly revamped body of hers.

Opening a second front with her right hand, Bitsy began to entice first Sabra right nipple and, in due course, her left one as well to raise - phallic like - to the occasion. Slowly, savoring the sheer and utter enjoyment of the moment, Bitsy, proving herself to be somewhat of a sexual sadist as she did so, moved those ever so luscious and decidedly delicate lips of hers from neck to nipple, as she took her hand and began to teasingly trace a deliciously descending path around the quivering dimple of her soulmate's belly-button and continuing down across Sabra's quivering and spasmodically undulating lower abdomen, only to lift away as that delicately well manicured and ever so lovely nailed hand of hers came in contact with the upper fringe of her bedmate's newly tamed and trimmed mat of golden hued pubic hair.

Re-targeting her caressing hand to first one and the other of Sabra's inner thighs, Bitsy, with a slow, agonizing, swirling motion of her nails, began, in a leisurely series of circular feints and retreats, to draw ever closer to the apex of Sabra's primordial desires. Concurrently, with a kiss and a full circular sweep of her tongue as a precursor, began to ardently suckle - baby like - on Sabra's left teat!

Then, knowing that she had enslaved her soulmate to the ardent desires of that well proportioned new body that she had so artistically bestowed upon her, Bitsy, taking a great deal of sadistic pleasure in the doing, inserted the tip of her middle finger into the hindmost omega of Sabra's secretion slickened vaginal swath and, ever so slowly, ever so delicately, ever so timidly, began to draw it tantalizing forward, moving ever closer to towards the alpha of her soulmate's lustful needs.

Opting to delay the onslaught of clitoral contact so as to intensify the eagerness of Sabra's longings, Bitsy, lifting her finger clear, repeated the incursion. Once! Twice! And, the all so important third time, ere she homed in upon the ever so elusive orgasmic engendering nub of the former Joshua Everett Oats' very own clitoral prominence.

Zing! Sabra's body bucked as Bitsy's finger gingerly caressed that wondrous, new little erogenous trigger of hers.

Zing! Sabra rocked. She reeled. She rived under Bitsy unrelenting clitoral ministrations.

Zing! Sabra whimpered. She cried. She screamed, as her frenzied string of impassioned entreatments began to madly cascade and compile, one upon the other.

Zing! She maniacally and repeatedly beseeched the Almighty on High to grant her succor as her hips began to spasmodically buck in wild cadence to the excruciating amounts of unmitigated and unimaginable pleasure that Bitsy was lavishing upon her.

Then, just when Sabra thought she had reached the apex of physical pleasure, Bitsy shifted positions. Leaving her soulmate's nipples to fend for themselves, Bitsy settled her torso down in between those long, lovely and welcoming splayed legs of Sabra's, and without any sort of preamble, lowered her head to that new lover-girl of her's loins and, with a deliberate and impish swirling motion of her saliva lubricated tongue, began to lovingly administer the selfless act of cunnilingus.

Employing random licks, teasing tongue swirls, puckering nibbles and full blown clitoral lip sucks, Bitsy, plunged Sabra into an erotic maelstrom of carnal cravings that temporarily eradicate any and all influence that her soulmate's manly attuned mind could bring to bear. Helpless to do anything else, Sabra, with yet another tortured entreatment directed at the Almighty, embraced her womanhood as she reached the crescendo point of her longings and entered into the spasmodic wonderment of a gut-wrenching multi-orgasmic release.

Bitsy, upon becoming keenly aware that it would take but one more lick on her part to unleash the all consuming and tsunami like primordial rampage of multi-orgasmic fulfillment, began to hastily remove the mental dampers from the resonate impressions she was metaphysically privy to as a result of the intertwining of their auras; there by, allowing herself to enjoy about seventy five percent of the orgasmic pleasure that that new lesbian lover girl of hers was on the cusp of experiencing.

Jolt after jolt of pure, unadulterated, erotic, paroxysmal convulsions rippled - Doppler like - radiating outward from the clitoral epicenter of Sabra's new sexual being; in essence, confirming the fact that, irregardless of the bothersome certitude that her mind was as male as it always had been, she was definitely and inarguably a full fledged and card carrying member of the fairer sex. Furthermore, Sabra, once she found the elusive and fragile wherewithal to do so, realized that, as ludicrous as it might seem, she was thoroughly elated with the irrefutable fact that she was indeed a woman.

A few minutes later, having allowed her soulmate plenty of time to savor all the intrinsic nuances of her first multi-orgasmic experience as a female, Bitsy pleasantly inquired, "So tell me! 'Cause I'm dying to know! What'da think?"

"It was absolutely fantastic!" Sabra breathlessly replied.

"To say I like it, would be nothing less than the grossest of understatements!

"I mean, even with what you did for me Monday evening, you know, to give me, shall we say, an insight, or, I guess you could say, a preview as to how it felt to be on the receiving end of things, I've got to tell you: that as pleasurable as that experience was, I have to say that it paled in comparison to what you just up and went and did to me!"

"So, I take it that you're saying that you like it?" Bitsy impishly sought clarification.

"Like it! I loved it! I absolute - No holds bar! - love it!

"I mean, it was so friggin' fantastic it isn't funny!"

"So, I take it, that when it comes to the sexual aspects of this new femininity of yours, you're starting to take a shine to being a girl, huh?"

"Yeah..." Sabra returned shyly. "I guess I kind of sort of am!"

"Good! You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that! Because, like it or not, little lady, you might as well know that I have full intentions of putting that little new you-know-what of yours through its' paces on a damn near day-in day-out bases from here on out!"

"You do?" Sabra questioned gleefully.

"Oh, yeah! I most certainly do!

"Oh! I'm curious! Tell me! What do you think about all those other new erogenous zones of yours? I mean, don't you just love how those rather nifty new titty-whitties of yours respond to stimulation?"

"Yes! Yes! I most certainly do! Fact is: I think they're absolutely terrific!

"I mean, not only do they look great! But, though they're going to take some real getting use to, I have to confess: they feel great too!"

"So, in a round about manner of speaking, I take it that you like 'em?"

"Oh, yeah! I like 'em a lot!"

"So, getting back to that new and every so elusive clitoral protrusion of yours, tell me! Did you like it when I went down on you? You know, and gave you, what you might call a little lip service?" Bitsy coyly inquired.

"You bet your sweet ass I did!"

"Sabra!" Bitsy teasingly chided. "Though that male mind of yours has yet to fully accept the fact, there is no getting around the fact that the rest of the world will accord you as a young lady you've become! So, please! I implore you! Try to watch your language! You know, in so far as your choice of words!"

"Besides, irregardless of what men might think, we girls don't have asses! We have tushes! Or, if you want to get fancy, you can always call that new and nicely rounded rump of yours a derrieres..."

A few minutes later, having discussed and explored the varied and numerous impressions that Sabra had managed to gleamed from her initial orgasmic experience as a newly conscripted woman, Bitsy, who was eager to have her soulmate return the favor tit for tat, suggested, in a very tongue in cheek manner, that turnabout was indeed fair play. Sabra, needing no more urging than that, got down to the business at hand, only to find that Bitsy was once again employing the resonance harmonics of their entwined auras to provide her with an instantaneous and most pleasurable, though much muted-down, metaphysically derived feedback on her love making techniques.

In other words, Bitsy, in an all out effort on her part to tweak and improve both of their lesbian love making techniques, arranged things in such a way as to have Sabra experience a toned down version of the erotic pleasures that she herself was enjoying via her soulmate's manfully couched ministrations.

Over the span of the next several hours or so, the two of them seesawed back and forth, servicing one another carnal needs until they found themselves so tuckered out that, during the blissful and mutually savoring of the warm-fuzzies of yet another multi-orgasmic afterglow, they fell fast asleep entwined within the comforting embrace of one another's arms.

In order to be home for that Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday in order to help Sabra get off on the right foot as a newly ensconced member of the Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice Club, Bitsy had done some real highfalutin finagling with some of her Bunny cohorts and the soon to be terminated Bunny Mother in order to arrange to be off for an unprecedented three full days in a row. And due to that fact, she knew that come Friday, she was going to have to start paying the piper. For the next seven consecutive days, Bitsy, decked out in the regalia of a fluffy tailed hutch denizen, would find herself putting in an ungodly amount of time at the Playboy Club, pulling double shifts in order to repay some of the debts she had incurred.

That being the case, that particular Thursday was to be Bitsy's last full day home with Sabra for the near to immediate future and because it was, she was bound and determined to make the most of it. Right after breakfast, having informed her Aunt Mary that it might be wise for Mrs. Oats to tag along so that she could be on hand to get some idea of what sort of stuff to cover with Sabra in her absence, Bitsy marched that disgruntled pupil of hers upstair and into their bedroom. Taking a no nonsense approach, Bitsy, after a moment or so of indecision, selected a pale pink bottle of nail polish from the bureau and seated herself on the bed. Removing her socks so she could start with her toenails before moving on to those delicately tapered fingernails of hers, Bitsy began to demonstration the proper method of applying nail gloss. Passing the bottle of nail polish to a noticeable disconcerted and mildly agitated Sabra, Bitsy, with a tone of voice that clearly affirmed the fact that she was not about to be dissuaded by any argument that her soulmate might mount, directed Sabra to try her hand at applying the pink nail gloss, first to her toenails and proceeding from them to those distinctly long and lovely new feminine fingernails of hers.

Though it irked her to no end to have do so, Sabra did a reasonable good job with her first attempt at applying the nail polish, prompting Bitsy to suggest that they tackle the art of lipstick application next.

"Do I really have to?" Sabra painfully intoned.

"Yes! You really have to!" Bitsy insisted.

Sabra didn't to do anywhere near as well with the lipstick business as she had with the nail polish.

Fact is: she ended up with a pair of lips that looked all lopsided, overstated and ludicrously clownish.

"Don't worry, dear." Mary Oats chimed in, hoping to pacify her daughter's qualms. "Believe me! While it might take a few days, you'll get the hang of it soon enough."

"Here!" Bitsy said, handing her beleaguered soulmate a Kleenex. "Whip that mess off and give it another try."

"Sabra's second attempt was a far cry better than her first and her third, better yet.

"See!" Bitsy gleefully offered comment. "You're doing better and better all the time!

"Trust me! Your mom's right! In a couple of days, you'll have it down pat!"

Though she had wanted to move on to other areas, such as: blush, mascara and eye-shadow, Bitsy, aware of how frustrated Sabra was progressively becoming, decided that it might prove beneficial for her to hold off on the rest of the makeup business until sometime later in the day.

Taking both of Sabra's hand in hers, Bitsy maneuvered her soulmate to the foot of their bed and seating herself, proceeded, via a gentle urging tug, to draw Sabra down onto it beside her. Looking the former Joshua Everett Oats square in the eyes, Bitsy, without mincing words, lay it all for that new lesbian lover-girl of hers.

"Alright, Sabra! Though I know you aren't going like hearing what I'm about to suggest - You know, not in the least little bit - but, the simple fact of all this is: you're a girl now and we girls do wear dresses and skirts from time to time!

"So, even though neither your mother or I have any intentions of forcing you into wearing either one or the other of them out in public, you know, until you've reached a stage where you're ready to do so on your own, I really think it's in your best interest to at least try wearing something with a skirt around the house for at least a couple hours everyday from here on out. You know, just to help you get accustomed to wearing something with a skirt.

"Look! Having heard it numerous times before, you know, from all those guys I had a hand in chaining into girls, you know, when I was living out in Western Maryland, I already have a pretty good idea of what you're going to say! You know, about how you have no intentions of ever wearing either a dress or skirt! You know, like now or in the future! But, trust me! Since you're going to have to bite the bullet and wear one eventually, I think you'll find that wearing one around the house will go a long way into helping you make the transition. Besides, there's no getting around the fact that a skirt will help you walk and sit more like the young the lady that you've become. You know, as in wearing a skirt will help you concentrate on losing all those oafish and very unladylike mannerisms of yours!

"I mean, while I know it's going to be hard to break you of the habit, you've really have got to stop crossing your legs like a man!

"Believe me, a skirt will go a long way into helping you do just that! You know, as in a tight fitting skirt will tend to constrict you movements and there by, serve as a constant reminder that you're are a girl now and that if you wish to cross your legs, you will have to do so in a much more demure, ladylike manner than your use to!"

Though it took a good bite more cajoling on Bitsy part, garnished well with a fair about of supportive input from her mother, Sabra finally gave up the ghost and reluctantly acknowledged that her bedmate's proposal had merit. However, though she did, before actually complying, Sabra made both Bitsy and her mother promise - a cross your heart, hope to die kind of promise - that neither one of them would ever try to pressure her into wearing either a skirt or dress to venturing out of the house in; dogmatically adding that she would only do so when she was comfortable doing so on her own.

Aware that her aura laced post-hypnotic suggestions, couple with the reenforcing double whammy of the subliminal deja vu effect would go a long way into negating the alien and icky feelings engendered by Sabra's donning of such feminine attire, Bitsy made the promise without qualm or quibble and, with a knowing smile and a wicked conspiratorial wink, clandestinely urged her Aunt Mary to do likewise.

Bitsy, having had the good sense to have prepared for the ploy, quickly reached into the closet and from it, produced a shopping bag which contained an unopened package of the sheerest and silkiest coffee hued pantyhose she could find, plus a sexy looking, denim, blue jean styled, stitched and pocketed, hip hugging mini-skirt.

Though it was plan to see that Sabra was more than a little bit squeamish about trying on what was to her, a male libido affronting piece of feminine apparel, once she began the odiously offensive task of reluctantly drawing the pantyhose up those ultra feminized legs of hers, she experienced an unexpected epiphany that in turn, triggered a damn near instantaneous change of heart. Even as the sheer and silky texture of the diaphanous nylon garment settled ever so snugly about the well turned calf of her leg, Sabra was keenly aware of the fact that the pantyhose had somehow worked their wondrous magic, transforming the encased portion of her leg into a thing of rare and scintillating beauty. Concurrently, Sabra's manly attuned mind was thoroughly captivated by the electrifying and sublimely exotic feel of the pantyhose as she continued to draw them ever so slowly, ever so seductively upon those sexy long legs of hers. 'Holy shit!', her mind clamored and careened in frenzied disbelief. "I'll be damned if these silken bay boys aren't turning my legs into one huge and self-stimulating erogenous zone!'

Though Sabra would have fervently and feverish denied the suggestion that such was the case, the pantyhose had pretty much sealed her fate. From there on out, though she would fight it tooth and nail, it was pretty apparent to both onlookers, that Sabra was going to take to the wearing women's apparel like a duck takes to water.

"Alright, kiddo!" Bitsy knowingly smirked, as she proffered the denim mini-skirt. "See if you can manage to figure out how to climb into this all by your lonesome!"

Sabra, though she was far from ecstatic about it, complied with her soulmate's directive.

Zipping the zipper and fastening the brass button as she would have had she been putting on a pair of jeans, Sabra was struck with the same sort of eerie familiarity that had accompanied her previous donning of the pantyhose. Oddly enough, though it was an elusive feeling at best, Sabra was beset with the fleeting impression that wearing skirts was something she had done many, many times before, all the while perversely aware that she hadn't ever worn a skirt before in her life. It somehow felt right. It somehow felt natural. And that perplexed Sabra to no end, not to mention, annoyed the shit out of her as well.

"Is there something wrong, dear?" her mother tentatively inquired.

"No... Not really... It's just..." a mildly confused Sabra replied dreamily.

"It's just what?" Mrs. Oats prompted.

"It's just that I'm not feeling like I thought I would."

Joining in on the conversation, Bitsy prudently asked the obvious question, "Oh! And just how did you think you'd be feeling?".

"Well..." Sabra began thoughtfully, "I thought I'd end up feeling really awkward and uncomfortable and more than a little out of sort. You know, wearing a skirt for the first time."

Seeking clarification, Bitsy returned, "And you're not?"

"Well... I am. But, no way near as much as I thought I would be.

"I mean, though it's going to take a little getting use to, I have to confess: as crazy as it sounds, it all feels sort of natural and, though I'm almost loath to admit this, you know, given how kinky it's going to sound, I kind of think I going to really enjoy wearing nylons.

"I mean, there's no getting around the fact that I love the way they make my legs feel!

"Trouble is: dressed like this, I kind of feel all leggy and exposed."

"Well," Bitsy replied with a hint of a delighted giggle garnishing her rejoinder, "given the fact that you kind of sort of are, you know, all leggy and exposed, what with that skimpy and rather snazzy mini-skirt you're wearing, I sorry to have to report that that's just something that you're going to have to get use to!

"Okay! Now that you've got the skirt on, let's see how well you can walk in it! Remember! Your not a guy anymore! Your a young lady now! So, my advice to you is: take itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, little steps and you'll do just fine!"

Keeping Bitsy admonition in the forefront of her mind, Sabra, thinking herself through each and every step she took, started towards the window and upon reaching it, having taken a second to glance down upon the yard below and her mother's garden that would, due to the advent of spring, soon need attending to, pivoted about and with a deep breath to reinforced her resolve, gingerly retraced her steps.

"Good girl!" Bitsy proclaimed with unrestrained pride. "You did good! In fact, you did real good! Better, in fact than I expected!

"What do you say to upping the ante and your trying that again; this time though, wearing a pair of women's shoes?"

"Yeah! Right!" Sabra smirked. I mean, you're not seriously suggesting that I try walking around in a pair of those lofty stiletto heels of yours are you?

"No, silly! I most certainly am not!

"I was thinking more in the line of something a little less intimating, something a little more manageable, something with a much lower heel to start off with, something, shall we say, more along the line of these!" Bitsy gleefully proclaimed as she impishly produced a utilitarian pair of black leather, U-throated slip-ons, supported with an easily manageable, slightly tapering one inch heel from out behind her back where she had been surreptitious concealing them.

"However, if you would like to try a pair of my high heels..."

"No!" Sabra emphatically replied as she reached over and accepted the shoes that Bitsy had prudently selected for her. "That's okay! I mean, as much as I liked to see how I'd look in a pair of those spiked heels of yours, I think I'll take your suggestion and start off with these, if, that is: that's alright with you?"

As anticipated, Sabra, who, as Josh, was an old hand at dealing with cowboy boots that had a slightly higher heel than the smart looking slip-ons that Bitsy had provided her with, managed to repeat her prior maneuver handily.

"Great! We've found a pair of shoes you can handle!

"Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that, I'll have you try on another pair of my slip-ons that have heels that are about twice as high as the ones you have on now. And, as soon as you master those, will move you up to a pair of pumps that have three inch heels and before you know, you'll be able to wear the same height of heels that I do!"

"I will?" Sabra retort was laced with what Bitsy took to be a eager sense of anticipator glee.

"Yes! You most certainly will!

"Truth be told! I'd be willing to bet you that by this time next week, you'll be wearing the same height of high heels that I do!

"Now, how about we exchange that turtleneck sweater of yours for a blouse; which, I guess you could say: is nothing more than a shirt that, for all practical purposes, buttons up the other side? You know, from that which you are use to!"

Aware that it would do no good at all to argue, Sabra, with a pouting expression, dejectedly acquiesced to Bitsy newest proposal, saying as she did so, "Well, since the two of you are bound and determined to turn me into to your own real live, full sized, walking, talking Barbie Doll, I might as well go whole hog and try on a blouse too!"

"That's the spirit, girl!" Bitsy proclaimed as she headed for the closet and began to rummage around, looking for the very blouse she had in mind.

Calling back over her shoulder, Bitsy continued on to say, "I mean, since it's like they say, you know, about if you've got 'IT', you might just as well go ahead and flaunt 'IT'!

"And since you've got 'IT' in spades, you know, what with that bodacious new body that I've gone to great pains to fit you out with, I do believe that I've got the very blouse that will help you do just that!"

And with that said, Bitsy turned and proudly displayed a brilliant bronze hued, billowing sleeved satin number that couldn't help but attract the attention of onlookers, turning the males among them into admiring oglers in the process.

"Alright, already! Look! I'm well aware of the fact that it's not the kind of blouse that one normally wears to lounge around the house in! But, given how much you dig satin, Sabra, I think we can make an exception. Okay?"

Sabra, who was internally chomping at the bit to try on the blouse, readily agreed.

A minute or so later, having compelled Sabra to model her outfit for them by prancing back and forth a few times, Bitsy made a suggestion.

"Tell you what, Aunt Mary! How about you see if you can do something to tame that new daughter of yours unruly head of hair and I'll go hunt up my Polaroid Camera and put one of those new film cartridge I purchased the other day in it?

"I mean, it's high time we had some pictures of this new little lady of ours!

"And what better way to start than to take a few to commemorate Sabra's very first day dressed in a skirt and blouse! You know, looking to all the world like a young lady is supposed to look!"

"I mean, we really do need to record this monumental event for posterity's sake, now don't we?

"Then, after I take a few pictures of her, since we have about an hour or so to go before lunch, what I'd like to do is to have a one on one session with our Sabra here in order to show her how to go about using Aurora's 'Inner Journey' to achieve a transcendental state. You know, that will in turn allow me the wherewithal to teach her the same sort of metaphysical things that I've been teaching you..."

"So how she do?" Mary Oats inquired of Bitsy as those two 'daughters' of hers strolled into the kitchen.

"She did great! Far better than I ever expected!

"I mean, though it doesn't surprise me, you know, not in the least little bit, you know, given how easily you took to it, Aunt Mary. You know, as in: like mother; like daughter!

"But I must say: when it comes to the inherent ability to be able to tap and channel one's metaphysical potential, as easily as it was for the two of us, this little Sabra of ours takes the cake!

"I'll grant you, she started off a little ahead of the game, you know, given all of the various sort of things I've been doing with her, you know, in so far as me and my tinkering around with her aura and all!

"But, even with all of that, I'm still amazed at not only how easily she achieved a transcendental state, but how quickly as well!

"And would you believe, though it was short lived at best, she's even been able to perceive auras!"

"She has, has she?"

"Yes, Aunt Mary! As incredible as it sounds, when we came downstairs just now, I had her take a look out your front window. And would you believe: she actually caught a fleeting glimpse of the aura of that nosey neighbor of yours who lives directly across!

"I mean, she was actually able to accurately describe all the little nuances of its' color variations to me!"

"Wow! That is something, isn't it?"

"It most certainly is, Aunt Mary! It most certainly is..."

While Sabra, who had been cajoled into taking a turn in the kitchen, was busy preparing a lunch which would consist of grill cheese sandwiches and Cambell's Tomato Soup, Bitsy, with her Aunt Mary's valued input, set about compiling a list of things that needed to be covered with Sabra on a daily bases in her absences.

Starting that Friday, Sabra, upon waking, would attend to things revolving around her own personal hygiene and, under Bitsy supervision, get dressed in either a skirt or dress ensemble; attended to her hair; put on makeup and then and then only then, head downstairs for breakfast, which she would be preparing under her mother's supervision. Afterwards, as Sabra busied herself preparing for a day at the Playboy Club, Sabra was to spend the next hour or so helping her mother around the house; learning the ins and outs of how to pass herself off as a typical, husband-pleasing, domesticated little housefrau. Them, somewhere around ten, she was to go upstairs to the privacy of her and Bitsy's room and there, practice meditating for a good half an hour. Afterwards, if her mother hadn't any further need of her help, Sabra was free to indulge herself by practicing her music until somewhere around twelve; where upon, she would once again join her mother in the kitchen and there, aid her mom in the preparation of their noon day meal.

After lunch, Mrs. Oats was to march that new daughter of hers back upstairs and have her first re-style her hairdo and then, move on to remove and, subsequent to that, re-apply her makeup. Following that, on Bitsy suggestion that it would do her soulmate a world of good to actually undertake a study revolving around how women were to accord themselves in various contrived and farfetched situations, though it rankled the living shit out of Sabra to find herself coerced into doing so, Mrs. Oats was to have that new daughter of hers join her in the living room and there, have Sabra spend a considerable amount of her weekday afternoons watching a minimum of at least two of her mother's favorite soap operas. Then, once that loathsome, male libido affronting obligation was attended to, Sabra was to go back upstairs to the bedroom and there, spend another half an hour engaged in transcendental meditation. After that, though it was common knowledge that her mother wasn't for one minute fouled by the obtuse and misleading Orwellean-like terminology that Bitsy had elected to use when making out her soulmate's schedule of daily activities, Sabra was to go to her room; strip down to those new satin skives of hers; plop herself down in front of the stand alone dressing mirror that she and Bitsy had, with permission, purloined out of Mrs. Oats' bedroom and there, in the privacy of her and Bitsy's lesbian love-nest, indulge herself in a no holds bar sessions of touchie-feelie, auto-erotic, self-exploration; that was tasked with Bitsy's sternly delivered admonishment that it was not to end until it produced a multi-orgasmic crescendo of gut-wrenching femininely attuned pleasures.

Understandable, though Sabra always felt a little funny and thoroughly uncomfortable about assuaging those damn near insatiable and omnipresent narcissistic carnal needs of hers, given the fact that her mother was normally just downstairs watching television while she worked away at the afghan she was knitting for those two daughters of hers, it was something Sabra fervently looked forward to attending to each and every afternoon.

Then, once that was taken care of, until Mrs. Oats called her down to help with dinner, Sabra was free to do whatever she wanted to do, which generally turned out to be either catching up on her reading or returning to her music. After dinner, once the mess was cleaned up, it was back upstairs again and with either her mother or Bitsy or both looking on, Sabra, seated at a card table that would was temporary severing as a makeshift vanity, went through another session of removal and re-application of makeup. That was normally followed by Sabra relocating to the bed and the subsequent removal of nail polish that preceded her taking the bubble bath that Bitsy insisted she take. Once toweled off, having blown dry the wealth of beautiful and full body golden tresses of hers, Sabra, dressed in a scintillating and unabashedly sexy electric blue stain robe and rather suggestive matching teddy and bikini ensemble that Bitsy had provided her with on becoming a woman, returned to the bed and re-applied nail gloss to both feet and hands. An hour or so of TV watching followed, where upon, and after catching up on the day's events with Bitsy during the numerous commercial breaks, the two of them got up and, with a endearing kiss directed upon Mrs. Oats' cheek, bid that 'mother' of theirs a goodnight, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite, ere they headed upstairs to assuage and enjoy those damn near insatiable carnal needs of theirs.

That Friday, Bitsy returned home and cheerfully informed her Aunt Mary that she had arranged an interview for her with the Playboy Club's manager for the following Monday at nine thirty in the morning; suggesting as she did so, that the two of them could ride in on the bus together, since, as Bitsy pointed out, she would be working both the first and second shift that day in order to satisfy one of several of the obligations she had incurred in order to arrange for those three days off in row. Though Bitsy had taken the extra precaution of tweaking up her Aunt Mary's appearance just a smidgen, turning Sabra's mom into an absolutely stunning thirty something looking woman in the process, as it turned out, it probably wasn't necessary. Mrs. Oats, who, ironically, had grown up just down the street from the Club's manager, was hired on the spot, on the condition that she was available to fly out to Chicago on the following Sunday so that she could be on hand to audit a Bunny School that was scheduled to get underway on the following Monday and there by, get her feet wet as she began her indoctrination into the Club's rather stringent policies. Then, after her stint in Chi Town, she'd be off to the Los Angles Club for a couple of days of OJT before flying down to the Dallas/Fort Worth Club to round out the week. A week at the New York Hutch would follow that, in which Mary Oats would assist the The Big Apple's Bunny Mother in running a training session for prospective Manhattan Cottontails before returning home to take over the local duties that fell into the bailiwick of a Playboy Club's Bunny Mother.

Initially, Mrs. Oats was extremely apprehensive and somewhat reluctant about having to let that new daughter of hers fiend for herself during the days of her pending three week absence. However, as it grew closer to her schedule flight out to Chicago, it became clearly apparent that Sabra was quickly coming to terms with that newly imposed womanhood of hers.

Truth be told, by the following Tuesday, having something just under a full seven days under her belt as a fully functional member in good standing of the Crotch Creased Club, Sabra, irregardless of the fact that she insistently fussed, fumed and complained about the absurdity of it all, had the makeup and hair styling business pretty much dicked. Bitsy's aura laced, post-hypnotic suggestion ploy, bolstered by the subliminal impact of the deja vu business, coupled and compiling upon the mega dosages of pure, unadulterated narcissism that she had been saddle with as a direct result of being turned into the feminine embodiment of her surrealistically staged wet dreams, worked wonders on Sabra; turning her into an unmitigated, real live, walking, talking and thoroughly scintillating fashion statement in the process.

Right from the get-go, it became fairly obvious that Sabra's choice of feminine attire, had, and would more than likely, continue to have a marked tendency to be on the sassy and flirtatious side of the clothing aisle. And that, as one might imagine, caused her mother no end of amazement, amusement and to a lesser degree, some motherly concern for her daughter's future welfare where men were concerned. However, Mary Oats was also quick to realize that if by dressing in such flamboyantly flirtatious, tease to please, male libido torquing apparel would help that former son of hers warm to his new lot in life as a girl, then, as far as Mrs. Oats was concerned: it was all for the well and good.

To that end, Mary Oats made a pact with herself, a pact she was bound and determined to keep. She would do her damnedest to restrain herself form putting in her own two cents worth; keenly aware that it might prove counter-productive were she to do the motherly thing and offer Sabra the prudent suggestion that it might be in her daughter's best interest to take a much more conservative approach when it came to the type of clothing that she was showing a marked tendency to select for herself.

Oddly enough, the more Mary Oats saw her daughter lounging around the house in outfits that tended to flatter those new rather nifty and magnificent attributes that Bitsy had bestowed upon her, the more Mary Oats began to rethink her own take on the matter of wearing such fashionable attire herself. Though she was nowhere near as attractive as her daughter was, Mary Oats knew that for a forty something year old woman who looked to be no older than her early to mid thirties, she look good. Fact is: she knew that she looked damn good! Better in fact than most of the women who where still in their early twenties. Then, factoring in the knowledge that she was going to be working at the Playboy Club in the managerial role of Bunny Mother and would therefore, have to dress the part, she began to toy around with the notion of giving that new daughter of hers a run for her money by going out to work dressed to the nines herself.

To that end, Mary Oats came to the decision that it was high time for her to hit the stores and upgrade her wardrobe with some stylish new outfits.

Keenly aware that as house-bound as that new daughter of hers had been, Sabra was developing a sever case of cabin fever, Mary Oats, upon making mention of the fact that she was heading out to a couple of department stores shortly after breakfast that Tuesday, proceeded on to inquire as to whether or not Sabra might like to accompany her.

"Are you serious, mom?

"I mean, I want to get out of the house so bad it isn't funny!

"Trouble is: I don't know if I'm ready to actually tackle going out in public as a girl yet!

"I mean, it's kind of a scary proposition! You know, what with me and my being a girl and all!"

"Are you saying that you'd rather not go?"

"No! I'm not saying that at all, mom!

"I mean, I'd really, really like to go along with you!

"It's just I'm not sure if I ready to take the plunge!

"You know, as in it's kind of intimidating!"

"That's perfectly understandable, dear. But believe me, while it's true that you still have some work to do on talking more like the young lady you've become, as long as you're careful and watch your Ps & Qs while we're out, you'll do just fine!

"Truth be told: Bitsy was after me to get you out the house for a couple hours on Sunday."

"So why didn't you?"

"Well, let's just say that when I thought about it, I thought it best if we just wait until you were ready to do so on your own.

"So, what do you think? Are you ready to take the plunge and go out and do a little shopping with me? Or, would you rather just stay here in the house all by your lonesome?"

Fifteen minutes later, having changed into a sweeter, a pair of blue jeans and wearing a pair of Bitsy's demi ankle Beetle boots, that stood on stylish tapered three inch heels, Sabra, prudently using the handrail to steady herself, excitedly bounded down the stairs, informing her mother that she was both ready and eager to go as she did so.

"You might think you're ready, but take it from me, young lady, you're not!

"I'm not?" Sabra replied with some surprise.

"No, dear! You're not!"

"You need this!" Mary Oats matter-of-factly pronounced, as she proceed on to extend an old black leather purse that she used from time to time towards that new daughter of hers. "Here you go, Sabra! Just slip the strap over your right shoulder!

Sabra did as directed, prompting her mother to continue. "I mean, even though it hasn't got a single blessed thing in it, we might as well start you off on the right foot by getting you accustomed to carrying around a handbag with you. After all, now that you've become what you've become, it's a cinch that you'll going to be carry one from here on out.

"So, dear! Now that we're ready to waltz out the door, let me ask you one more time. Are you sure you're up for this?"

With a degree of trepidation clearly evident in her voice, Sabra resignedly replied. "Yes! I think so.

"I mean, since I'm going to have to bite the bullet and do so eventually, not to mention the fact that I really need to get out of the house before I go stark raving mad and start climbing the walls, the way I see it: I might as well just go ahead and do it and get it over with!

"You know, as in: the sooner the better! Right?"

"Right!" her mother cheerily concurred.

"Oh! One more thing!

"Are you sure that going to be able to handle those heels?

"I mean, you only started with three inch heels the day before yesterday..."

"Yeah, mom! I think so! Maybe, just maybe, I'm being a tad bit foolhardy about attempting it, but, all things considered, I think I'll be able to manage them just fine!

"Beside, they'll go along way into helping me to remember to walk like a girl now and not plod along like the gangling, uncoordinated clodhopper that I use to be before Bitsy up and pulled the old sexual switcheroo on me!

"Alright, then! If you're sure about this, why don't we get this show on the road and head on out!"

"Mom!" Sabra complained over lunch. "You're spending way to much of your money on both me and Bitsy!"

"Nonsense!" Mary Oats returned curtly, dismissing her daughter's complaint out of hand. "If I want to spend money on the two of you - And, I think it's fairly apparent that I do! - that's my prerogative! Alright?"

"No, mom! It isn't alright!

"Look! You've bought me an autoharp and put money down on a new guitar for me, so, while I thank you and am in your debt for doing so, I really don't want you spending any more of the money you got from dad's life insurance on either Bitsy or myself! You know, because you might need that money for yourself one day!"

With a raw edge of sternness icing her words, Mrs. Oats countered, "Let's get something straight here! I'm the mother! You're the daughter! And, as long as I'm capable of managing my own life, I will do what I please with my money! And for right now, what I want to do with my money is to spend it on the two of you! You know, to one: get you things that you need, and two: to show how much I appreciate all that Bitsy's up and done for the two us, I want to pick up a few things for her as well!"

"Oh, so like I really needed both of those pairs of boots you bought me?"

"You like them don't you?"

"Well of course I do! Fact is: I like them a lot!

"That's why I was having so much trouble picking which pair I wanted to buy!

"And then, what do you do! You stepped in; took charge and damn if you didn't just go ahead and tell the sales girl to ring up both pairs!

"But that's not the point, mom!"

"That's exactly the point, oh daughter of mine!

"You liked them! I wanted you to have them! And so, I just went and bought them for you!

"Besides, your father - God rest his soul! - wasn't only merely over insured! He was over insured and then some!

"And, I'm not even talking about all those dividends checks I'll be receiving on a quarterly bases!

"Your father, the hard head man that he was, took all, or at least most of that overtime money he was making for all those many years and, instead of buying me that house out in the country like I always was after him to buy for me, he went and purchased stock with it. AT&T! Polaroid! Utilities! You name it! He bought it!"

"Believe me, Sabra! If I didn't want to go back to work, I wouldn't have too!

"But, the truth of the matter is: I do want to go back to work! If nothing more, just to get out the house and out among people again!

"That means, starting Monday of next week, we'll have two incomes coming into a house that's fully paid for! We'll have both mine and Bitsy's!

"And, within a couple of months or so, once the authorities get you settled in with your new identity, it's a pretty safe bet that you'll probably be getting a job as well! Meaning: eventually, there'll be three incomes coming into our house instead of two!

"So, in a round about way, what I saying is: please don't give me a hard way to go! If I want to spend a little money on you, you know, to show you how much I love you and how happy I am that you're my daughter now and that you're not going to be drafted and risk the very real possibility of going to Vietnam, where you might have ended up getting killed or maimed or have something else just as dreadful happen to you...

"Oh! And while we're on the subject of money, guess what? You still haven't told me what you want to do about acquiring a new banjo! You know, because I still have it in mind to get you one..."

That evening, while Sabra was upstairs taking the bubble bath that her soulmate insisted she take on a nightly bases, Bitsy, upon re-positioning herself on the sofa so that she could converse with Mrs. Oats without having to raise her voice above the level of a whisper, sought to assuage her curiosity as she surreptitiously inquired, "So, Aunt Mary, tell me! How did it 'really' go today?

"I mean, did Sabra really do as well as you said she did?"

"Yes! All things considered, I'd have to say: yes! She did well.

"In fact, she did very well. Much better than either you and I ever thought she would."

"Good! I'm really glad to hear that. You know, because had she had a bad experience at this stage in the proceedings, she could have suffered a major setback."

A few minutes later, employing the same sort of conspiratorial decibel level that Bitsy had started off with, Mary Oats broached another subject.

"Guess what I did today?

"I ordered Sabra a new banjo from that company out in Boulder Colorado that she likes so much."

"You did? That's great!"

Then, after a slight hesitation, Bitsy continued on to ask, "Does Sabra know that you ordered her a banjo?"

"Yes. Yes, she does.

"What she doesn't know is: when I typed up the order for her, I went behind her back and ordered her an even better model than one she selected. You know, because I wanted her to have the very best one they made they made."

"You did get her another longneck, didn't you?"

"Of course I did, dear! Believe me, while I don't know a whole lot about banjos, I do know my son! Excuse me! I goofed again! I keep wanting to refer to Sabra as my son when she's my daughter now!

"So, let me try that again!

"What I should have said was: while I don't know a whole lot about banjos, or didn't, you know, until I went over that catalog of Sabra's with a fine tooth comb when I was working up the order this afternoon, I do know my daughter!

"I mean, it more or less goes without saying that when it comes to banjos, I am well aware of the fact that my daughter wouldn't want anything but another open-back longneck! You know, because, as she has so often tried to explain it to me, a longneck allows her the ability to play in any key with either the 'G' or 'C' chord progressions."

"So what did you get her? Another aluminum rim model?"

"No... No, I didn't!

"I mean, even though that's what she said she wanted at first, when she showed me the catalog, I asked her why she didn't want one with a wooden rim. You know, instead of am aluminum one. Where upon, she informed me that their aluminum rim banjos were a whole lot less expensive than their newer wooden rimed models.

"So I asked her if, in all honesty, she wouldn't want a wood rim banjo over an aluminum rimed one and, though she hemmed and hawed a bit, she finally came clean and told me that, while she didn't want me to spend anymore money than I had to get her a replacement for the one she has, that given her druthers, that 'yes', were money no consideration, she would go with the top of the line wooden rim model."

"So, that's the one you ordered for her?"

"No. While she thinks I did, when she was busy in the kitchen preparing dinner for the three of us this evening, I went behind her back and ordered her a custom made banjo with all the bells and whistles she wanted, but was afraid to ask for!"

"You didn't!" Bitsy was clearly amused by her Aunt Mary's act of motherly defiance.

"Oh, but I did! And is she ever going to be surprised when it finally arrives!"

"Knowing you the way I do, Aunt Mary, I'll just bet she will be!

"So tell, what - exactly - are all these bells and whistles that are going to make Sabra new banjo so darn special?"

"Well, for starters, instead of position dots, Sabra's new banjo is going to have mother of pearl scroll inlays running the whole length of its' ebony fret board. An for another, its' armrest, tail piece and that slotted chrome ring that holds the plastic head in place are going to be hand engraved with what looked to me to be a flowing flora design, much the way those fancy smancy banjos of yester year were. It'll have a rosewood strip running up the center backside up its' curly maple neck. Likewise, its' rim, peghead and heel will have rosewood caps. Plus, though it raised the cost considerably, I went the extra mile and opted to have the heel of the neck, you know, where it attaches to the rim, hand craved in a scroll pattern as well. You like, much like they do with furniture. Plus, I went with the 12:1 Grover tuning pegs that Sabra said she likes.

"Then, given the fact that they've re-styled the design of the peghead in a way that Sabra isn't all that keen on, I asked them if they could see their way clear to using their old scroll peghead styling for Sabra's banjo over the new design they're using now; with my stipulation being: that I would be more than willing to reimburse them for any trouble they incur in fulfilling my request."

"Wow! You really went whole hog, Aunt Mary!"

"Yes. I guess I did at that...

"But, when you consider how much enjoyment Sabra gets out of her music, especially when it comes to the banjo, not to mention how much enjoyment others have and, no doubt will, derive out of her future performances, all in all, I think I'm making a very good investment."

"So do I, Aunt Mary. So do I..."

Starting on that Tuesday and continuing right up through the following Saturday of that new daughter of her's second week as a functioning female, Mary Oats went shopping. Sabra, once again presented with the option to either tag along or remain at home alone, though she found that she did so with successively diminishing amounts of trepidation, after a moment or so of indecision, elected in each instance to accompany her mother on her shopping sprees; knowing intuitively that getting out was doing her a world of good.

Sabra was way far more comfortable with the proposition of going out on Wednesday than she had been on Tuesday. Likewise, Thursday was better than Wednesday. And Friday, given the fact that Bitsy was off and therefore, able to tag along, was by far the very best of the bunch.

On Mrs. Oats' suggestion that they celebrate their time out together by making the day a special one, they decided to kick off the morning by going out to a restaurant which featured breakfast as their round the clock speciality. Then, after a morning of high impact shopping at a newly opened mall on the north side town, they grabbed a bit to eat and managed to arrive at a near by theater in time to catch an afternoon matinee of Barbara Streisand in the recently released film Funny Girl.

Sunday, though both Sabra and Bitsy had gotten out of the habit of attending church services on anything close to what one might think of as a regular bases during their senior year of high school, in deference to Mrs. Oats' flying out of town for a three weeks stint away from home, decided that going to mass that morning with her was the right and proper thing for the two of them to do. To that end, without any prompting whatsoever from the peanut gallery, Sabra elected to wear a simple, but far from understated dress for the first time out in public. Selecting a smart and youthful looking, scalloped neckline, slinky silk, primarily blue hued paisley print A-line, that showcased one hell of a lot of those very attractively sculpture thighs of hers, Sabra donned the dress and a new pair of navy blue high heels that her mother had purchased for her two days before.

"My, my!" Bitsy whimsically teased as she re-entered their bedroom from the bathroom, offering her soulmate an unsolicited comment as she did so. "Are we being a wee bit daring today, girl?"

Seeking clarification, Sabra asked, "Are you referring to my dress or these high heels I'm wearing?"

"Actually, though it was your choice of heels that perked my interest in the first place, now that you mention it, I guess both!

"I mean, don't get wrong here! You know, because, for my money, you look absolutely stunning in that dress!"

"Good enough to eat?" Sabra, being a smartass, sought to clarify the matter.

Taken aback by her soulmate's offhanded remark, Bitsy, caught off guard and unsure as to whether or not the double entendre conveyed by Sabra's choice of words had been intended or not, stumbled and stuttered stepped through her reply, "Well, yes!

"I mean, while you always look good enough to eat to me, and I have to say that it certainly is a most tempting offer and I appreciate it! I really do! I'm sorry to have to tell you this, sweetcheeks: but, given all the running that we're going to be doing today, what with our taking your mother to the airport and all, I'm not going to be able to attend to that little matter until sometime later this evening.

"So, until then, I suggest that you take that damn near insatiable horniness of yours and put it on the back burner for the time being, young lady!

"I mean to tell you! Old Man Adam had Eve the Apple Picker to tempt him! And, me? Well, I've got you!

"And belive me when I say this, Sabra! You, my dear, are a first rate temptress if ever there was one!

Impishly, Sabra, savoring the jest, returned tease for tease. "You mean to tell me that even were I to get down on my knees and beg you to pretty please do me, you wouldn't!"

Grinning for all the world like Alice's Cheshire Cat, Bitsy, running a comb through her hair as she did so, replied slyly, "You know something, Sabra! They're right! You know, about how no good deed goes unpunished!

"I mean, here I turn you into the girl of not only my dreams, but your dreams as well, and how do you repay me?

"You, young lady, hound me to death to get me to, as you say, 'Do you!'

"I mean, there's no getting a round the fact that when I turned you into a girl, I created a monster in the process!"

"Monster!" feigning to be hurt by her bedmate's accusation, Sabra demanded an explanation. "What do you mean, calling me a monster?

"There's absolutely nothing monstrous about me! You know, because I'm gorgeous!"

"Yeah! You're gorgeous alright! Maybe a little to damn gorgeous for your own good!"

"What do you mean?" Sabra was no longer pretending. This time her retort resounded with a raw sense of hurt that was all too real and heartfelt. "Explain yourself!"

"Sorry! Didn't mean to ruffle your feathers!

"What I meant was: I not only turned you into a girl. I turned you into an unadulterated narcissistic nymphomaniac to boot!

"I mean, while it's fully understandable why you are the way you are right now, you - girl! - have sex on the brain! You know, like damn near all the time!"

"And, whose fault is that?" Sabra heatedly charge.

"Mine!" Bitsy was quick to acknowledge the fact that she was indeed the responsible party.

"And, when push comes to shove, I have to confess: I wouldn't have it any other way!

"You know, because I love you just the way you are!"

"You do?" Sabra begged the question, seeking reassurance.

"Of course I do! And, you know it!

"So, even though it'll mean that we'll have to re-apply our lipstick, why don't you waltz on over here and give me a kiss that'll make me spend the rest of the day regretting the fact that I didn't take you up on your initial offer. If, that is: that's what it was in the first place..."

A moment or so later, Bitsy, upon feeling a hand cup the underside of her left breast and a deftly targeted thumb begin to slowly and caressingly circumnavigate the corresponding areola, drew back and out of the embrace, claiming both of Sabra's forearms as she did so in an all out effort on her part to demonstratively fortify her following remark.

"Now, now! We'll have none of that!

"As much as I'd like to just let you keep on doing what you were doing, you know as well as I do that it wouldn't do for us to make your mother late for mass.

"I'm mean, she's already nervous about her flight!

"So, I would strongly suggest that you and I do everything in our power to not to make her any more nervous than she already is!

"And, if that means that we have to behave ourselves and not engage in any sort of sexual hanky-panky, so be it! That's what we're going to do!

"So, I would strongly suggest that for the time being, until your mother's airborne, you - young lady - keep those hands of yours to yourself!"

Feigning chagrin, Sabra, crossing her fingers behind her back as she did so, promised Bitsy that she would be on her best behavior from there on out.

A moment or so later, as the two of them stood before the dresser's mirror putting the finishing touches on their primping endeavors, Bitsy said, "Did I tell you that I think you look exceptional nice today? You know, all dolled up in a dress and all today?"

"No! No, you didn't!

"But if that was meant to be a compliment, I'll take it!"

"It was and you're welcome!

"So," she continued after a moment's hesitation, "I'm curious! What, may I ask, persuaded you into opting for a dress this morning? You know, given the fact that we're going straight from church to the airport and because we are: you won't be able to change out of it until sometime late this afternoon."

"Oh, I just thought that, since we were going to church and all, I'd go whole hog and do the dress thing.

"By the way, how does it look?"

"It looks great! In fact, it looks better than great! It looks terrific on you!

"But, then again, almost anything would..."

"So, what do you think about the heels?

"I mean, since it's a given that I haven't a clue as to what goes with what, you know, in so far as all this girl-shit is concerned, I need your expert opinion!

"Do they match?"

"Oh, yeah! They're an absolute perfect match for that dress of yours!

"However, since this is the first time you've worn pumps with that high of heel, don't you think that it might be prudent for you to go with something a little less daunting?"

"Why? I mean, do I walk funny in them?"

"No! No! You walk just fine in them! It's just that it's going to be a long day and I just want to make sure that you're going to be okay with 'em!"

"Oh, I'll be okay with 'em! Even if it kills me!"

"Spoken like the good little masochist that we girls who hobble about in high heels have to be!

"Tell you what, Sabra! Just in case those heels of yours become to much for you to handle, why don't you take the prudent precaution of taking a pair of shoes that are a little bit more comfortable and a whole lot more manageable along with you! You know, as in: you can leave them in the car in the off chance that you might want to switch over to them..."

"Wow! Gee whiz! That's a great idea, Bits!" Sabra sarcastically quipped, as she hefted a small bag that contained the very same sort of femininely footware that Bitsy had just then and there suggested. "I only wish that I had thought of it!

"But, you know how addle brained we dumb blondes are supposed to be..."

Other than the fact that her departure had been delayed by almost a fully hour, Mrs. Oats, after an emotional good-bye, surfeit with a laundry list of motherly admonishments directed primarily towards that new and ever so pretty daughter of hers, boarded her plane without further incident. Having watch the plane's take off from their vantage point atop the airport's open-air observation deck, Bitsy, with a sisterly like hug that was meant to convey a sense of reassurance, suggested that the two of them head back out to the parking lot, with the expressed hope of hers being that between the two of them, they could somehow manage to locate Mrs. Oats' Corvair amid the confusing gaggle of cars that were parked on one of several of the terminal's lots.

Climbing in behind the wheel and firing up the car's rear-mounted, air-cooled engine, Bitsy said, "Well, I don't know about you, kiddo, but I'm famished! So, what say we hit a restaurant on the way home? You know, if that is, you think you're up for it!"

"Sounds good to me!"

"Do you have a preference?"

"I don't know about you, but I could sure go for some seafood."

"Seafood sounds good to me..."

Later, as they waited for an after dinner cup of coffee and a piece of cheesecake apiece, Bitsy, having just taken a sip from her water glass, said, "So, tell me! How are you doing with those heels?"

"Fine!

"Fact is: I plum forgot all about 'em!"

"Good! So, I take it that they're not giving you a fit?"

"No! Though it surprises me to be saying this, they're not bothering me in the least little bit!

"I mean, they feel just fine!"

"Good! 'Cause, I must say: they sure look great on you!"

"Am I walking okay in 'em?"

"Take it from me, sweetcheeks! You're walking just fine in them..."

Sabra and Bitsy, acting much like a couple of over-sexed newly weds, used Mrs. Oats' absence to the best of their advantage by turning their three weeks alone together into an erotic, no holds bar lesbian love feast of carnal overindulgence. Though Sabra, with the exclusion of the bothersome soap opera business, pretty much maintained her day to day schedule on those days that Bitsy was out of the house pulling Bunny duty down at the downtown Playboy Hutch, as her level of proficiency steadily increased in so far as the makeup and hair care aspects of that new girlhood of hers was concerned, she began to wean herself of the need for repetitive practice sessions. However, as she did so, Sabra began to concurrently expand on the amount time she diverted to both her musical and metaphysical endeavors.

Mrs. Oats' absence also forced Sabra into becoming both a much better cook and all around domesticated little housefrau in the process, who, like TV's June Cleaver, tended to do her housework in nylons and heels. However, unlike June Cleaver, who seemed to always be wearing a string of pearls, Sabra generally opted for a single strand of lovebeads that Bitsy had, as a lighthearted joke, presented her with upon arriving home from the Club one evening.

Now while being both eatable and, to one degree or another, palatable and somewhat tasty upon occasion, the culinary dishes Sabra managed to prepare with increasing proficiency for her and her bedmate to dine on were, to say the least, severely limited. While her mother had shown that new daughter of hers how to prepare chicken, both roasted and fired, spaghetti, steak and various roasts, along with the appropriate side dishes, in the limited time they had together, they hadn't gotten much passed such basics meals.

In other words, by the time the second week of their being home alone together was drawing to a close, both girls wanted something - Anything! - different for dinner. To her credit, Sabra, did make the extra effort to do just that. Trouble was, her first few attempts to achieve culinary diversity turned out to be real first class, not to mention, rather pungent disasters of the crispy critter variety. However, finding one of her mother's cookbooks, and following the directions explicitly, Sabra managed to end her third week of playing happy homemaker to Bitsy's complimentary role as the household's breadwinner on a high note. Though the icing gave her a royal fit, Bitsy baked her first cake to welcome her mother home with and, though she wasn't at all sure it would be, the cake she baked was absolutely delicious; pleasing her mother to no end for all the effort that her daughter had put into baking it for her.

Nightly calls had gone a long way into helping to ease the oppressive amounts of apprehension that Mary Oats felt as a direct result of her being out of town during the time she felt that her little Sabra needed her most. Though both her daughter and Bitsy's constant reassurances went a long way to setting her mind at ease, Sabra was never long out of her mother's thoughts and, after three long weeks of separation, their emotional reunion at the airport port demonstratively demonstrated the irrefutable fact that both mother and daughter were ever so happy and relieved to be reunited.

"So, did the two of you miss me?" Mary Oats asked the damn near obligatory question as she and those two girls of hers briskly headed off for the terminal's baggage claim area.

Answering her mother in the only manner she could, Sabra gleefully quipped, "Of course we did, mom! And, we're both overjoyed to have you home again! Bitsy, maybe even more so than I am!"

"How come?"

"Well, let's just say that I think she likes your cooking a whole lot better than she does mine!"

"She does, does she!"

Then, addressing Bitsy, Mar Oats continued on to say, "Is that true, Bitsy? Do you really like my cooking over that of my daughter's?"

"Most assuredly, Aunt Mary. I like your cooking a whole lot better than I do your daughter's..."

A short time later, with Bitsy lugging one of suitcase, Sabra another and Mrs. Oats a third, as the three of them began to make the way out to Mrs. Oats' Corvair, Sabra's mother, clearly happy to be home, beamed, "Oh! I almost forgot! I've got a couple surprises in my bags for the both of you!"

"Oh, Aunt Mary! You needn't have gotten us anything!"

"I know! But, I did! And, since there's no way I'm going to be able to take any of them back, I guess the two of you are just going to have to do your darnest to graciously accept them!

"Besides, given the uniqueness of one of the presents I have for each one of you, I can't wait to get home and have you girls try them on! You know, just to see how they fit!"

"Oh," Sabra mused aloud, "so I take it that you got us something to wear, mom?"

"Yes! That's correct! I did get the two of you something to wear."

"What is it? Some sort of outfit or something?" Sabra's curiosity was clearly threatening to get the best of her.

"Yes! It's an outfit!"

"What kind?"

"Something you're going to look great in, but you're not going to be able to wear out of the house."

"Underwear! You got us some sort of sexy women's underwear!

"It's called lingerie, dear. And no, I didn't get the two of you lingerie!"

"So, what did you buy us, mom?"

"Guess!

"And, I'll be magnanimous about it and give the two of you a little hint to get you started. I didn't buy them! The outfits were given to me so that I could, in turn, give them to the two of you!"

"They were?"

"Yes, dear. They were."

"Would it help were Bitsy and I to know where you were when you were given these so called 'outfits' of yours, mom?"

"No. I don't think so....

"But if you must know, dear, they were given to me when I was in Dallas for those couple of days."

"Are you saying that you got us some sort of outlandish cowgirl outfits?"

"Hardly..."

"How about some sort of Indian garb? You know, like something along the lines of what a squaw might wear?"

"No, dear! You're so far off base, Sabra, it isn't funny!"

"Come on, mom! Why don't you just come clean and tell us?"

"Because, it's more fun this way!"

"Aunt Mary," Bitsy, who was quickly becoming as curious as her soulmate was already, joined the conversation as she asked, "would it help us to know who it was who gave you these mysterious presents of ours?"

"Her name, no! What she does, yes!"

"Oh," Bitsy, with, what was to Sabra, an extremely irritating chuckle, gleefully exclaimed, "I think I have a pretty good idea what you brought home for the two of us, Aunt Mary!"

"I thought you might!" Mrs. Oats, enjoying her fun, replied curtly.

"What?" her lesbian lover tersely demanded. "What do you think they are, Bits?"

"I'm not saying." Bitsy replied coyly. "Besides, I might be so far off base with what I think they might be, it wouldn't funny!"

"True! You might be wrong!" Sabra, who was chompimng at the bit to find out what these mysterious, outfits her mother had for them were irritable charge. "But, even if you are wrong, I'd still like to hear what you think they are!"

"I just bet you would!" Bitsy, with a wink directed towards her Aunt Mary, shot back. "I just bet you would..."

"Come on, mom! You've had your fun! You've peaked my interest! So, please! Come clean! Just tell us what you've got for us! You know, because I'm just dying to know!

"Alright, already! While I'm not about to tell you what they are just yet, I'll make it a little easier for you by giving you another hint!

"You can't buy these particular outfits in any story."

"Thought so!" Bitsy exclaimed in a gloating, self-satisfied manner that rankled the living shit out of her still thoroughly bemused and agitatedly befuddled soulmate.

"So, Bitsy! You think you know what they are?"

"Yes, Aunt Mary! I believe I do!"

"Alright then!" Mary Oats, coming to an abrupt halt as she did so, directed in a way only a mother could. "Whisper what you think they are in my ear."

Bitsy obliged her Aunt Mary, only to be appraised that she had nailed it, there by causing Sabra to cop an attitude and, with a stamp of her high heel shod foot and with the cutest of pouts spreading across that angelic face of hers, ruefully exclaimed, "Come on, mom! Now Bitsy knows and I don't!

"That's not fair!"

"If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times! Life's not fair, dear!"

"So, are you going to tell me?"

"No... But I will give you another hint.

"While you might not like wearing one yourself, you know, even though you now have the perfect body for it thanks to Bitsy here, there's no getting around the fact that, while I know you're not all that keen on the bow tie business, take it from me: you think that the kind of outfit I brought home for you is, as your great grandmother was so fond of saying, 'the cat's pajamas'!

Sabra put two and two together and came up with a great big and mind boggling, "Holy shit!

"Mom! You're not seriously saying that you actually brought home a couple of Playboy Bunny Costumes for the two of us!"

"Sabra!" her mother sternly snapped. "While the answer is: yes! The outfits are indeed Playboy Bunny Costumes! Please! Do us all a favor! Keep your voice down! We don't need to be broadcasting any of this! Alright?

"You see, dear, we really don't need or want everybody and his brother hearing about this!" You know, because having one of these costumes is a real first class no-no in so far as Playboy Enterprises is concerned!"

"It is?"

"Yes, dear! It is!

"They don't take kindly at all to Bunny Costumes walking out the back door of one of their Clubs, if, that is: you catch my drift here!

"Should they ever find out about this, not only could I loose my job, but so could Bitsy! And, we really don't want that happening, now do we?"

"No, mom!" Sabra returned contritely. "We most certainly do not...

"Our having them has to remain our little secret! You know, in that it can go no further than the three of us! Alright?"

Saying that they fully understood Mrs. Oats' admonishment and adding that she need say no more on the subject, both girls assured Sabra's mother that the matter would go no further than the three of them.

"So, mom," Sabra innocently inquired, as the three of them resumed their trek across the tarmac, en route to Mrs. Oats' Corvair, "if having one these costumes is such a no-no, tell us! How'd you come by them in the first place? You know, because I know, without you're even having to say anything, that you didn't steal them!"

"You're right, dear. I didn't steal them. They were given to me as a gift to give to the two of you.

"You see, while I got along with all of the Bunny Mothers I worked with over the course of the last three weeks, save for the one out at the Los Angeles Club who was so full of herself that she thought her shit didn't stink, I really hit it off with Janice, the Dallas Club's Bunny Mother; so much so, that I do believe I may have made a friend for life out of her!

"I mean, we hit off so well that she actually had me over to her house for dinner every night while I was there, save for the one night that she and I went out on the town together!

"But, since that's all beside the point, you know, given what we're talking about, one evening, when the two of us were sitting in her cubbyhole sized office, talking about this, that and the other thing, Janice asked me if I had any kids. And, though I neglected to tell her that Bitsy here was a Bunny herself, thinking fast, aware that I had already extended an open invitation for her to spend a night or two here with us whenever she has a mind to drive up and visit her eldest son and his family who live just outside of Boston, you know, there by negating the need for her to get a motel room whenever she's in our vicinity, I told her that while I didn't have any children per se, I did have two very attractive, college age young ladies sharing my house with me; suggesting as I did so, that I thought of the two of you as if you were my own flesh and blood. Whereupon, Janice, who by the way, just happens to be a very fine seamstress in her own right, came right out and asked me if I thought that the two of you might like you very own Bunny Costumes; saying that she had a few at home that she was putting the final touches on; suggesting that since the Club had yet to reimburse for all the material she had purchased, not to mention her time, they were hers and because they were, she could darn right well do anything she wanted with them!"

"So, I take it that this Janice Person gave you two of them, Aunt Mary?" Bitsy asked as they three of them approached Mrs. Oats' car.

"No! As it worked out, though she initially gave me just the two, just before I boarded the plane for my flight to La Guardia, she surprised me with another one."

"Three! You mean, she gave you a grand total of three!" Sabra energetically exclaimed. "Why in the world would she give you three Bunny Outfits, mom?"

Answering her daughter's question, Mary Oats, using her fingers to emphasize the point she was endeavoring to make, begin, "Well, there's one for you. And then, there's one for Bitsy. Meaning: the third one's mine!"

"You mean to tell me," a thoroughly exasperated Sabra quickly countered, "that this Janice Person - Friend! - or whatever of yours actually made you a Bunny Costume?".

"She most certainly did!

"And, just so the two of you know, mine's the red one! The two of you can who decided for yourselves who gets the dark blue one and who ends up with the light blue one!

"It really makes no never mind to me!

"But, yes! To answer your question, Janice made me my very own Bunny Outfit!"

"Why would she go and do something like that, mom?" Sabra was surprised to hear herself ask.

"Well, though I'll be darn if I can remember exactly how Janice put it, when she handed me the package that contained my Bunny Costume, she said something to the effect that, if I was going to be a good Bunny Mother, it wouldn't hurt for me to get some first hand experience for how my future charges would feel decked out in such revealing and tight fitting outfits."

"But! But! But!" a clearly disgruntled Sabra stammered, endeavoring, but failing miserable in her futile effort to raise and frame a coherent objection.

Mrs. Oats, taking pity on that new and ever so lovely daughter of hers, stepped into the breach and did so for her, "But! I'm your mother, right? And, I guess it goes without saying that we mothers aren't supposed to look and dress all sexy like! Correct? Especially so, when the mother in question just happens to be your mother!

"Well, let me tell you something, oh daughter of mine!

"Thanks to Bitsy here, and what she did when she went and finagled around with my aura, you know, like she did with yours, but to a much lesser degree, while I maybe in my mid to late forties, I now look to be in my early to mid thirties! Plus, I might add: I've got a body that's damn near as curvaceous and pleasing to the eyes as your own!

"In other words, my dear! While you may have been to busy contending with the admittedly monumental changes in your own life to sit up and take notice of me, as a direct result of what our Bitsy here did, there's no getting around the fact that I could give most of the girls your age a good run for their money in so far as the looks department is concerned!

"You know, as in I look good! Damn good!

"And when we get home, I aim to put on the Bunny Costume that Janice made explicitly for me and prove to you just how good this old mother of yours looks in it!

"Believe me! I think you're going to be in for a big surprise!

A few minutes later, with Mrs. Oats sitting in the back seat and Sabra riding shotgun, as Bitsy struggled to wind up her window from just having paid their parking free and endeavoring, with some consternation, to merge Mary Oats' Corvair into the seeming endless flow of traffic that was also exiting the airport's various parking facilities, her Aunt Mary returned to the subject of the Bunny Costumes. "I have an idea! While I know it's still awful early, how about we stop at a restaurant on the way home and grab something to eat? It'll be my treat! And after that, we'll stop at a liquor story and pick up a bottle or two of champagne to celebrate my homecoming! Then, when we get home, the two of you can help me unpack and while I'm getting a shower, you know, so that I can feel human again, the two of you can get a load of clothes started. After that, once everything is all said and done, we can go upstairs and try on our Bunny Costumes. You know, so the two of you will be able to judge for yourselves whether or not I'm to old looking to be wearing one..."

And that's just what the three of them did.

They went out to eat; returned home and having taken care of what had to be taken care of, with Bitsy helping her Aunt Mary and her Aunt Mary returning the favor by helping her and with the two of them taking turns helping Sabra, the three of them transformed themselves into satin clad and ear crowned, high heel shod, cottontail tushed stunners of the First Water.

"Wow, mom!" Sabra found her satin encased self exclaiming. "You're right! I was wrong! You really are something to behold in one of these bodacious get-up!

"I mean to tell ya!" Sabra continued, careful not to miss speak herself and there by, slip and use the 'good enough to eat' malarkey on her very own mother. "You look absolutely fantastic! You really, truly do!

"And, I'm not just saying that, mom! You know, because you really do look great!

"Well, I must say that I'm tickled pink to hear you say that, honey! And I really, really appreciate the compliment! And you're right! As egotistical as this might sound coming from your own mother, I do look good, don't I?"

"Yes!" it was Bitsy turn to acknowledge the fact of just how good her Aunt Mary looked in Bunny Regalia. "You look terrific! So terrific in fact that maybe you should go in to work on Monday and tell that officious Mr. Davis that you've reconsidered! And that instead of becoming the Club's Bunny Mother, you'd rather re-apply to be a Bunny! You know, cause it goes without saying that you could give the rest of us Bunnies a run for our money!"

"Well," Mary Oats humbly replied, "while that was a sweet thing for you to say, child... and I actually might be able to hold my own with a few of your fellow cottontails, let's get real here! As good as I look, there's no way I'm the same league with the two of you!"

"Maybe not." Bitsy mused. "But, give me just a few minutes to dicker around with that aura of yours, Aunt Mary, and you could be!

"Fact is, Aunt Mary, knowing what you know now, you know, about the metaphysical manipulation of auras, you could actually tweak up your own appearance if you really wanted to!"

"Would you believe that I'm well aware of that already!"

"You are?"

"I most certainly am!

"I mean, how else do you think I managed to get into this get-up in the first place!"

That remark of Mary Oats', starting with a stifled and muffled giggle from Bitsy, ended up opening the flood gates of their mirth and soon had the three of them laughing like a bunch of hysterical lunatics whacked out on some sort of strangely concocted happy juice. And, it should be noted that that contagious moment of unrestrained merriment of theirs pretty much set the tone for evening.

Having opted to just go ahead and leave their Bunny Costumes on for the rest of the evening via a quick poll that arrived at an unanimous decision, Mrs. Oats prudently suggested that they relocate to the dining room for the express purposes of putting a real hurting on the welcoming home cake that her daughter had so diligently baked for her. And, with that said, the three of them, with their stiletto heels a clicking and a clacking in their wake, bounded out of the room and gleefully descended the stairs.

The next day, with the next day being Sunday, Mary Oats, with a bag of pastries in hand, returned home having attended the twelve thirty mass all by her lonesome only to find those two 'daughters' of hers, seated about the dining room table, drinking coffee and entertaining a pair of unknown female guest.

"Aunt Mary!" Bitsy, assuming the role of hostess, began pleasantly. "I'd like you to introduce you to my mentor, the one and only, Aurora Nightwing and her new protegee, Linda - I' sorry, but I didn't catch your last name.

Pleasantries were exchanged as Sabra, offering her chair to her mom as she did so, got up and went out into the kitchen for the express purpose of getting her mother a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

"So tell me, Mrs. Oats." Aurora softly intoned as Sabra passed out the room and into the kitchen. "How do you like having a daughter over a son now?"

Replying that she liked it just find, Mary Oats, not knowing what to say next, but feeling as if she had to say something, found herself asking, "So tell me, Aurora, if I may call you Aurora, are you still living out in Western Maryland at that commune? And, are you still changing young men into young women in order to help them avoid the draft?"

Aurora's answer was 'yes' to both questions, prompting Bitsy to inquire as to the whereabouts of her two friends.

"Kelly's still living with me up at the cabin. However, if everything falls into place as it's supposed to, she'll be heading out to Arizona in about six weeks or so to set up the same sort of sexual reassignment shop we're operating out in Lonaconing."

"What about Pam?"

"Oh, I shipped her out to a West Coast commune located out in the boondocks of Oregon somewhere round about three months ago.

I've got an old friend out there and he's been keeping tabs on her for me on the QT. And, according to him, Pam's been doing a bang-up job of helping draft dodgers find a new life on, shall we say, the feminine side of things. I also hear that she's been able to put together a similar, though still somewhat smaller organization, to the one we've got operating here..."

A few minutes later, having brought Bitsy up to snuff on the various goings on at the Dan's Mountain Commune, Aurora Nightwing turned the full impact and intensity of those compelling and eerily domineering obsidian eyes of hers on the ever so shapely figure of the former Joshua Everett Oats, demanding to know the answer to her rather pointed questions as she did so.

"So, tell me, Sabra! How do you like being a girl now?

Intuitively aware that a short, simple answer wasn't going to satisfy Aurora Nightwing's curiosity, Sabra took a long moment to organize her thoughts before replying.

"Well, I guess it's like everything in life. You know, as in that it has its' good points and bad points.

"For instance, the best part about my being a girl now is that Bitsy and I can enjoy the intimate kind of relationship that we've always longed for. The worst, I guess: is the god-awful fact that I'm now menstrual.

"I know! I know! Everybody here menstruates! And, I know it's something that all us 'girls' have to put up with! But, given the fact that I'm still a guy, you know, up here in this head of mine, to put it bluntly, having only had one to go by so far, you know, that just ended yesterday, I can tell you one thing! There's no getting around the fact that this period aspect of my being a girl sucks!

"You know, as in: given my druthers, I sure as hell could do without my ever having to experience another one ever again!"

Registering the fact that her previous statements had garnished her several sympathetic nods of what she took to be a form of both agreement and empathic understanding, Sabra, in an all out effort on her part to re-enforce the positive attitude she was consciously endeavoring to maintain so as to stem off the melancholy that could, where she not careful, lead her down the path to a full blown depression should she dwell upon the negative aspects of her womanhood, continued on in a lighter vein.

"But, I guess you could say that I'm more or less preaching to the choir! You know, because you all have been dealing with your own little monthly visitors ever since you started growing boobies!

"In other words, the way I see it: if my having periods is the price I have to pay to have the kind of relationship that I now have with Bitsy here, it goes without saying that it's a price I am more than willing to pay!"

"So, if you don't mind my asking: what else do you like or dislike about your being a girl now, Sabra?"

"Well, though it throws me for a loop even now and again, you know, like damn near ever time I catch a glimpse of the new and improved me in the mirror, I have to say that I kind of enjoy being a narcissist who, I guess you could say, is also a self-avowed nymphomaniac on the side, definitely has it moments!

"I mean, while I'm not trying to be crass about this, you've got to understand that by my having a guy's mind and a girls body, I've become that proverbial kid in a candy store that you're always hearing about! I mean, I went from having one erogenous zone to having erogenous zone all over the friggin' place!"

"So," Aurora sought clarification, "I take it that you kind of like the sexual aspects of you and your being a girl now?".

"Yeah, you could say that..."

"What about the clothes and the makeup and all that other razzmatazz that goes hand in hand with being a girl now, Sabra? Tell me! 'Cause I'd really like to know! How do you feel about having to contend with all of that?"

"Well, other than being a real pain in the ass and somewhat time consuming, I'd have to say that as much as I detest having to do my nails and having to put all that gunk on my face, once I'm finished and I take a look-see at the end results and see how pretty all that crap has made me look, I kind of sort of figure that it's worth the effort.

"Oh! And, in so far as the clothing business is concerned, though I now know that Bitsy did some fancy finagling with certain aspects of my aura to help me adapt more quickly to the wearing of women's apparel, I have to say: I'm really glad she did!

"I mean, as much as I didn't think I would ever actually enjoy wearing bras and panties and walking around in nylons and high heels, I do! I really do!

"Fact is: whatever Bitsy did, you know, when she did what she did to turn me into a girl, she fixed it so that if I want to get all hot and bothered and have this new little you-know-what of mine start leaking love-juices like a sieve, all I have to do is: get dressed!

"And, the sad and awful truth is: as perverted and shameless as this must surely sound, I kind of like of being able to turn myself on by doing nothing more than slipping into something sexy..."

About ten minutes later, having finished grilling Sabra, Aurora Nightwing got to the point of her visit as she turned about in her chair to face her hostess and inquired, "So, Mrs. Oats, may I ask you a pointed question?"

Not sure as to where Aurora Nightwing was going with her inquiry, Mary Oats cautiously relied, "Yes. Sure. I mean, I guess so."

"How do you personally feel about this war that going on over in Vietnam?"

"Well, to be honest, I never gave our involvement in Vietnam a lot of thought until here recently.

"I mean, I remember hearing something or other about a place or a battle or both called Dienbienphu in the mid Fifties that basically caused the French to pull out of Indochina. Then, either a shortly before or shortly after the Kennedy Assassination, I start hearing snippets on the nightly news about some sort of communist insurgency that was said to be going on within the small Southeast Asian country of Laos. Then, like all of a sudden, they're not talking about Laos anymore! They're talking about a place I never heard of before! You know, as in they're talking about Vietnam and the problems that have arisen there in the aftermath of this guy Ngo Dinh Diem's being killed!

"So anyhow, be that as it may be, for a good while there, until this former son of mine started to become politically astute and began to appraise me and his recently departed dad about some of the things that were going on over there in Southeast Asia, I didn't question our Government's involvement in the internal affairs of South Vietnam one iota. I just figured that our elected leaders knew best and that South Vietnam was just another small skirmish in the ongoing Cold War with Russia and that, like everything else, it would blow over sooner or later, and that it was of no real consequences whatsoever.

"However, the more I watched the evening news, the more I began to realized that Lyndon Johnson is fully committed to waging this war in Vietnam, due to the ever increasing number of American troops he's sending over there on, what seems to me to be an almost weekly bases.

"Granted, it was a sham that President Truman and our get-along to go-along congress fostered on the American people, but when we sent troops over to Korea to fight in a police action that sure had the look and feel of a war to me and a lot of other people I know, we did so under the pretext of being part of a UN peace keeping force.

"Now though, with this Vietnam fiasco, we aren't even doing that!

"As I understand it, our so called leaders are using the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution as an end-around on the Constitution! As Sabra pointed out to me, you know, like way back when, when she used to be my one and only son Josh, if our leaders truly believe that a situation requires the use our military to aggressively wage war against some foe, there's a prescribe way set out in our Constitution to legitimatize such actions. The president, whomever he might be, is supposed to go to the congress with a Declaration of War. Whereupon, our elected representatives, both congressmen and senators, are then to ratify it before we commit our men in arms to engage in an aggressive campaign to subdue our enemy and force him to accepts the terms that we deem appropriate.

"As I understand it, when someone enters the military, they take an oath to protect and defend both the Country and Constitution from all enemies, both foreign and domestic!

"Now, while I think the situation in Vietnam to be a deployable one and, while I really feel sorry for the people there and I really, truly wish there was some other way to help them, I don't see how our men fighting and dying there in any way helps to protect and defend the United States!

"I know! I know! By helping the South Vietnamese, we're supposed to be fighting communism!

"I now believe that to be a lot of bull-hockey!

"I mean, if we wanted to fight the communist, why didn't we intervene in Hungry, or for that matter, in Cuba?"

"Don't worry! I know the answer! The Soviet Union has the bomb and the means to deliver it! The Vietcong don't!

"So, I guess it all boils down to this! We pick and choose which band of communists we want to fight!

"Trouble is: from everything I hearing, I have a sneaky suspicion that we've been hoodwinked, in that we've been sold a bill of goods by the Johnson Administration! I mean, how are we ever supposed to fight and finance a War on Poverty and a real live, rooting shooting war in Vietnam, you know, all at the same time!

"In other words, if things keep going the way they are, Vietnam could well be the worst thing that ever happened to this country of ours! You know, as in it could do us an irreparable amount harm; surpassing the damage done by the Civil War and the injustices fostered upon the vanquished South during the Period of Reconstruction that followed! You know, that had the unintended consequences of spawning and legitimizing nefarious and despicable things like the Ku Klux Klan, segregation laws and other such things that we're still paying dearly for..."

Having caught the gist of where Sabra's mom was going with this tirade of hers, Aurora Nightwing sought to bring about an early termination to it, as she endeavored to summarize Mary Oats' thoughts on the matter of the War in Vietnam.

"So, Mrs. Oats, if I'm hearing you correctly, I take it that you're not at all the happy about our military's involvement in what's going on over there in Southeast Asia?"

"Yes, you could say that..."

"And, I take it that Bitsy here has appraised you of what I and my associates have been up to, in so far as our helping a extremely small and select group of young men avoid the draft in same unique manner that was used to change your son into this absolutely ever so lovely daughter of yours?"

"Yes! Yes, she has!

"I mean, that was okay! Wasn't it? You know, her telling us and all! I mean, you're not upset with her because she told us?"

"No, Mrs. Oats! I'm not the least little bit upset with Bitsy!

"You see, I believe I know Bitsy almost as well as you and your daughter do! And, because I do, I know that she wouldn't jeopardize what we've managed to achieve so far by inadvertently telling someone she didn't trust implicitly about what we've been up to out in Western Maryland!

"So, fear not! I'm not going to reprimand her or anything like that!

"Actually, what I am here to do is: to ask if you could see your way clear to helping us further expand what we've been doing.

"You see, Mrs. Oats, it has become apparent to us that the current Administration in Washington is escalating its' commitment to fighting the War in Vietnam.

"That means: more boys will be drafted and therefore, more and more American boys will becoming home in body bags!

"We can't save them all! We'd like to, but we can't!

"We can however, save a very limited few by turning them into young woman and helping them establish themselves with new identities, with our fervent hope being: that, as women, they will do whatever they can to make a positive contribution to our society."

"For instance, I sincerely hope that your daughter Sabra here, once she's re-established herself in her new identity, will continue to be an anti-war activist and use her musical talents to raise people's consciouses in our ongoing struggle to persuade the majority of the American people that our participation in the War in Vietnam is both illegal and immoral and that if we real loved our Uncle Sam, you know, like we're all supposed to, we'd bring our boys home! A.S.A.P.!"

"So, what - Exactly! - can I do to help?" Mary Oats inquired of Aurora Nightwing.

"For starters, we could really use your house as, shall we say, a sort of halfway house! You know, as in what we're trying to do is to establish a network of safe houses for these new 'girls' of ours to one: get them accustomed to their new status in life as the young women that they've been turned into and two; to serve as a relatively inexpensive place for them to room and board until they build up a small nest-egg, which will in turn - We hope! - enable them to strike out on their own and make a whole brand new life for themselves, much as they would have done had they fled north to Canada."

"So," Mary Oats sought to clarify things in her own mind as she asked, "if I'm hearing you correctly, what you're suggesting is that I turn my home into a sort of sorority house for these young men that you turned into young women?"

"Yes! In a manner of speaking, that's exactly what I'm proposing!

"However, what I'd really like to see is for you, your daughter and Bitsy here to provide the full range of our very unique services.

"In other words, since all three of you possess the metaphysical wherewithal to modulate auras, you'll be able change them; train them and then, provide them with a place to live for, shall we say, an adjustment period of six months or there abouts."

"So, if I should decide to go along with what you're suggesting, Aurora, just how many of these 'girls' of yours do you envision living here with the three of us?"

"To answer your question, Mrs. Oats, let me ask you: how many do you think you can comfortably handle?"

"Well, I've got one bedroom upstairs that used to be Bitsy's, but is now empty. And, if I take out the single bed that's in there and replace it with a bunk bed, that would be two.

"I mean, though it would be cramped, in a pinch, I believe that we could manage to squeeze in a second bunk bed in there. But, if we did that, we'd end up with seven women using one bathroom. And, being realistic about it, that would cause us no end of problems.

"Now, we do have a bathroom and shower stall that my husband installed in the in rear portion of the basement that could, with a little work, be fixed up. Then, if we clean out all those workbenches and tools of his I could free up so more room...."

"Hey, mom!" Sabra offered. "If you really want to do this, we can always get rid of that old pool table of mine and turn the front room of the basement into a dormitory."

"Yes! We could do that! We could put a rug over the tile floor and, if we went with a couple more bunk beds, we could probably handle four more 'girls'!" Mrs. Oats energetically replied.

"We could used the upstairs room to handle the 'newbies' and the basement to handle those that have progressed to a point where they are out working..."

For the next twenty minutes, the five of them sat around the dinning room table discussing the logistics involved in turning the Oats' home into a defacto sorority like halfway house for young men making their transition into womanhood.

Mrs. Oats had yet another question. "So, tell me, if the three of us do decide to do this, when - Exactly! - would you like us to start taking in these 'girls' of yours?"

"Well," Aurora thoughtfully replied, "while I'd like to start moving 'girls' in here as soon as possible, I think we need to be prudent and wait until your daughter here has gone through all the rigmarole involved in acquiring a new identity for herself and is therefore, in a position to be out holding down a job and getting that unfortunately sidetracked musical career of hers back on the right track again, don't you?"

"Yes!" Mary Oats concurred. "I think that's a prudent suggestion.

"Besides, once Bitsy, Sabra and I make our decision whether to do this or not, it'll take a couple of weeks to get the house ready."

"Oh!" Aurora exclaimed. "If it's manpower you're worried about, don't! I can get plenty of people from the commune down here to help you do whatever it is that you deem needs doing! Painting! Patching! Lugging furniture around! Whatever! You name it and I'll find somebody who can do it for you free of charge!

"Granted you may have to feed them and find a place to put them up for a couple of nights, but that's about it!

"And, if you think that another bathroom and a larger kitchen will help alleviate the overcrowding problem you'll be facing, I think we can manage that as well!

"If you're agreeable, I've got a plumber, two electricians and a couple of ex-construction types that can put an addition on your house lickety-split!

"I can also get you all the beds, TVs, refrigerators and whatever else you think you're going to need, so you won't have to worry about how you're going to finance anything! I promise, we'll take care of everything for you!

Though Mary Oats thought that she would agree to Aurora Nightwing's proposal, she wanted to talk it over with both Bitsy and Sabra prior to making a final commitment to undertake such an obligation. Aurora not only understood, but completely concurred with Mrs. Oats' decision to think the whole thing over; saying that if Sabra's mom had any questions whatsoever, all she had to do was to put in a call to the Dan's Mountain Commune and if her questions could be answered, they would be.

Later that evening, after Aurora and that new and rather shy protegee of hers had bid the three of them a cheery good-bye, Mary Oats inquired, "So, what do the two of you think? Should we do what Aurora would like us to do or not?

"I mean, if we do, this little happy home of ours will be like Grand Central Station! You know, with all the comings and goings and general commotion and confusion that'll be going on!"

"Well, it more or less goes without saying that you know how I feel about what's going on over in Vietnam, mom! And, if I can do something to help somebody else from having to go over there, I have to say: I'm all for it!

"So, though as far as I'm concerned, since this is your house, in the end the decision is entirely up to you, mom."

"Oh, no, dear! It's going to be up to all three of us! You! Me! And, Bitsy! Each one of us has an equal say in this decision! We all have to agree to do this or it's simply not going to happen!

"Alright then, if it comes to a vote, though I'll probably regret it the first time I really need to use the bathroom and there's somebody in there ahead of me, I vote yes! This is something we really ought to do!

"Bitsy!"

"I agree with Sabra, Aunt Mary. Even if we only end up saving one or two guys, you know, by changing them into girls, for my money, it's worth it!"

"Good!" Mrs. Oats declared with evident satisfaction. "I'm glad the two of you want to do this. Because, as you have probably already summarized, I do too!"

While Mary Oats had been out of town for those three weeks learning the ropes of how to be a Bunny Mother, Sabra reached a point in her acclamation to that new womanhood of hers where Bitsy deemed her more than ready to tackle all the whoopla involved in convincing the powers that be that she was indeed suffering from the over used Hollywood malady of amnesia. Once convinced that Sabra couldn't remember anything about her past, in so far as who she was or where she had come form, in order to help her become a self sufficient member of society, given the fact that she wasn't a member of what was quickly becoming a preferred minority in the good old U. S. of A., the authorities, if they function anything at all like they had in similar situations presented to them in the past, would gladly move Heaven and Earth in an all out effort on their part to aid Sabra in acquiring a new and fully bonafide female identity for herself so she could get job and there by, get off the dole.

Prudently, the three of them, over the numerous phone conversations that had occurred during Mary Oats' three week absence, came to the mutual decision to wait until the week after her return to put Sabra's amnesia ploy into play; agreeing as they did so, that it would be best for all concerned for them to wait until Mrs. Oats had a full week to settle into her new position as the Playboy Club's resident Bunny Mother.

Bitsy, having debriefed about a half dozen of the guys she had either played a role in turning into physically functional young women, had a pretty good idea of the kinds of bureaucratic hurtles that her soulmate would be subjected to and because she did, she took it upon herself to begin nightly role-playing sessions with Sabra in order to fully prepare her soulmate for all the hurry up and wait tomfoolery that was in store for her. Starting two weeks before the target date, for several hours each and every evening that followed, Bitsy would grill that new lover girl of hers, endeavoring, though various ploys, to trip Sabra up and there by, cause her to say something that would frustrate and, quite possible, delay the process that should, if things went the way they were supposed to, end up with Sabra acquiring a new, legally verifiable identity for herself.

Also, to provide the physical evidence that would go a long way into creating the medical team's supposition that Sabra's amnesia had been caused by nothing less than an adverse reaction to some sort of elusive and illicit hallucinogenic drug that she had somehow ingested, starting on the very night of Aurora Nightwing's visit, Bitsy had her soulmate suck on a sugar cube that had been doused with but a single drop of the very same hallucinogenic concoction that she had used previously. Though the drug would have no more effect on Sabra than to ensure that she got a good night's sleep and, more than likely, cause her to wake up with a bad taste in her mouth and feeling a wee bit groggy, Bitsy repeatedly assured her soulmate that by ingesting such small amounts of the hallucinogenic, a cumulative effect would occur and so ensue that telltale traces of the illicit drug would show up in a blood sample. Which would, in turn, lead the medical staff at the hospital's emergency room where Sabra would no doubt be taken, to conclude that her inability to remember who she was and where she was from was due to an adverse reaction to some form of hallucinogen.

Two days later, having previously ascertained from her soulmate that she did indeed like the name Sabra and would, if possible, like to retain it, Bitsy returned home from the Playboy Club an hour later than was her norm when working the lunch and diner shift and presented that narcissistic lesbian lover-girl of hers with a fancy, logo imprinted shopping bag, that in turn, contained a small but sturdy, oblong silver and gold patterned cardboard box, that strongly suggested to Sabra that there might be a piece of jewelry contained within.

"For me?" Sabra gleefully exclaimed. "You got me a present?"

"Yes! That's the reason I was a little later than usual this evening! I had to wait for the guy I bought it from to engrave it for me."

"What is it?"

"The easiest way for you find that out is to just go ahead and open it, silly!"

And, that's exactly what Sabra did.

Excitedly, she reached into the bag and retrieved the box within. Letting the all but forgotten bag fall aimlessly to the floor at her high heel shod feet, Sabra proceeded to lift off the top and, just as quickly, drew aside the top half of white cotton gauze-like mate that the item was securely nestled within.

"A bracelet! You got me a bracelet!"

"Yes! Yes, I did!

"But it's not just a bracelet! It's an ID bracelet!

"See! I had 'Sabra' inscribed on it!

"And, I want you to put it on right now and just keep it on! You know, so that you'll get use to wearing it!"

"Why?"

Then, following immediately on the heels of that half-baked and imbecilic question of hers, Sabra excitedly exclaimed, "Oh! Right! Now, I understand!

"I'll be wearing this when you take me to the police or the emergency room or wherever you finally decide to take me to get the ball rolling! You know, in so far as establishing a new identity for me!"

"You know something, Sabra! I must say: for a ditzy dumb blonde, who is about as naive and addle brained as they come, you really are pretty smart!"

"Smartass!" Sabra, feigning a sense of wounded pride, quipped.

"Clitlicker!"

"Hey!" Sabra complained sternly. "Just what kind of derogatory remark is that supposed to be?

"I mean, given this admittedly perverse, perverted and thoroughly pleasurable lesbian relationship of ours, I would have thought that instead of being a pejorative, being called a clitlicker would have to be considered a backhanded compliment!"

"Believe me, Little Miss Talented Tongue that you are! Given your expertise in such erogenous matters as oral stimulation, my calling you a clitlicker just now was indeed the sincerest form of compliment that I could have paid you!

"Truth be told, I long for the day that I'm even half the clitlicker that you are..."

Several of the student body councils of the colleges in and around the metro area where the Oats lived had banded together to form a loose coalition in order to co-host an end of semester blowout bash that was to feature as its' center piece and primary drawing card, what was being touted on the fliers that were posted on lamp-post and telephone polls all over place, as The Battle of the Bands to End All Battle of the Bands. And, to facilities the large number of people that were expected to attend the free, all day and evening long Happening, the music fest was to be held in the natural, amphitheater-like depression of near by Cascade Run Park.

Bitsy, upon catching sight of one of the hard not to notice psychedelic fliers a few weeks before on her bus ride home from the Playboy Club early one evening, knew intuitively that she had indeed found the ideal circumstances for her and Sabra to stage their underhanded amnesia scheme and there by, start the ball rolling in acquiring a new identity for that totally nymphed-out, girl-happy, and ever so sexually talented and perpetually turned-on soulmate of hers.

Having carefully selected Sabra's outfit that particular Saturday for her, having made doubly sure that all the apparel came from nationwide distributors the like of a Wards or a Sears retailer, so as to further confuse the investigators who would be handling her soulmate's case from ever being able to ever ascertain as to whether or not their amnesia victim was a local resident, a dorm housed co-ed or something else altogether, Bitsy looked on as Sabra dressed in a pair of leg flattering, nearly new jeans and a gauzy, cream colored, billowing sleeved, cleavage showcasing, scalped neckline, peasant blouse and a pair of conservative, low heeled, black leather slip-ons that, by no stretch of the imagination, made her look anything at all like some free-love endorsing hippy chick. Making sure that her bedmate still had the ID bracelet affixed around her left wrist, Bitsy handed Sabra an engagement ring, directing her soulmate to slip it on the third finger of her left hand as she did so.

"Why?

"I mean, why in the world do you want me to wear a ring like this?

"I mean, it sure as hell looks like an engagement ring to me!"

"It is an engagement ring, you ninny!

"And, the reason I want you to wear it is because, by doing so, you might just be able to extricate yourself from what, for you, would no doubt prove to be some libido affronting situations. You know, that would have those new rather magnificent tittys of your all up in an uproar!

"Oh! I get you! If some guy takes it upon himself to try to come onto me, I might be able to fend him off by simply showing him this ring as a quick way to get across the fact that I'm already spoken for!"

"You got it!

"And, by the way, sweetcheeks! Just so you know, you are already spoken for! You know, by little old me!

"So, please! Do yourself a favor today! Don't get into to your head to experiment around with these new feminine wilds of yours! In other words, my dear, don't even think about flirting! While it's a given that you're going to try it eventually, I implore you! Today is not the day for you to try your hand at playing:'Hey, everybody! Look at me! Here I am! Little Miss Dick Teaser! See me strut my stuff! Aren't I something special?'"

"Later, once you've got your new identity, it you want to try it then, you can do so with my blessings!

"But for right now, believe me! You're not ready! And, we don't want you doing anything that might muck up what we're attempting to do today!

"However, given how good you look, there's a good chance that you're going to get hit on at least a couple of times today!

But, not to worry! That ring should be a big help in fending off unwarranted advances and, if it isn't, I'll be there as an extra added precaution! You know, keeping an eye on you from a distance! You know, just in case things get a little out of hand!

"But, please! Though it'll probably throw you for a loop the first couple of times you have to do it, try to handle such situations on your own! You know, because I'd really like to avoid having to step in and intervene on your behave! You know, because we really don't want people seeing us together!

"I mean, if they do! They do!

"However, if we can avoid that occurring, all's the better!

"So, do us both a favor! Don't get it in your mind to try flirting today! Just be careful! Stay with the crowd and you'll be fine! Alright?"

And, that just what Sabra did.

Having reconnoitered the park a couple evenings before the event in order to get a lay of the land, enabling them to map out their strategies, Bitsy, arriving that particular Saturday well before the crowd; dropped Sabra off at one of the park's several secondary entrances and then, proceeded to parked her Aunt Mary's Corvair in one of the neighborhoods that lay adjacent to the pastoral acreage of Cascade Run Park. About fifteen minutes later, having put a real bustle into her step, that had the unintended consequence of making her gyrations all the more pleasing to the discerning eye, Bitsy arrived at the upper crest of the bowl that served as the park's natural amphitheater only to feel a sense of genuine relief as she spied that lover-girl of hers, sprawled out on an old army blanket that Sabra had used on all those numerous weekend camping trips she had participated in as a Boy Scout, seated beneath the sprawling branches of one of several red oaks that stood, pillar-like, about the circular rim of the bowl itself. Selecting a spot beneath another red oak that gave her a clear line of sight by which she could keep a surreptitious eye on her soulmate, Bitsy spread her own blanket out and proceeded to make herself comfortable.

For both Sabra and Bitsy, the day and evening went tediously slow. The music was, to say the least, loud and featured a whole a host of want-to-be bands. There were Beetle Want-to-bes, Rolling Stone Want-to-bes, Who Want-to-bes, Led Zeppelin Want-to-bes, Byrds Want-to-bes and one group that featured a girl that looked to be a dead-ringer for Janice Joplin but had a voice that was damn near a carbon copy of Jefferson Airplane's Grace Slick.

Following Bitsy's instructions implicitly, Sabra made sure that she got up every now and again and strolled around the grounds a little, with the hope being: that if question by police investigators who might be doing a follow-up up Sabra's case, that some of the various food vendors working the Happening would recall that they had indeed seen a girl fitting Sabra's description at Cascade Park that day. To aid in that endeavor, Sabra, here again following her soulmate's instructions, made sure that she purchased either food or drink from a good many of the vendors present; endeavoring in each instance, to reenforce the memory of her doing so by either breaking a large bill such as a twenty or by careless spilling a soda or some other such attention garnishing ploy.

Also, as anticipated, both Sabra and Bitsy had to deal with their fair share of guys trying to come onto them. While Bitsy quickly dispelled such advances out of had, it surprised her to no end to see how well Sabra was doing dealing with guys and their come-ons.

At the hospital the next day, when no one was around to overhear what passed between them, Sabra would confide in Bitsy; thanking her profusely for the engagement ring; saying as she did so that if it hadn't been for it, she wouldn't have faired half as well as she had when it came to fending off guys' advancements.

Finally, after a long and nerve wracking day, as the gloriously and surrealistic blending of brilliant oranges, pinks, purples and golden traces of a thoroughly magnificent late spring sunset were being quickly absorbed into the sable shroud of a diamond studded sky, which in turn was lit by the faint slice of a rising crescent moon, Bitsy, taking the necessary precautions from being seen, stepped to the rear of the oak where Sabra sat and, in a voice just loud enough for her soulmate's ears alone, softly intoned, "Okay, kiddo! You're on! And, I'm off to hunt us a up cop!"

A few minutes later, Bitsy located the very policeman she had spied in the waning moments of dusk, as he slowly patrolled the pavement fronting vendor's row.

"Officer!" she beckoned with a sense of pressing alarm lacing her intonations as she approached. "I maybe wrong! But, I think they maybe some trouble brewing over there!"

"Where! What kind of trouble?"

"Well, I might be wrong about this, officer! And I truly hope I am! But just a few minutes ago, I saw a group of guys drag a girl to her feet! And, after they did that, they lead her into those woods over there on the other side of the dell!"

"Oh, They did, did they?"

"Yes, officer! That's what they did! And, since the girl didn't look to me like she was all that steady on her feet, you know, given the way that two of them were more or less holding her up between them, I just thought that it might be for the best if you could perhaps look into it! You know, just to be on the safe side!"

"I think that's a very prudent suggestion on your part, ma'am! Do you think you can show me where these boys of yours took that young lady into the woods?"

"Yes, officer! I think I can..."

"Well, come on them!" the officer instructed, as he lead off at a brisk pace. "Let's go!"

A few minutes later, as Bitsy and Sergeant Collins approached the grove where Sabra would be sprawled out on the ground amid a bunch of ferns and ground shrubs, Bitsy, in a voice that was meant to forewarn her lesbian lover-girl of their proximity, loudly exclaimed, "Officer! If my recollection severs me right, I do believe that they entered the tree line somewhere right around here!

That was Sabra's cue.

Upon hearing Bitsy calling out to the police officer that her soulmate had so easily duped into accompanying her, Sabra moaned, a deep throated moan that was meant to convey a sense of both disorientation and bewilderment. Another whimpering moan followed the first, stopping the alert police officer dead in his tracks. A third moan of Sabra's soon followed upon the heels of its' predecessor, allowing Sergeant Collins to zero in on Sabra's approximate location; where upon he assumed the tenacity a raging bull in the fervor of rutting season and recklessly bounded through the bushes, brambles and underbrush in an all out effort on his part to reach Sabra without any further delay.

"I found her!" Sergeant Collins called out to Bitsy over his shoulder as he assumed a kneeling position besides Sabra's supine body. "She's breathing, and otherwise seems to be okay! However, she appears to be extremely dazed and somewhat unresponsive!

"Look, miss! I don't think it's a good idea for me to move her right now! You know, just in case she's got an injury that isn't readily apparent! And, I think the best thing for me to do right now is to stay here with her! So, I really need you to do me a big favor! I need you to find a phone and call the operator! Tell her your calling for Sergeant Collins, badge number 2934, and have her dispatch an ambulance and a criminal investigation unit! Tell her to send both of them to the northeast side of the dell in Cascade Run Park! You know, where they're holding the rock concert!"

"Okay! I can do that for you, officer! But, can you please tell me where you think the nearest phone might just happen to be?" Bitsy, knowing very well where the nearest phone was, asked.

"Yes! I think there's a couple of phone booths over on the other side of the dell, near the playground and right next to where the hotdog vendor has his stand set up!"

Things began to happen fast after that. First, with its' siren shrieking away in harsh counterpoint to the cacophony of the blaring rock music that was still being hammered out on the jury-rigged stage below, a huge, canary yellow and chrome Fire Department Ambulance arrived on the scene. In short order, it was join by at least a half a dozen patrol cars, all with their emergency lights a flashing.

A few minutes after that, even as the area in and around the roughly wedge shaped grove of tress where Sabra had been found was being cordoned off, a whole shit load of uniformed police offices began to directed the vast numbers of onlookers who had begun to gather to back off and give the officers room to do their job.

Bitsy, wishing to keep herself involved in the thick of the things, took it upon herself to approached one of the officers who had been assigned crowd control duties and promptly informed him that it had been she who had been the one who had first alerted Sergeant Collins to the situation; inquiring as she did so, as to whether or not there were a need for her to make some sort of official statement. Well, of course there was and, upon telling Bitsy as much, the young officer took it upon himself to escort Bitsy over to where Sergeant Collins was conversing with what Bitsy took to be the senior-most uniformed officer on the scene.

"Is she okay?" Bitsy asked of Sergeant Collins at the first opportunity presented to her to do so.

"Physically... yes. The paramedics seem to think that she's fine." Sergeant Collins distractedly replied.

"Mentally... she's pretty shaken up."

"How so?" Bitsy urged.

"She can't seem to remember anything! She can't remember her name or how she got here or even where here is!"

"You mean she has... Now what do they call it?"

"Amnesia..." Sergeant Collins offered.

"That's it! Amnesia! You mean to tell me that she has amnesia?"

"Though I'm no expert when it come to that sort of stuff, as far as I'm concerned, she sure seems to!"

"Wow! That's really weird! I mean, if indeed she is the same girl I'm thinking about, she sure looked to me to be fine all throughout the day! So, how - Pray tell! - did she end up with amnesia? I mean, did she hit or head or something?"

"No. Not that I'm aware of. I mean, I felt her head for a bump or contusion, but I didn't find any. Neither, I might add, did the paramedics!

"However, that doesn't mean that she didn't hit her head on something!

"But, tell me something, Miss MacNamara! Am I to take it that you know her?""

"No! I don't know her from Adam! Fact is: I've never seen her before in my life! You know, until today!" Bitsy proceeded on to lie that succulent derriere of hers off.

"But, you just said you saw her."

"Well, of course I saw her! I mean, I'd been blind not to have seen her!

"I mean, she was sitting right over there! Under that tree, listening to the music and reading a book for most of the day! You know, very much like I was!"

"She was, was she?"

"Yes, sir! She most certainly was!"

"So, if you don't mind my asking, how come you took notice of her, Miss - Errr... Excuse me! - MacNamara?"

"Did you happen to take note of that very pretty peasant blouse she had on, officer?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I guess I kind of sort of did at that..."

"Well, so did I! And, I must say: I really, really liked it! So much so, that I was severely tempted to walk over to her today and ask her where she purchased it."

"But, I take it that you didn't?"

"No, officer. Though I had half a mind to, I didn't! I sure wish I had now, but I'm say to say that I didn't..."

A few minutes later, having halted their discussion in order to look on as the ambulance began to carefully thread its' way through the throng of concert goers that had gathered to gawk at the ongoing spectacle, Sergeant Collins returned to the conversation he had been engaged in with Bitsy.

"I'm sorry to have to ask you this, Miss MacNamara, but since I have to go to the hospital in order to complete my report, and since I still need to get a statement from you, and since you seemed to have an interest in that poor girl's welfare, could I perhaps prevail upon you to ride over to the hospital with me. Then, once we're finished up there - I promise! - I bring you back over here so that you can pick your car. And then, unless it makes you nervous having a cop follow you when you're driving tell you what I'll do! Just to make sure you get home safely, given how late it'll probably be by the time we're finished up over there, I'll escort you home in my patrol car..."

Since Bitsy wanted nothing more than to go to the hospital, if nothing else than to lend Sabra her moral support by the mere fact of her just being there, she took Sergeant Collins up on his generous offer without batting an eye.

"So, Miss MacNamara - Sorry! - Bitsy!" Sergeant Collins, feeling a little tongue-tied, nervously corrected himself in an awkwardly attempted to make small talk with his ever so young, charming and extremely attractive passenger. "You say that you're a Bunny at the Playboy Club that just opened downtown."

"That's correct, Sergeant! I'm a Bunny! And, as my boyfriend is so fond of telling me, since I was there when the Club opened, I'm not only a Bunny! I'm a Bunny plank owner!"

"Plank owner! Isn't that some sort of Navy turn?"

"It most certainly is, Sergeant! Saying that someone is a plank owner signifies the fact that they were a member of a ship's original compliment at the time the ship was launched and commissioned.

So, when my boyfriend kiddingly refers to me as a Bunny plank owner, basically, all he's saying is that I was one of the original Bunnies when the Club opened."

"Oh, so I take it that your boyfriend's in the Navy?"

"Well, yes and no!

"What I mean is: while he's not actually in the Navy per se, he will be! You know, as in right now he's a Midshipman at the Naval Academy!"

"So tell me! Are the two of you planning to get married after he graduates?"

"Yes! I mean, while it won't be for another year and or so, the answer is: yes! We are definitely planning on getting married!" Bitsy replied, figuring what the hell! In for a penny! In for a pound!

"Oh! So, I take it, this Naval Academy beau of yours wasn't able to get away this weekend to be with you?"

"No! He, like everybody else at the Academy is tied up this weekend doing something or other to help get ready for next week's graduation ceremonies."

"Oh, that explains it!"

"Explains what?"

"Explains why you attended the concert today all by your lonesome..."

Upon arriving at the hospital, Bitsy excused herself, saying that she had to phone her Aunt Mary and inform her that she wouldn't be home for a little awhile yet. Keeping the conversation short, Bitsy assured Mrs. Oats that she needn't worry and that everything was proceeding as planed.

Returning to the waiting room, Bitsy, upon sitting next to Sergeant Collins, proceeded on to inquired, "Is there any news on her condition yet?"

"Other than the fact that she appears to be physical sound, no."

"What did they say about her amnesia?"

"Nothing really... Save to say that, while they haven't as yet run all the test they need to run in order to find out what - if anything - is wrong with her, they strongly suspect the reason behind why she can't remember a darn thing is due to an adverse reaction to some form of illicit drug..."

"Drug!" Bitsy incredulously exclaimed.

"I don't know about you, Sergeant! But, I must say that she didn't strike me as the kind of girl that went in for that sort of stuff! You know, given the way she was dressed and all!

"I mean, it's fairly obvious that she's not a hippy! You know, by any stretch of the imagination!"

"Oh, I couldn't agree more, err - Bitsy! She didn't look to me like the kind of girl who gets mixed up with that sort of stuff either.

"However, having dealt with more than my fair share of drug addicts over the years, I can tell you one thing! As unresponsive as she was, she sure looked to me like she was whacked out on something!"

"You know something, Sergeant! Now that you mentioned it, I think you might be right! Given the way those guys were propping her up, you know, and helping her walk, now that I think about it, she did looked to me like she was pretty much out of it! You know, as in she looked to me like she was as high as a kite on something or other!

"Tell me something, Sergeant! Why in the world would a girl who appears to have everything going for her in the looks department be so stupid as to take dope?"

"Maybe, she didn't know she was taking dope." Sergeant Collins speculated, as he gave birth to the very notion that Bitsy hoped and prayed he would come up with as a way to explain what had happened. "Maybe, those hippy hooligans that took her into the woods tricked her into unknowingly taking a drug that she wouldn't otherwise ever consider taking on her own..."

"You mean to tell me that somebody would do something as despicable and underhanded as that?" Bitsy exclaimed in horror.

"Yes! I'm sad to say that such has been happening with increasing frequency here of late. Especially so, within the hippy community.

"Far to often, just for the fun of it, some of these - Excuse my French - hippy asshole freakazoids out there will drop a sugar cube laced with LSD in somebody else's drink for a prank. You know, to just to kick back and see what happens."

"That's terrible!

"I mean, I can't believe that somebody would do something like that!"

"Believe it, Bitsy! Take it from me, it's a far to often occurrence here of late! And, I'm beginning to believe that's exactly what could have happened to that poor girl in there!

"You know, as in one of those little bastards - Excuse me! - misguided youths distracted her by, shall we say, bumping into her when she was purchasing a hotdog or something, there by, allowing one of his cohorts to slip in alongside of her and drop a sugar cube laced with some of this so called 'Acid' of theirs into her drink. You know, while she was being otherwise distracted!

"I mean, it's a rather easy thing to do! You know, and pickpockets and purse snatchers, working in tandem like that, do it all the time!"

"So you think that's what happened?"

"Yeah, I beginning to..."

"Why? I mean, why her?"

"Well, you've got to admit: she is a very, very pretty girl..."

"You mean to tell me that you think those guys drugged her?" Bitsy vehemently charged. "You know, so they could take her into the woods and have their way with her?"

"Could be. I mean, you've got to admit that it's well within the realm of possibilities for something of that nature to have occurred..."

While Sergeant Collins waited to talk to both Sabra and her attending physicians in order to gain some insight into what had happened, he used the time the two of them spent in the emergency room's dingy waiting room to take sufficient notes which would enable him to return to his precinct and there, type up Bitsy's official statement. Later, as he informed her, he would have her drop by the station house on her way either to and from work and sign it for him. Bitsy, given all the distractions she was contending with when all of this hoopla with Sabra was supposed to be going on, was understandable vague about the number of guys involved in the incident; suggesting, in a lame and slightly embarrassed manner, that she wasn't sure and that it could have been either four or five guys who had taken the young, blonde headed woman that couldn't remember her name into the woods. Then, when asked by Sergeant Collins if she could perhaps give a description of what these young creeps looked liked, all Bitsy could say was that they were dressed like hippies and that they all had varying lengths of long hair and some, she believed, had beards, but that those that didn't probably had muttonchops and mustaches..."

Round about the time that Sergeant Collins finished up questioning Bitsy, an emergency room nurse, dressed in her blue scrubies, came out to waiting room and informed the officer that, if he wished, the doctor handling Sabra's case said that he could have a few minutes to talk with her; admonishing him as she did so that he was not to put any undo pressure on the poor girl. Five minutes after that, the very same nurse that had come for Sergeant Collins returned to the waiting room and beckoned Bitsy to please follow her back into the cluttered warren of alcoves and examination rooms that served as the hospital's emergency room. Arriving at the curtained-off alcove where Sabra had been stashed for the time being, Sergeant Collins, acting the part of the perfect gentleman, parted the curtains, there by, admitting Bitsy into the screened-off enclosure.

"Sabra." he began. "I like to introduce you to Miss Bitsy MacNamara, the young lady who's timely intervention on your behest - I firmly believe! - prevented you from coming to any additional harm."

"Sabra!" Bitsy beamed. "You mean to tell me that she's got her memory back?"

"I wish that were the case. But, I'm sad to say, our little Sabra here still can't remember much of anything, much less her name."

"Then why - Pray tell! - did you call her 'Sabra' just now?"

"That ID bracelet that she's wearing has 'Sabra' engraved on it. So, we're assuming that 'Sabra' is either her first name or middle name. Which - We hope! - will make identifying her that much easier for us."

In an effort to plant a seed of misdirection, Bitsy innocently offered, "What if 'Sabra' is her nickname?"

"Well, that might just complicate matters for us..."

A few moments later, Sabra's attending physician parted the curtain and poked his head inside, saying as he did so, "Sergeant Collins, if I may, could I have a few words with you in private."

A moment or so after that, feeling that it was okay for her to leave the two young women alone to converse with one another for awhile, the spunky young nurse, who Sabra thought was as cute as a button, saying in so many words that she had best get cracking and look in on a couple of her other patients before they threw a hissy fit and got her into trouble, drew the curtain aside and, like Sergeant Collins had a moment or so before, departed the curtained off enclosure. Keenly aware of the World War II axiom about how loose lips sink ships, Sabra and Bitsy made doubly sure that they watched what they said to one another, so as to prevent anyone from getting the idea that they had known each other previously.

Later, as Sergeant Collins escorted Bitsy out to his patrol car, in an effort to make conversation with the delightful young woman that was only a couple of years older than his eldest daughter, he aired an observation he had arrived at, "You know something? You two seem to be getting along quite well."

"Yes! Yes, we were, weren't we?"

"Fact is: I like her a lot and I truly believe that she likes me!"

"Good! I'm glad to hear that! You know, because I really think that poor girl could use a friend right now!"

"You know something, Sergeant! I whole-heartedly agree with you about that! She does need a friend! And, you know what! Since I can't begin to imagine what it's like for her right now! You know, feeling all isolated and alone like I'm sure she does! I fully intend to be that friend! You know, that is: if she'll have me!"

"Well good for you, Bitsy!"

A minute or so later, as Sergeant Collins backed his patrol car out of the parking place it had occupied at the hospital, he quipped, "You know something, Bitsy! You may have missed your calling in life! You know, given how caring and charitable you appear to me to be!"

"That's so very nice of you to say, Sergeant. Would you believe that I almost became a nun?"

"You! A num!" taken by completed surprise, he gasped.

"Oh, yeah! I was well on my way to becoming a nun when I came to the stark realization that I wasn't cut out for that kind of life."

"So, you became a Playboy Bunny instead?"

"Yeah! Ironic, isn't it?

"I mean, for a long while there I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life decked out in a black and white nun's habit!

"So, I changed my mind! Called it quits and ended up tacking a job as a Playboy Bunny! And guess what!

"Of all the different costume colors that are available, guess which one I end up with?"

"You've got to be kidding me!" Sergeant Collins countered, knowing exactly where Bitsy was going with this tirade of hers.

"Oh, no! I'm not!

"Wouldn't you just know it! Damn if they didn't give me a black one! You know, complete with white collar and cuff!

"Granted, it's a satin one! But, it's still black! Black as that nun's habit I walked away from! - No! I didn't walk! I ran! You know, as fast as these little old feet of my could carry me..."

Sunday, Bitsy showed up at the hospital's emergency room around lunchtime and dully inquired as to where the amnesia victim who had been brought in the night before could be found. As expected, the nurse manning the intake desk had no idea who or what Bitsy was referring to and because she didn't, she passed the buck and directed Bitsy to inquire at the hospital's main information desk. Which of course, Bitsy did. There, after a lot of who-struck-john in which Bitsy had to patiently listen to the woman manning the hospital's main information desk rant and rave about how the emergency room's admitting nurse should have been able to provide her with the requested information, Bitsy was given Sabra's room number and directions as to which elevator she should take in order to get there.

Stopping at the ward's nurses station to inquire into Sabra's condition and to ask whether or not she could pay the poor girl a visit, Bitsy was dutifully informed that while Sabra appeared to be fit as a fiddle, she still was unable to remember much in the way of specifics and that yes, since her attending physician had placed no special restrictions on her, she was free to have all the visitors she wanted.

Walking into Sabra's room, Bitsy, upon noticing that there was a nurse there taking Sabra's temperature and blood pressure, said brightly, "Well, hello there stranger! Do you remember me form last night?"

Playing along, Sabra returned, "Well, of course I do! You were here last night! Your name is... err... Bitsy! Isn't it?"

"It sure is!"

"So, what brings you here?"

"You! I thought you might like some company and this!" Bitsy said as she approached the bed and passed over a shopping bag containing some clothes.

"What's this?"

"Just some old clothes of mine plus: a bathrobe, a pair of slippers, a few pairs of pajamas and some cosmetics! You know, so that you can wear something other than one of those dehumanizing and unflattering hospital gowns that they've got you trussed up in now!"

Addressing the nurse, Sabra asked, "Is it okay if I put something else on!"

"Well, since the doctor didn't say you couldn't and since you're really not sick, I see no reason why you can't.

"In fact, since they haven't got you scheduled for any test today, save for the normal stuff, you know, like the stuff I just did, as long as you let us know up at the nurses station where you're going to be and that you make sure that you're back here by three, if you and this new friend of yours would like to run down to the cafeteria or sit out in the visitors lounge, I don't see any reason why you can't."

Though they avoided talking about anything that would lend one to believe that they had known one another previously whenever there was even the remotes chance of someone overhearing them, once they were down in the cafeteria, sitting off all by their lonesomes, Sabra, taking full advantage of the moment afforded them, sarcastically quipped, "Oh! By the way, thanks a heap for the warning!"

"Warning? What warning?"

"About the examination!"

"About what examination?" Bitsy, at a lose to know what in the world her love-mate was referring to, replied with a keen sense of exasperation evident in her rebuttal.

"You know!" Sabra heatedly charged.

"No, Sabra! I don't know!"

"You know! The examination where they get you up on this table! You know, that looks like some sort of modern day variation of some fiendish and despicable contraption that they used back during the Spanish Inquisition! You know, that has these... these... these..."

"Stirrups!" Bitsy, upon finally realizing exactly what examination Sabra had been so lamely referring to, offered.

"Yeah! That's it! Stirrups! You know, to put your feet in!"

"Oh! So, what you're saying is: they gave you your first vaginal examination!"

"Yeah! They most certainly did!

"They gave me one last night! You know, while I was in the emergency room! And then, as if that one wasn't good enough, this guy - I guess he was some sort of vagina specialist or something! - gave this new little you-know-what of mine another one of those icky and down right humiliating, peek and prob look-sees early this morning! You know, like right after breakfast!"

"For your information, the guy was probably a gynecologist and the examination he gave you is generally referred to as a vaginal exam or just vaginal for short."

"Well, whatever it's called, I can tell you one thing! I didn't like it! You know, not in the least little bit!

"I mean, I had to do everything I could from hauling off and decking the bastard!"

"So, I take it that you didn't like having a guy fooling around down there?"

"No! No I didn't!

"I mean, it unnerved me to no end to have a guy - Irregardless of the fact that he was a doctor! - dickering around with this new little honey pot of mine!"

"Good!

"What do you mean - good?"

"Well, if I do say so myself, I'm not all that keen on the idea of somebody other than myself fooling with that new little you-know-what of yours either! You know, because, as I have told you before: I consider certain parts of that new anatomy of yours to be as much mine as yours!

"You know, as in I claim squatter's rights! Mean: I'm not about to let anybody jump my claim! If, that is: you know what I mean..."

"So, let me ask you this again!" Sabra pressed the issue. "Why didn't you warn me before hand? You know, that they were going to do something like that to me!"

"Tell you what! In order to answer your question, let me ask you one in return!"

"Alright!"

"If I had told you, you know, about the vaginal that you most certainly would have to undergo, you know, to find out if you were violated or not, tell me: how would that have affected you?

"I mean, be honest here! Wouldn't that have made you even more apprehensive than you already were?"

"Yeah... I guess it would have..."

"Alright, then! That's why I didn't tell you! You know, because you didn't need anything more on your plate! You know, on top of all those other concerns you were dealing with..."

A few minutes later, Bitsy, having just taken a sip of her soda, asked, "So, tell me! What was the prognosis? Are you still are virgin or what?"

"Oh, yeah! I'm still a virgin alright!" Sabra replied with some embarrassment. "That's to say that this new little cherry of mine is still firmly intact!"

"Good! I'm so glad to hear that! You know, because I've got dibs on popping it! You know, when it comes time for it to be properly popped!"

"And, just how in the world are you going to go about doing that?"

"Easily! One of these days, when I think you're up for it, I'll just do unto myself as I did unto your mom!

"In other words, I'll just turn myself into a guy, you know, much like I did with your mother, and then proceed on to have my way with you!"

"You're serious, about this, aren't you?"

"You bet your ass - Excuse me! - derriere I am!

"After all young lady, since it was you who deflowered me, you know, that night we did it behind the pool's pump house, I think it only fair if I get to return the favor and be the one to deflower you!"

"You wouldn't! You couldn't!"

"Oh, but I would and could!

"And, just so you'll know, I have full intentions of doing so one of these days!"

"Yeah! Right! And, just what in the hell happens if I end up getting pregnant?"

"Well, in that case, young lady, I think it's safe to say that you'll make your mother very, very happy..."

Upon returning to Sabra's room, the two girls found Sergeant Collins waiting for them. Saying that he half expected to find Bitsy there, he set his briefcase down and from it, produced not one, but a pair of official statements that he had typed up that morning, one for each of the young ladies' John Hancocks.

"Oh, before I forget, the crime investigation boys did find your pocket book and most of what we believe to be its' contents scattered about in the grove where we found you."

Excitedly, Sabra responded, "You mean you found my wallet and know who I am?"

"No... Regrettable, they were unable to find your wallet or anything that bore any sort of identification..."

"So," Sergeant Collins said to Bitsy as the elevator doors closed behind them, "Are you headed home or do you have to go in to work today?"

"I'm afraid it's off to the Club for me."

"Oh! And, I supposed you stopped off to see Sabra on your way downtown."

"That's right, Sergeant. Since I didn't have anything else to do today, I figured I'd stop in and see how she was doing."

"That was an awful nice thing for you to do. Oh, and I suppose those clothes she was wearing where yours as well."

"Yes! Yes, they were! You see, I got to thinking last night on the drive home and I just figured that wearing something other than a hospital gown might help to cheer her up! You know, and make her feel a little bit more human."

"So, I take it that you've taken it upon yourself to make her your pet project?"

"Yeah... I guess I have at that."

"Good girl! I'm really glad to hear that! You know, because what this old weary world of ours needs is a few more good Samaritans like you..."

Sabra spent the week that followed being prodded, probed and subjected all sort of tests, both at the hospital and at a well known psychiatric facility that was located just across the main drive from the hospital where she was being temporarily housed. As expected, her blood test showed definite traces of a natural hallucinogen that bore a striking resemblance to the American Indian drug peyote. Further research showed that there had been several other cases of unrecoverable amnesia resulting found the ingestion of a similar substance reported over the span of the last couple of years or so. And, due to that, the medical team handling Sabra's case didn't hold out much hope for the restoration of her memory.

An IQ test showed Sabra to be highly intelligent and the high marks she scored on the GED Test that they had her take, left no question that she had a good head on her shoulders.

On several occasions, hypnotism was employed in an attempt to aid in the restoration of Sabra's memory. Having been forewarn by Bitsy that such attempts might be tried, Sabra side-stepped the issue by using her own self-induced transcendental state as a sham in order to avoid the pitfalls involved with her actually being hypnotized. Her newly honed ability to read auras also put her in good stead. By reading a questioner's aura and employing a little trail and error up front, Sabra found that she could gauge how her responses resonated; there by, making it much easier for her to win over even the most stodgy and cynical among the vast number of people who served as so many gate keepers, who in turn, oversaw the turnstiles that granted her access to all the various bureaucratic hurtles she had to jump through on her seemingly endless odyssey to gain a new identity for herself.

Somewhere around mid-week, while Sabra was having her daily confab with Dr. Gooding, the elder, grandfather-like gentleman who served as the physician of record for her particular case, the matter of payment came up. Dr. Gooding, informing Sabra that they would cross that bridge when them came to it, told her not to worry her pretty little head about. If, the worse case scenario were to occur in which neither Sabra's memory could not be restored nor, the authorities looking into her case failed in their endeavors to establish her true identity, he, as the hospital's chief of staff, had the leeway to underwrite the medical expenses she incurred.

Though Bitsy had assured her that such would be the case, it nevertheless heartened Sabra to hear Dr. Gooding say that she needn't worry about the bill she was amassing.

Somehow! Someway! By insurance, Social Services or by the application of some creative accounting, Sabra's bill would eventually be marked paid in full.

Bitsy visited Sabra at the hospital each and ever day of her love-mate's stay. Sometimes, she would do so on her way into work and sometimes, on her way home from a long day of satin clad Hutch Hooping. Upon arriving at the nurse's station on her way downtown that Thursday, Gale, one of the nurses on Sabra's ward duly informed Bitsy that Dr. Gooding would really like to see her before she proceeded on to spend some time with that new girlfriend of hers.

"Ah! Miss MacNamara! Please! Come in! Have a seat! I'll be with you in just a minute!" Dr. Gooding, cradling the phone receiver in his hand, said as he beckoning Bitsy into his office with several waves of his hand.

"...while I'm not for one minute suggesting that Sabra won't one day regain her memory, Miss MacNamara, given the little we know about the nastier side-effect of the hallucinogen that we found traces of in her system, the prognosis isn't good. In other words, to be blunt about this, there is a high likelihood that Sabra will never regain her memory...

"...hopefully, the police will be able to match her with a missing person's report. However, we can't put all our hopes on that occurring either...

"...just this morning, I had my secretary notify Social Services that they need to get the ball rolling in doing whatever they have to do to establishing a new identity for Sabra and to that end, one of their case workers should be here either tomorrow or the next day to help expedite things...

"...though I hate to do something of this nature, I have a golf playing buddy of mine that just happens to be a highly influential judge, and if push comes shove, if it'll help get Sabra a new legal identity more quickly, I won't hesitate to call in a favor or two..."

"...my nurses have told me that you - Young lady! - have taken a special interest in our Sabra, as has Sergeant Collins, who, I might add, stopped by to see me earlier this morning, so as to fill me in on the progress, or, more correctly, the lack there of, he and his colleagues have been making in so far as establishing Sabra's identity. My nurses also have informed me that you have been visiting Sabra on a daily bases every since she's been here with us."

Bitsy replied that it was indeed true and that she had been stopping by to spend a little time each day with Sabra, prompting Dr. Gooding to continue.

"Now, since I'm not sure how to approach this tactfully, I'm just going to say what I have to say and have done with it. Alright?"

Bitsy replied that it was.

"Prior to Sergeant Collins dropping by this morning to have a chit-chat with me, I called Dr. Farmer, the psychiatrist who has been working with Sabra just across the way, just to run something by him and see if he was in agreement with me about Sabra and how her continued stay at either one of our facilities would, in effect, be detrimentally to any hope we might hold for her total recovery.

"To make a long story short, Miss MacNamara, Dr. Farmer concurs with my take on the matter. We both believe that what Sabra really needs right now is to be placed in an environment that will prove to be a lot more conduce to her rehabilitation than either a medical or mental facility.

"In other words, we'd like to see her placed in a normal home environment.

"Now, if we have to go the Social Services route, they will place her in home. However, as to what kind of home that will be is anybody' guess!

"And, that's regrettable!

"As detrimental as Sabra's continued stay on here, or over at Dr. Farmer's facilities would be, a bad home environment could be even more so...

"Now, if push comes to shove and we are unable to come up with some other alternative, Sergeant Collins has graciously offered to put Sabra up with his family for awhile. However, while he never came right out and said this, I got the feeling that were he to do so, it would put a real strain on the Collins' already overcrowded household..."

"So," Bitsy interject, "what you want to know is: can Sabra stay with me?"

"Yes, Miss MacNamara. That's exactly what I was about to ask you."

"Well, while I'd like to say 'yes' out of hand, I afraid I can't, doctor.

"You see, I'm living with a friend of mine's mom at present and I'd have to ask her permission first.

"However, knowing Mrs. Oats as I do, I think she'll be delighted to take in another hapless soul..."

Making sure that no one could see what she was about other than the intended recipient, Bitsy flashed Sabra a thumbs up as she entered her soulmate's hospital room.

"Hey! Guess what, kiddo! I've got some great news for you! On Dr. Gooding's suggestion, I just called my friend's mom - You know, Mrs. Oats, the woman I'm presently living with! You know, the one I've been telling you about! - and I asked her if she would mind taking in another boarder and guess what! She said that if I was referring to that young woman who was suffering from amnesia that I had been stopping by the hospital to see, she'd be delighted to!

"So, I guess the question is: would you like to be my new roommate or what?"

Sabra, anxious as all get out to put the rigmarole of hospital life behind her, played her part in the ongoing ruse to a tee, as she readily agreed.

A minute or so later, having talked over the logistics of her soulmate's impending release, Bitsy took note of a new addition to the room's otherwise Spartan decor.

"Hey! Where did that guitar come from?"

"Oh, that! It belonged to one of the interns!

"He was in here yesterday afternoon, shortly after you left, giving me the once over, when he took note of how callused the fingertips of my left hand are, prompting him to inquire as to whether or not I played guitar or some other steel stringed instrument. When I told him I didn't know, you know, because I couldn't remember if I did or I didn't, he showed up bright and early this morning with that guitar over there and had me have a go at it.

"Okay! So, I do! And, after a few half-hearted attempts, I fumble through a pretty lame rendition of 'Freight Train' and what does he go and do! He informs me that, since he has just purchased a brand new Gibson Hummingbird a couple of months ago and he hasn't been playing his old Epiphone Texan anymore. So, to make a long story short, what does he do? He proceed to inform me that he wants me to have it; adding, in no uncertain terms, that he doesn't want to hear anything else about it from me; save to say that I had to promise him that I'd give it a good home!"

"Wow! That was really nice of him!"

"It most certainly was!"

"So, do you think he wants to make you feel indebted to him? You know, so that he can get into your panties or something?"

"To be honest, yeah. I kind of thought so at first.

"However, once we got to talking, I come to find out that he's already got a girlfriend who he's deeply in love with and, I might add, fully intends on marrying once he's finished with his internship.

"That's to say that I truly believe that where I to offer to repaid him for his generosity with a quick roll in the hay with me - Which, it goes without saying that there's no way I would ever do something as personally repugnant to me as that! You know, feeling the way I do about that sort of thing! - he wouldn't go for it! You know, because he doesn't seem to me to be the kind of guy that cheats on a woman he's in a monogamous relationship with! You know, because he wouldn't want her cheating on him..."

"So, tell me!" Bitsy said, changing the subject. "Do you like that guitar he gave you?" Bitsy felt compelled to ask.

'Hell, yes, I like it! In fact, I like it a lot!

"I mean, while it looks all beat to shit, its' neck isn't warp at all and for toppers, it's got a great action! And, I got to tell you! The sound... well, let's just that it's got an absolutely phenomenal sound!

"Big! Bold! And brassy! Truth be told: it almost sounds like a twelve string!"

"And, the nurses let you play it in here?"

"They sure do!

"Of course, they want to close the door when I do, but other than that, they don't mind me playing at all.

"Fact is: would you believe that they actually had me put on a little half an hour concert down in the visitor's lounge this morning for some of my fellow patients!"

"So, tell me! How'd it feel to be performing again?"

"It felt great! Made me realize just how much I've missed it!"

"So, do you think you might be up for the Crier's open mic session on Sunday?"

"Are you serious?"

"I sure am! I mean, if you're up for it..."

Though it took a day longer to make the necessary arrangements for her release, come Saturday morning, with the spunky and nicely sculptured Nurse Gale pushing the wheelchair that Sabra was required by hospital regulations to ride in and with Bitsy carrying that new guitar of hers in one hand and a shopping bag containing her personal items in the other, Sabra was taken down to the hospital's main lobby and from there, out to the curb, where she got out of the wheelchair and climbed into the right front passenger seat of that dilapidated and rust eaten VW micro-bus that had been formerly hers, but was now legally titled under her mother's name.

As expect, Mary Oats was overjoyed to have that new daughter of hers back home again. And, because she was, the three of them turned that Saturday into a joyful celebration of Sabra's homecoming that entailed an afternoon shopping spree, a dinner out and a movie to round out the day.

Returning home, Mary Oats suggested that they continue their reverie by changing into their Bunny Outfits and cracking open a bottle of champagne that she had prudently set to chilling in the refrigerator. Though Bitsy wasn't all that thrilled with her Aunt Mary's suggestion, due to the fact that she did indeed spend a goodly portion of her week decked out in Bunny regalia herself, she wasn't about to deny her soulmate the extemporaneous thrill that she knew Sabra got each and every time she transformed herself into the brazen image of her own libido torquing wet dreams. And, because of that, Bitsy, putting aside her own feelings on the matter, eagerly endorsed her Aunt Mary's timely and impishly couched suggestion.

Sunday, dressed somewhat more sedately than was their norm, save that both were wearing a pair of what was quickly becoming their damn near trademark spiked heels, Sabra and Bitsy, with the admonishment that they weren't about to make a habit out of it, accompanied Mrs. Oats to church. Afterwards, acting on Bitsy suggestion that they continue their celebration of the previous day, the two younger women took Mrs. Oats out to breakfast afterwards.

Later that afternoon, on some trumped up pretext or another, Mary Oats excused herself and headed upstairs to her room. Once there, she set to the task of modulating her aura, so as to transform herself into the young, twenty-something looking, vivacious and raven haired beauty that had so captivated the heart of Josh's father so many long years before in order to make herself appear to be roughly the same age as the two women who she now shared her house with. When question later as to why she had altered her appearance in order to make herself look younger, Mary Oats simply replied that while she deeply appreciated Sabra and Bitsy's invitation to accompany them to the Town Crier and had full intentions of doing just that, she wasn't about to go there and stick out like some sort of middle aged sore thumb who wasn't 'with it'.

As expected, Sabra's debut was an unmitigated success. Having played the three songs that each performer at the Crier's open mics were allowed, Sabra found herself called back to the stage for not one, not two, not even three, but an unprecedented four encores. The audience absolutely loved her, so much so that the MC caught a fair amount of guff all throughout the evening for not have called her back for a fifth encore.

Later, as Sabra was reclaiming her guitar case in preparation for calling it a night and heading back home with her two cohorts, the Crier's owner caught up with her in the fairly large open room that pulled double duty, serving as both a vestibule and combination cloakroom, and asked her if she could see her way clear to participating in a benefit concert he was putting together; suggesting, in so many words, that, while there was no money involved, it would give a good deal of local exposure. Sabra, having performed as Josh Oats the year before in the very same event, readily agreed, aware that the Crier's owner was right. The event would give her plenty of exposure. Several other coffee house owners and area promoters would most likely be there and, if she did only half as well as she had earlier that evening, Sabra knew that she'd be on the fast track to re-establishing her career as a highly sought after mainstay of the local folk scene.

And, that just what happened. Within the month, having preformed at a few other clubs in the area's open mic sessions, that unlike the Crier's, were held on weekday evenings, and the aforementioned benefit concert she participated in, Sabra found her musical talents in great demand, so much so that it was a rare weekend where she wasn't playing somewhere on both Friday and Saturday nights. Also, having enjoyed doing children concerts as Josh, Sabra approached the local library systems, the public and parochial school systems and volunteered her talents.

Oddly enough, it was Mrs. Oats who really got the ball rolling with respect to speeding up the bureaucratic process involved in obtaining a new and thoroughly legal identity for that oh so pretty new daughter of hers. Writing a letter to Dr. Gooding in which she stated that she was the local Playboy Club's Bunny Mother and, in that capacity, she had a job as a Bunny all lined up for Sabra, just as soon as Sabra had a Social Security Number that would allow the Club to start taking out state and federal taxes. Two days later, Mary Oats followed up her letter with a personal phone conversation with the good doctor in which she reaffirmed her wish to hire Sabra as soon as she was able to do so legally. Dr. Gooding, upon hanging up the phone from his conversation with Mary Oats, placed a call to Dr. Farmer, who in turn called upon his friend and prep school classmate, the governor, while Dr. Gooding opened a second front by getting in touch with two very close friends of his, with those two close friends being none other than the mayor and the chief judge and high mucketty muck of the state's circuit court system.

To say that shit hit the fan was putting it mildly. Within the week following Mary Oats' follow-up call to Dr. Godding, Sabra, who had been contending with one bureaucratic snafu after another, got her day in court and, within the hour of the judge's declaration, had the signed packet of documents in hand that ensconced her in her new and totally feminine identity.

A couple of evenings prior to Sabra's day in court, while she and Bitsy were in the kitchen attending to the dinner dishes and Mrs. Oats was off somewhere else in the house doing something or other that she deemed needed attending to, Bitsy broached a subject that had been playing on her mind.

"Sabra!"

"Yes..." Sabra off-handedly replied as she began the mundane task of scrubbing a smear of tomato paste residue off of the dinner plate that had been, but a moment before, sitting in the sink, soaking in a bath of hot soapy water.

"Look! I know that for the longest time - You know, like way back when, when you use to be Josh! - that you held out the hope that one day I'd come to my senses and that the two of us would eventually end up getting married and I'd become Mrs. Joshua Oats...

"I mean, is that a fair statement on my part or what?"

Sabra, though she prefaced her remarks with a deep sigh that made those new and rather magnificent mammary protrusions of hers begin to bounce and jostle independently from one another, irregardless of the fact that they were trussed up in one of those sinfully sensual satin bras that she had taken a fancy to wearing, found herself forced to acknowledge that her soulmate's observation was right on the money and that - Yes! - she had always dreamed of having Bitsy exchange her maiden name MacNamara for Oats.

"Well, since that unfortunately ain't going to happen any time in the near to foreseeable future, given the fact that you - or I should say - the you that you use to be, you know, when you were a man, are a draft dodger and therefore, a wanted felon.

"So, since that's the case, I was kind of sort of hoping that if the judge gives you a choice of last names, which, is usually the case in such matters as this, would you do me the rare honor of taking my last name..."

CRASH! The dinner plate that Sabra had been washing hit the floor and shattered into what looked to be a thousand itsy bitsy pieces.

"Bitsy!" Sabra frantically and excitedly clamored, ignoring the debris field of plate shards that lay round about those dainty, high heel shod feet of hers. "Are you serious? Do you really want me to take your last name and become Sabra MacNamara?"

"Yes! Yes, I do! If, that is: you really, really want to!

"I mean, I don't want to pressure you into to doing something you feel uncomfortable about doing! You know, because, there's a good chance that you're going to be stuck with whatever name you chose for yourself for the rest of your life! You know, unless - Perish the thought! - you end up meeting some guy, falling in love and marrying the SOB!

"However, I should warn you, Sabra! Should you ever do something like that - Which, I have to admit: isn't very likely to occur. You know, given that rather perverted sexual orientation that I've more or less saddled you with! You know, with you being a girl and all, who still retains a very manly mind of a dirty old man in the making - you might as well know right now that I won't let you or the bastard you marry live long enough to enjoy your life together!

"That's to say that if you ever do something like that, you will leave me no recourse other than to become the most vengeful and spiteful bitch that ever walked this earth!

"In other words, sister! You're mine! I'm yours! And that's the be all and end all of it! Case closed! And, believe you me! As far as I'm concerned, it isn't open for discussion or debate!

"Look! I'll grant you that we might be the same sex now, but make no never mind about it, Sabra! I consider us to be already married! You know, married! As in: to have and to hold and to fondle! You know, For richer or poorer and, all that other razzmatazz that's involved! You know, till the cows come home and they plant one or the other of us six feet under the ground!

"And, let me tell you something else! I pity the poor son of a bitch that tries to come between us! Be that person male or female, I promise you: they will rue the day they ever tried!"

"Bitsy!" Sabra happily entreated, as a warm and tear dampened smile spread angelically across that every so lovely and radiant face of hers. "There's absolutely no need to get those tittys of yours in an uproar! So, please! Do us both a big favor! Take a deep breath and try to calm yourself down a little! Alright?

"First off, just so you know, I'm in full agreement with you about the marriage business!

"Now, while I haven't exactly sorted out just who's who in this rather convoluted and, what most people might call, perverted relationship of ours, I do know that I love you and that my life wouldn't be complete without you!

"I am also in complete agreement with you about what would happen were anyone to be foolish enough to try and split us up! You know, because I think it pretty much goes without saying that I didn't give up my manhood and let you fit out with this nifty little crotch crease that replaced it to have you decide one day to just give me the big kiss-off and waltz out of my life like you did before! You know, because I ain't about to let you do something like that to me ever again!"

"Fear not, Sabra! If I've told you once! I've told you a hundred times! I have no intentions of going anywhere! Not now! Not in the future!

"In other words, like it or not, you - My pretty! - are stuck with me!"

"Good! I'm glad to hear that! You know, because I need all the reassurances I can get! You know, what with me and my being a girl and all..."

"So," Bitsy prompted. "Now that we've gotten all that malarkey out of the way and we're in complete agreement over the fact that we love each other and that neither one of us has any intentions of going anywhere, now or in the future, what say we get back to this last name business!"

"Okay!" Sabra responded. "Look! If you're really serious about this last name business, let me just say that I would be both honored and flattered to take the last name MacNamara. That is: if you really, truly want me to?"

"Oh! I do, Sabra! I really, really do!

"Nothing, I might add, would make me happier than for you to become Sabra MacNamara! You know, so that we can both share the same last name!"

"Yeah! I think it would be great too!

"I mean, people who don't know otherwise, might even take us as sisters! You know, given that we do bear a striking resemblance to one another!"

"Oh!" Bitsy returned with a faint hint of sarcasm lacing her voice. "Do you think that I might just have had enough forethought to have planned it that way to begin with? You know, when I took it upon myself to modulated your aura in the first place?"

"You didn't!"

"Alright... If that's what you want to believe, than I didn't!"

"You mean, you actually planned the whole thing out? You know, about us and our looking to all the world like sisters?"

"What do you think?" Bitsy humorously charged Sabra to answer her own question.

"Well, given the fact that we do look an awful lot alike, and if it weren't for the differences in our hair, you know, in so far as coloration, styling and length are concerned, we could almost pass as twins, I guess I have to say that - Yeah! - I think you probably planned it."

"Oh, I planned it alright!

"In fact, long before I found the means to actually accomplish what I have, you know, in so far as my being able to change you into a girl, I use to fantasized about turning you into my twin sister."

"You did, did you?"

"I most certainly did!"

"Well..." Sabra mused aloud. "For my money - What little I have of it! - you did good! You did real good!

"I mean, from the perspective of the nymphed-out, lesbian narcissist that you up and went and turned me into, even though it goes without saying that it took me a good while to get past all the ignominy involved in dealing with this super sexy new body of mine, I have to admit that when push comes to shove, I kind of like the new me and I'm going to absolutely love being Sabra MacNamara!"

A minute later, as the two of them began to clean up the mess that the broken plate had made, Sabra sought her lover's input as she stated a concern she had, "Bits! Now, don't get me wrong here! You know, because I really do want to become Sabra MacNamara! More then you could ever possible imagine! However, even though I do, I'm not sure how my mother is going to feel about it!"

"Not to worry, Sabra! She knows! Furthermore, she thinks it's the way for you to go!

"She does?"

"Yeah! She's cool about it! And, if you don't want to believe me, all you have to do is ask her! She'll no doubt tell you pretty much what she told me! You know, about how she thinks it's the right way for you to go under the circumstances!"

"Alright! So, my mother's copacetic about this last name business! What about yours?

"I mean, how will you parents feel about you showing up on their doorstep with a girl that you just happen to be sleeping with, who - Ironically! - bears the same last name as theirs?"

"Well, since my mother knows all the gory details about you and me and what's been going on between us, I can assure you that it'll be perfectly okay with her were you to do me the honor of taking the last name MacNamara."

"Oh! So, your mom knows about me?"

"She sure does!"

"You mean to tell me that you've been keeping her abreast of everything that's been going on?

"That's to say: that you told her all about me and how you turned me into a girl so that I could avoid the draft and we could be together as a couple?"

"I sure did!"

"And, I suppose she knows about you and about your being a lesbian and all?"

"Yes! Yes, knows about me and my being a lesbian and all!"

"And, she doesn't mind?"

"No! Not anymore she doesn't!

"I mean, while she sure as hell did at first, you know, object to me and my being a girl who likes other girls, you know, sexually, after we had a whole bunch of heart to heart talks about it and I told her about you and about the sacrifice you made so that the two of us could be together, she did a one eighty and has begun to not only accept me for who and what I am, but she's begun to accept you as well, you know, for who and what you've become!

"In fact, she's been chomping on the bit to drop over here and pay you, me and your mother a little visit!"

"So, I suppose your father knows as well?"

"Oh, no! My father knows nothing of what's been going on in so far as you and I are concerned! You know, because he just wouldn't understand!

"Remember, my dad's of the old school! Plus, he's also a veteran of World War II!"

"Oh! That's right! Your dad served on the first carrier named Yorktown as - I believe! - a fighter pilot before she was sunk at Midway! As I remember, he loved telling me about some of his and his cohorts' antics whenever I was over at your house, not to mention his involvement in both the Battle of the Coral Sea and the Battle of Midway and how hard it was on him when he finally got the news about how the Jap sub I-168 slipped in for the coup de grace that sent both the Yorktown and the Destroyer Hammann down to Davy Jones' Locker...

"So, what you're saying, in so many words is: your dad feels that it's every young man's duty to serve his country?"

"Yes! In so many words, that's pretty much my dad's sentiments exactly! Since he served in the time of his country's need, he feels that it's every other young man's obligation to do likewise!"

"As crazy as it sounds, I'm in total agreement with your dad! And were it not for what I truly believe to be a completely unlawful misuse of our military might over in Southeast Asia, I'd be the first to volunteer!

"Hell! I did volunteer! I went and joined the Navy!

"The Navy, however, didn't want me! Neither, I might add, did the Marines, the Air Force or those much-maligned shallow water sailors of the U.S. Coast Guard!

"The Army - God bless 'em all to hell and back! - was more than magnanimous! Though I was, according to all the other services, damaged goods, they were more than happy to have me!

"Trouble was, they didn't want to let me enlist! They wanted to draft my ass!

"And, you know what happens to draftees now a days, don't ya? They end up as little more than cannon fodder, crawling through some snake infested jungle or sloshing through some god-forsaken rice paddy over in South Vietnam...

"So, tell me! How does your dad feel about what we've doing over in Vietnam?"

"Well, the way he sees it: if the Johnson Administration thinks we should be involved over there, then - By God! - we ought be over there and take care of what needs being take care of! You know, as in he thinks we ought to bomb those little yellow skinned commie bastards all the way to hell and back!"

"So, I take it that you're saying your father somewhat hawkish when it comes to our involvement in Vietnam?"

"Yeah, you could say that..."

"And, I guess he wouldn't be to keen knowing that his daughter has a thing for other females?"

"No! No, he most certainly wouldn't!" Bitsy quickly concurred.

"And, given all of that, I guess we can safely assume that were to ever to find out that the girl his daughter was shacking up with was once a guy, who became a girl in order to, shall we say, sidestep the whole Vietnam business, he wouldn't be none to happy about it, now would he?"

"No! Not hardly!"

"Okay! So, it's settled! We're in complete agreement! We aren't going to tell your father about any of what's been going on! Correct?"

"Correct!"

"And, if asked, we lie!"

"You've got that right, Sabra! We lie our asses off!

Excuse me! I'm sorry! I miss-spoke myself! We don't lie our asses off! We lie our tushes off! You know, because we're young ladies and we young ladies don't have asses! Guys have asses! We have tushes!

"Oh! And, as far as my father is concerned: you're just a poor amnesia victim, who I came to the aid of and subsequently befriended! And, that's the be all and end all of it! Save for the fact that we've become best friends! And, since we have, you asked me if I would mind if you took the name MacNamara as your new last name as a way of thanking me for all the help I've been in aiding you to get back on your feet...

A few minutes later, having pretty much wrapped up the discussion they were having about Bitsy's parents, the two of them returned to the subject of Sabra's new name.

"Alright!" Sabra proclaimed. "Getting back on track here, let me just say that if indeed the judge hearing my petition for a new identity gives me a say in the matter, I'll go with MacNamara for a last name.

"Good! So what do you want to do about a middle name?"

"Oh! Right! I'd plume forgot about the middle name business!"

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Sure! Shoot! I mean, since I haven't a clue as to what name I should good with for a middle name, I'm open for suggestions!"

"Well, since you came up with Sabra for a first name and you're going to go with MacNamara for a last name, why don't you make your mother happy by taking her first name as your middle name?"

"Sabra Mary MacNamara..." Sabra sounded it out, only to comment, "I don't know about you, but it sounded a little bit awkward to me."

Bitsy concurred with her lovemate's assessment that it did indeed sound kind of funny to her as well.

"Wasn't one of your grandmothers named Louis?"

"Yes! My mother's mother's first name was Louis!"

"Well, here's an idea! Why don't you go whole hog and go with a hyphenated, or, better yet, compound middle name?"

"What do you mean?"

"Instead of using one name for a middle name, you can cover all the bases by using two!"

"Tell you what, since I'm not sure exactly where you're going with this, Bits, why don't you give me a for instance!

"Alright! I'll do just that!

"How does Sabra Mary Louis MacNamara sound?"

Having sounded the name out a couple of times out loud in order to hear its' cadence, with the reluctant acknowledgement that she wasn't all that fond of either the name 'Louis' or 'Mary', but that by using both there was no doubt that she'd make her mother extremely happy, Sabra concluded by saying that as long as Bitsy didn't start calling her "Mary' or 'Louis' or "Mary Louis', it was a name that she could live with.

The day after Sabra Mary Louis MacNamara received her new Social Security Card, the former Josh Everett Oats, resplendent in a shimmering, light blue satin Cottontail ensemble that was pretty much a carbon copy of the one that hung in her and Bitsy's closet, took over the duties of the Hutch's newest Door Bunny! A week after that, Mary Oats, exercising her authority as Bunny Mother, expanded Sabra's duties by having her split her hours between the Club's admittedly small gift shop and her prior station as the entrance way's shapely and ear crowned stalwart, yet ever so tactful, scrumptious and charming gatekeeper slash Key Card Checker. Then, having proved her ability to function as one of the Hutch's satin clad denizens, her mother, having just hired and trained another three new Bunnies, reassigned Sabra to the lounge, where she would spend a week or two getting those dainty, stiletto heel shod feet of hers wet by functioning as Bitsy's protegee.

Sabra didn't just like the fact that she, a former man, who still retains a very manly mind, was a Bunny. She loved it! So much so that she luxuriating in the fact she was a Bunny!

She loved looking sexy! She loved acting sexy! She loved feeling sexy! She loved just being sexy! And, because she did, she spent damn near all her time at the Club in one state of arousal or another.

Meaning, more times than not, in order to sop up the inordinate amounts of love juices that succulent new crotch crease of hers was leaking on damn near a perpetual and unrelenting bases, Sabra, though she hated like hell having to resort to such, on Bitsy's recommendation, ended up wearing a feminine hygiene pad to stem the flow and keep her costume from showing any telltale signs of her amorous bent.

As a Bunny, Sabra had in effect become the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing. And, she loved every single blessed moment of it! Truth be told: she loved getting an eyeful of her fellow Cottontails as much as the Key Holders and their bug-eyed guest did. Maybe, given her damn near omnipresent state of sexual arousal, augmented by the insider knowledge of what being a bonafide female was all about, plus the fact that her mind was fired by a libido that was as manly as it ever had been, Sabra may have enjoyed her time spent at the Club perhaps even more than most of its' male patrons did.

Initially, until she schooled herself to watch her Ps & Qs and be on her very best behavior, Sabra found herself so turned on by the circumstances she found herself in, that she was having a hard way to go just to keep herself from giving into the crassly couched compulsions that would have her stop whatever she doing and give into the damn near omnipresent urge to frantically grope the livin' shit out of that new and thoroughly bodacious body of hers. Though it sorely tested her resolve, Sabra managed to somehow find the wherewithal within herself to ride rough shod over those compulsions that would have her indulge those autocratic tendencies of hers. Bitsy also help. Alternating between encouragement's, admonishments and out right promises that she would attend to her lesbian lovergirl's amorous needs at the appropriate time and place, Bitsy provided Sabra with the input and incentive that she needed to keep her headed down the straight and narrow path of proper decorum.

Bitsy was also well aware of the fact of the effect the other Bunnies were having on Sabra and that firmly entrenched male libido of hers. She knew that being around a bevy of some of the most beautiful young and vivacious women imaginable on a day in day out bases wasn't the easiest thing for her bedmate and love of her life to contend with and due to that fact, she had imposed a look but don't touch policy that she assured Sabra would be strictly enforced.

Trouble was: Bitsy couldn't very well enforce that look but don't touch policy of hers. All the other Bunnies were always asking assistance whenever getting dressed or undressed and Sabra couldn't very well beg off pitching in and lending a hand when asked.

Had she, she would have been ostracized from the elitist sisterhood that the Club's Bunnies had established among themselves. And, had she been ostracized, it would have only been a matter of days, or at the most, weeks before the resulting tension engendered by her exclusions from camaraderie she had heretofore enjoyed, would have forced Sabra into the decision which would have her forego being a Bunny and necessity of having to find herself another job somewhere else.

Needless to say, Sabra didn't want that eventuality to ever occur. Neither did her mother. Neither, it should be noted, did Bitsy. And, because of that, even though it gulled her to no end to stand back and watch Sabra assist one or another of their cohorts into or out of some item of apparel, or aid them with the application of makeup, or help them arrange their hair when they put their ears on or something else along similar lines, Bitsy bit the proverbial bullet and rode rough shod of her ragging sense of ire and indignation. However, since the Bunnies' dressing room generally appeared to function as a frantically disorganized circle-jerk, with everybody pitching in and helping everyone else out to do whatever they needed to do to make themselves presentable, Sabra found herself having to deal with the same sort of unfounded feelings of green eyed jealousy that her lesbian lifemate contended with on an ongoing bases.

Though prancing around in such scanty and down right sexy attire for the explicit purpose of teasing and pleasing the lecherous and discerning eyes of the Club's patrons didn't sit well with Sabra at all at first, in that it gave her the heebiejeebies to be so obviously ogled as she was. However, once she got past the initial ignominy involved with her wearing a Bunny Costume out in public as it were, she found that she actually received an extemporaneous thrill out the fact that she could turn heads by doing nothing more than walking across a crowed room. In fact, though she would only admit this to Bitsy, and then, only in the intimacy of the enjoyment of the warm-fuzzies of a post-orgasmic afterglow, Sabra gleefully, though sheepishly, would proclaim that she thoroughly enjoyed her new role as a satin ensconced dick teaser.

"Just think, Bits!" a post-orgasmic Sabra exclaimed one night as she nestled more snugly within her soulmate's commiseratory embrace. "Once upon a time, before you whipped this nifty girlhood business on me, the only dick that I had any influence over was my own! Now though, what with this new body you've rigged me out with, I can influence a whole bunch of 'em! You know, as in I can make a whole bunch of them sit up and take notice! And, all I have to do to achieve that is use that jaunty little sashay and hip swish combination move that you showed me how to do after I got the hang of wearing high heels..."

"So, I take it that you're starting to get into the swing of being a girl now?" Bitsy teased back as she began to toy around with the nipple of her lovemate's left boobie.

"Yeah!" Sabra returned slyly. "I guess I kind of sort of am..."

"And, am I to take it that you've taken a shine to being a card carrying member of the fairer sex now and a Playboy Bunny to boot?"

"Yeah! You could say that..."

"You know something, kiddo! I believe I may have just created a monster! You know, when I went and turned you into a girl! I mean, if anybody likes to strut her stuff, that person is you!" Bitsy charged emphatically.

It was true. There was no getting around the fact that Sabra did indeed like to strut her stuff whenever she was decked out in Bunny regalia. And, as Bitsy pointed out to her on numerous occasions, if Sabra felt the necessity to flaunt those new wares of hers, the Playboy Club was by the far the safest place for her to indulge those admitted wanton needs of hers.

Like Bitsy, the Playboy Club had imposed a look but don't touch policy when it came to their Bunnies. Grabbing, groping, or any related attempt to even innocently fondle one of the Club's every so lovely and charming cottontail clad beauties would not be tolerated. Stringent warnings would be issued to first time offenders and for those foolish enough not to heed the advice of the Club's managerial staff to refrain from such actions would find themselves quickly ejected from the premise, with the admonishment to clean up their act before ever thinking about the possibility of their re-applying for membership as a Keyholder.

In other words, the Playboy Club offered girls like Sabra and Bitsy a safe environment to work in. It also offered them both a pleasant and extremely profitable environment to work in. Within the first year of their employment, given that fact that while they more than compensated Sabra's mom for their room and board, the two of them began to amass a nice little nest-egg for they future together.

Oddly enough, though Bunnies were nothing more than well paid waitress and barmaids, dressed in extremely flattering and body accentuating outfits that had been cunning calculated to pull at the heart-strings and libidos of male patrons in a most licentiously stimulating manner, they rarely if ever thought of themselves as such. More times than not, though they served food and delivered drinks much the same way waitresses or barmaids did, the girls that pranced around in Bunny attire thought of themselves as bunch of scantily clad hostess, who's main task was to pamper and fuss over their clientele. And, if that meant fetching drinks and food and other such stuff in order to make the Key Holders and their guest feel welcomed, so be it. They did so with a smile on the face and a seductive and impishly playful little bump and grind hip swish in their gait.

To say that Sabra loved being a Playboy Bunny, would have been the grossest of understatements. Though she would have told anyone making such a statement that they didn't know what in the hell they were talking about, Sabra secretly adored the fact that she was a Bunny. Bitsy, though to a much lesser degree, did too. And because they did, and because Mary Oats reveled in the vast amounts of personal satisfaction she derived out of being a Bunny Mother, the three of them maintained their association with the Playboy Club until the place finally closed its' doors in the early Eighties.

• • • EPILOGUE* * *

The weekend following Sabra's becoming a full fledged, satin clad Playboy Bunny, as promised, Aurora Nightwing showed up bright and early one Saturday morning accompanied by two vans chocked fully of a long haired young men brought down from the Western Maryland commune and work on the addition to the Mary Oats' house began in earnest. Four months later, with the house enlarged by almost a third, the sorority emulating safe house inaugurated their undertaking as Bitsy turned their first young draft dodging guest into an ever so pretty and dewy eyed young woman. Two weeks later, Mary Oats followed suit by officiating over the metaphysically linked tirade that successfully turned another would be army inductee into a amply endowed and nicely tushed young lady. Sabra got her chance at modulating a young man's aura a week after that and did a bang up job of it in the process; turning a real whimp of a pimple faced kid into an absolutely gorgeous piece of feminine topography.

Six months after opening their home in order to thwart the will of the Federal Government with respect to a very select group of handpicked young draft evaders, there were six aura re-attenuated young women living in the newly enlarged, cubical partitioned off basement dormitory room and another three recent arrivals living on the second floor, making a grand total of twelve females living under the same roof. Two months later, that number increased to fifteen, making all in residence thankful of the fact that there were three new bathrooms incorporated in the addition; one on each floor, all fitted out with three sinks, two commodes, a shower stall and a bathtub apiece. An enlarged kitchen, boasting two long trestle tables, plenty of cabinet room, two restaurant grade range and stove units, three refrigerators, and an overly large locker styled freezer also went a long way into helping alleviate the crowded conditions that generally prevailed in Mary Oats' house.

Two years later, in the early months of Nineteen Seventy, when the widow next door put her house on the market, Bitsy, Sabra and Mrs. Oats pooled their resources and bought the place out right. Once again, Aurora Nightwing, drawing on the commune's resources, furnished both the manpower and building materials required to turn the house next door into another sorority like halfway house. Installing herself as house mother, Aurora opted to use the new establishment as a sort of nursery like pre-school training academy for those newly made 'girls' of theirs; there by, moving her graduates students over to the Oats' once they had reached a stage in their acclimation in which they were ready to re-enter the world at large as functioning females.

Many of the 'girls', thanks to Mary Oats' position at the Playboy Club, ended up doing stints as Playboy Bunnies and those that didn't, generally worked part time at one or another of the fast food franchises or 7-Elevens that Mary Oats and those two every so attractive MacNamara girls had begun to purchase; allowing the newly made young women the chance to attend college and there by, get a degree that would in turn, put them in good stead to provide a living wage for themselves once they were out on their own. MOM (MacNamara, Oats & MacNamara) Enterprises also opened a modeling agency in Seventy One, followed by a local advertising agency in Seventy Two that gave their ever expanding brood of new made women even more ways to earn a respectable living for themselves.

Aurora Nightwing, aware that they could go to the well but so many times with respect to their continued use of the amnesia ploy, had prudently managed to place some of her earlier male to female makeovers in key positions in several different states' Bureau of Records. There, working surreptitiously, her moles could, within a week or so of a request, provide legally verifiable identities to newly made members of their very exclusive and growing sisterhood. Likewise, acting on Sabra's suggestion, there followed a concerted effort to infiltrate the administration of various large universities based in the Mid-Atlantic Region in order to put members on the fact track to acquiring a degree by negating the need for them to take a whole bunch of unnecessary and time consuming courses, such as Basket Weaving 101 and Couch Potato 202.

Eventually, working in conjunction with Pam out in Oregon, Kelly in Arizona and a few other similar operations that they had managed to set up all around the country, Aurora began to ship a fair amount of those new made 'girls' of theirs to other locals in an effort on her part to further compound and confound the authorities from becoming overly suspicious of their illegal activities revolving around their all out effort to aid a select group of young men avoid the draft.

Once, they almost got caught. The FBI, in an effort to shut down the underground railroad that they believe to be helping draft evaders make their way north to the Canadian border, managed to infiltrate the Western Maryland commune with one of their younger looking agents. Aurora, who was always on the lookout for such an occurrence, quickly put the kibosh on the FBI's operation by getting the agent to fly out to San Diego with her and from there, into Mexico, where she changed him into a girl and threatened to leave his ass there to fend for his newly herified self.

Aurora's threat worked like a charm. The agent promised - a cross your heart hope to die kind of promise - that he wouldn't say a single blessed thing about what was going on to his colleagues in the FBI and Aurora, having read his aura in order to judge his sincerity, gladly readjusted his aura, there by turning him back into his former male self so that he could legally accompany her back across the border into California.

Oddly enough, though he had only spent a couple days as a member of the opposite sex, the agent had become so intrigue with his short stint as a bonafide and fully functional female that, after a lot of soul searching during his and Aurora's drive north to pay Pam a visit up in Oregon, he actually asked Aurora if she could she her way clear to doing him a favor and turn him back into the girl he had been in Mexico. Aurora, having used some of Bitsy's acclimation techniques when she had modulated his aura while in Tijuana, thought that there was a fifty-fifty chance of him making such a request and because she did, she was quick to accede to his wishes by turning him - a very Germanic featured blonde haired young man - into a ravishing, Hispanic featured, raven haired woman of unparalleled beauty, per his stated request.

In the inaugural year of Nineteen Sixty-Seven, Mary Oats, Sabra and Bitsy, working in conjunction with one another, got off to a good start by turning a grand total of eleven young draft dodgers into charming young women. The following year, they managed to ensconced another twenty-three draft evaders in bodies the wouldn't quit. Sixty Nine, in an all out effort to better their efforts and save as many young men as they could from the possibility of having to go to Vietnam, they increased their output by three. In Nineteen Seventy, with the addition of the house next door and Aurora's much appreciated help, they more than doubled the number of young men the four of them processed, turning a mind boggling forty seven teenage boys into a like number of extremely attractive young women. Seventy One saw them better the previous year's results by ten and in Seventy Two, due to the realization that the tide had finally turned and it would only be a matter of months before the U.S. would end its' involvement in the War in Vietnam, only a sparse twenty six young men opted to avail themselves of the unique services of the Mid-Atlantic based group of aura adjusters.

Year 1 - 1967 - Yearly Total - 11, Overall Total 11

Year 2 - 1968 - Yearly Total - 23, Overall Total 34

Year 3 - 1969 - Yearly Total - 26, Overall Total 60

Year 4 - 1970 - Yearly Total - 54, Overall Total 114

Year 5 - 1971 - Yearly Total - 64, Overall Total 178

Year 6 - 1972 - Yearly Total - 26, Overall Total 204

All told, Bitsy, Sabra, Mary Oats and Aurora Nightwing turned a grand total of 204 young men into an equal number of very attractive young women over the course of their six year endeavor, averaging out at 34 boys turned into girls a year.

As one might expect, most of the draft aged young man that were subsequently turned into fully functioning members of the fairer sex tended to be heterosexual prior to their sexual re-assignments and since they were, most of them, much like Sabra had, ended up thinking of themselves as falling under the rubric of both the narcissistic and lesbian persuasions. And, because the majority of the former males eventually came to think of themselves as homosexual females, more times than not, after they got tired of the wolf in sheep's clothing/kid in the candy store scenario that most of them went through during the mid-level stages of their transition into their eventual acceptance of their new lot in life as physically functional females, employing the misery loves company concept, they usually ended up forming an exclusive, one on one relationship with one of their so called sorority sisters.

A scant few, figuring in for a penny in for a pound, opted to go against the grain of their masculine attuned mental mind-sets and tried living as if they had been born and bred to be a nothing other than what they appeared to all the world to be, i.e.: normal heterosexual females. Of those that did, most failed miserably. Sex with a male partner was one thing. Establishing intimacy was quite another.

However, as with any group of people, of all those that tried living their lives as heterosexual females, a few of the lucky ones made the transition successfully and in so doing, went on to become wives and, in the due course of time, mothers as well. Trouble was: most of those that tried to see if they could find the wherewithal within themselves to function as heterosexual females and failed, ended up mentally scared by the experience. And, as tragic as it was, more times than not, those mental scars had a marked tendency to lead to lower self-esteem. Which in turn, could, without some sort of intervention, lead to drug use. And, drug use could, and often times did, lead an innocent an unsuspecting young girl with low self-esteem to engage in prostitution in order to finance her habit.

However, given the careful aura sensitive screening process that each makeover applicant went through prior to being accepted into the sexual reassignment program that MOM Enterprises was over-seeing, that eventuality only happen in two instances and both times, intervention was swiftly enacted and things arrested and set aright before they got completely out of hand and became all but unsalvageable.

Note: The data below only reflects those ATMs (Aura Transsexualized Males) processed at MOM's (MacNamara, Oats & MacNamara).

Number of ATMs processed at MOM's during the years 1967 thru 1972: 204

Number of ATMs that adopted the lesbian lifestyle: 164

Number of ATMs that adopted a bisexual lifestyle: 22

Number of avowed lesbian ATMs that formed an exclusive relationship with a sister ATM: 136

Number of ATMs that endeavored to adopt a heterosexual lifestyle post-reassignment: 18

Number of ATMs that succeeded in functioning as heterosexual females: 7

Number of ATMs that succeed in functioning as heterosexual females and became wives and subsequently mothers: 5

Number of non-heterosexual ATMs that opted to become mothers: 33

Number of ATMs that resumed their male personas after President Carter granted draft evaders amnesty in 1977: 32

Number of ATMs that recanted their decision to return to their male personas and became women once again: 19

Though it should be noted that Sabra had no intentions of remaining male for any appreciable length of time, shortly after President Carter granted an overall amnesty in 1977, she pulled a sexual switcheroo on herself in order to put in a brief, three week appearance as Josh. During that time, Sabra succeeded in achieving the two goals she had set out to achieve. First off, and primary on her list of things to do, Sabra made an honest woman out of her lifemate in a simple, but well attended marriage ceremony in which Bitsy at long last became Mrs. Joshua Everett Oats. And secondly, during a well deserved and long over due two week honeymoon slash vacation spent lounging around on the beach and sipping Marguerites somewhere in the Bahamas, Sabra, employing the if at first you don't succeed method of try, try, try again, fitted herself out with a functioning set of male genitalia and in so doing, gleefully managed to impregnate that new and ever so happy wife of hers. Nine months later, with Sabra playing the role of breathing coach, Bitsy gave birth to an 8 lb., 3 oz. green eyed, blonde haired beauty. Two years and three months to the day later, having reversed roles for the blessed event, Sabra, having aired a whole bunch of spiteful remarks that called into question the legitimacy of Bitsy own family linage, gave birth to their second child, a bouncing blue eyed baby boy that would regrettably, grow up calling his own mommy, Aunt Sabra.

Unlike many of her fellow activist engaged in the anti-war movement, Sabra held those that served in Vietnam in the highest of regards. Though she remained vehemently opposed to what she truly believed to be an unconstitutional and therefore, illegal use of the military, she could not find it in herself to take her distaste and disgust of the war out on those that were sent there to serve. Sabra placed the blame for the war clearly on the shoulders of the government, not the military per se. Once in country, politics went out the window. It was us against them in a kill or be killed situation. And, while Sabra hated to see anyone on either side have to suffer and die, when it came to a choice, Sabra side was chosen for her at her birth. She was an American and because she was, she didn't want one American to have to forfeit his life or limb in what was clearly another country's civil war brought on by a clash of ideologies.

Sabra had come to the stark realization that ideologies could not be conquered by the mere winning of a war. They could only be subdued. A foe could be nuzzled and there by silenced and yet remain unconverted. Communism, enacted under the auspices of a tyrannical totalitarian form of oppressive government was flawed and was therefore doomed to failure. Capitalism, fueled as it is by the darker side of human nature's seven deadly sins, if tempered by a republican form of representative government, regulated with a system of checks and balances that responded to the desires of a plurality of its' citizenry, while at the same time, jealously guarding the unalienable rights of each individual, was the most advantageous and mutually beneficial system in which to live, with the equal chance to prospers and thrive extended to all.

Though it would be a long row to hoe, Sabra perceived that the best way for the West to defeat communism and other forms of totalitarian government was to do so by living up to the ideals and governmental constraints as set out in the Constitution and in doing so, provide an example for the rest of the world to emulate. And, because she felt the way she felt, Sabra actually volunteered to go to South Vietnam on several occasions. Twice, having cajoled Bitsy into accompanying her on both occasions, Sabra, going in '70 and then again in '71, volunteered to be a member of the Bunny entourage that had been assembled as part of a joint venture that Playboy Enterprises, the U.S.O., working in close conjunction with Bob Hope's people, were putting together to entertain the troops over the Christmas Holiday Season.

Aware that if circumstances had been different, she could have been one of those poor, unfortunate and ever so appreciable boys in the audience instead of a much ogled, satin clad member of a U.S.O. Tour Group, Sabra's heart went out to all those uniformed young men she came in contact with during both of her and Bitsy's tours. Without letting things get to much out of hand, she played the part of the impishly provocative dick-teaser that she and her satin clad cohorts had been cast to play and in doing so, did all she could to bring a little joy and a feel of home to everyone she met. In fact, Sabra did all that was expect of her and then some. When and wherever she could, Sabra, generally with Bitsy cajoled into accompanying her, went the extra mile and used the sparse personal time that was afforded them during the tour that encompassed not only South Vietnam, but numerous other bases and commands spread all throughout Southeast Asia to visit as many of the forward areas and hospitals that she could. There, with that excellently crafted longneck banjo that her mother had purchased for her slung over her shoulder Seeger style and Bitsy adding her voice on the choruses, Sabra, decked out in either her flop-eared Bunny finery or a baggy pair of army fatigues and the corresponding and, in many circumstances, damn near obligatory and mud mandated combat boots, put on a hootenanny like concert that was weighted heavily with both bawdy and well known sing-along songs.

During their first U.S.O. tour of Southeast Asia in 1970, Sabra and Bitsy became cognizant of a problem, with that problem being: the growing number of children fathered by American service men and mothered by the young, more times than not, teenage girl-woman of South Vietnam. Keenly aware of the fact that should the political climate within United States reach a point that tripped the scales and there by, forced the withdrawal of our military presence from South Vietnam, Sabra and Bitsy realized that these poor, innocent young children could and probably would end up paying dearly for nothing more than their status as the half-breed mongrel spawn of a hated enemy. Though it was a sad statement on the human psyche, a child wasn't the kind of war souvenir that a service man wanted to return home with. And, should North Vietnam eventually gain control over South Vietnam, such children would mark their mothers as collaborators with a despised enemy. Which in turn, given human nature and historical precedence, such mothers, along with their unfortunate offspring, would become pariahs and, following the general rule of thumb in such circumstances, find themselves subjected to harshest of asinine and knee-jerk like retaliatory repercussions.

Returning home with a the kernel of a plan as to how they could help address the problem of South Vietnam's ever expanding population of unwanted Asian-American born children, Sabra and Bitsy proposed funding and the subsequent staffing of a non-profit foundation that would in turn, look into various ways of how they might help alleviate the problem. Working in conjunction with Catholic, Jewish and various Christian Charity Groups, their Pax Foundation began to establish orphanages in South Vietnam with the expressed intent being to eventually relocate as many of these unfortunate children within the borders of the United States, where hopefully, they might be adopted and given a home in a caring and nurturing family environment.

Then, with the fall of Saigon in 1975, the Pax Foundation pulled out all the stops to broaden their efforts in order to help as many of the South Vietnamese refugee Boat People as they could.

Once Sabra had established herself in her new identity, her musical career took off like a rocket and it was a rare weekend where she wasn't playing in a club or giving a concert somewhere. On several occasions, she was even courted by some of the larger record labels to become one of their recording artist. However, in order to do so, since her brand of music was no longer in vogue, she would have to forego the traditional music she loved so much and adopt a more country or pop sound. Though sorely tempted, after a lot of soul searching, Sabra declined such offers; saying in one fashion or another that she was a die hard folkie at heart and that she wouldn't be happy doing anything else. She did however sign with a small, family owned record company that highlighted folk singers and did fairly well selling her various albums and later, CDs at her performances.

Bitsy functioned as her lifemate's booking manager and Mary Oats, acting in her role as Bunny Mother, made it easy for that ever so lovely daughter of hers to pursue her musical avocation by juggling the schedule down at the Playboy Club in such a way as to accommodate Sabra performances when and wherever possible. Summers were an extremely busy time and it took a good deal of finagling on Mary Oats part to free those two 'daughters' of hers up for weekends which would be spent at giving performances at craft fairs, folk festivals and teaching banjo and song crafting at some of the regional folk music workshops that had begun to crop up in the later Seventies.

Eventually, though it took a lot of convincing and cajoling on Sabra's part, Bitsy, who had a very pleasant singing voice in her own right, acceded to her lifemate's wishes and learned how to play both the mountain dulcimer and autoharp, so that she could join her lifemate on stage whenever the occasion called for Sabra to perform a full blown concert consisting of two, hour long sets.

Also, it should be noted, after President Carter granted clemency to draft evaders in 1977, though it didn't happen all that often, Joshua Everett Oats, on his wife's suggestion, reappeared on the local folk scene and created quit a stir. Once, though it required a quick re-modulation of her aura and a hasty change of male to female apparel mid-evening backstage in the warm-up room which was closely guarded by a bevy of ATMs, Sabra, as Josh, performed a sold out, split-bill benefit concert for the Pax Foundation to aid Southeast Asian refugees with her feminine alter ego.

Midway through 1973, once it was deemed that the unique services they had offered over the last six years were no longer needed or necessary, Mary Oats had a long, heart to heart conversation with Aurora Nightwing in which she suggested that, since Aurora needed something to occupy her time, she could take over the duties of Bunny Mother down at the Playboy Club. Then, upon being asked by Aurora as to why Mary Oats wished for her to do such a thing, Sabra's mom impishly replied that she felt that it was her turn to have a little fun and that since the mechanism was still in place to furnish her with a new and fully verifiable identity, it was high time she tried her hand at being a Bunny. A month afterwards, with Aurora installed as Mary Oats' replacement, an absolutely beautiful, long legged brunette, who went by the name of Shawnna O'Hare and was decked out in a eye-riveting scarlet satin Bunny Costume that really showcased those aura augmented assets of hers, started, under the tutorage of none other than that flaxen haired daughter of hers, hopping tables in the Hutch's V.I.P. Lounge.

Also of note was the fact that over the long years of their association with one another, Mary Oats (a.k.a. Shawnna O'Hare) and Aurora Nightwing formed a very strong, almost sister-like, platonic relationship with one another. Though many of their ATM charges believe the two of them to be getting it on with one another, secretly on the sly, Sabra and Bitsy knew better. Even though Mary Oats countenanced lesbian relationships being pursued and nurtured under her very roof and felt a real sense of kinship and camaraderie with Aurora, she wasn't about to engage in such personally abhorrent practices herself. She was a heterosexual and, though she progressively began to entertain some pretty wild and far fetched fantasies revolving around her, Aurora and how the two might go about getting on with one another, a heterosexual she would remain until her dying day.

Oddly enough, though Aurora had never shared this knowledge with anyone else but Sabra's mom, irregardless of the fact that she was attracted to women in general and Mary Oats in particular, there was something holding her back from engaging in a no holds bar lesbian relationship. Though everyone took her to be exactly what she appeared to be, i.e.: an extremely regal looking Native American woman of undeterminable years, Aurora had a secret. She hadn't started out life as a female. In fact, she had been a male and had only become a female during her teenage years. On the third night of her Vision Quest, Aurora had taken wing with her avian Spirit Guide and in due course of things, had perceived her own aura and, unaware as to what catastrophic changes she would engender, had inadvertently soften its' coloration into the pastels hues of femininity. Two days later, she returned to her people and told them what had occurred. The tribe's venerated shaman, upon hearing Aurora's miraculous tale, declared that she had by her deeds, transcended her own physicality and had there by been blessed a great and noble gift that she was to used to help others in their time of greatest need.

Aurora had another confession to make. She had fallen head over heels in love with Shawnee O'Hare.

And so, once the local Playboy Club had closed its' door for the last time, not only did Aurora assumed full time directorship of the Pax Foundation, but she did so as the ruggedly handsome Native American Mr. Joseph Eagleheart. Six months later, after a whirlwind courtship, Joe Eagleheart took Shawnna O'Hare for his bride.

By the year 1972, Aurora Nightwing, acting in conjunction with a group of psychically attuned young women and ATMs she had trained and nurtured, had managed to establish a total of twelve primary ATM processing centers and a whole slew of post-makeover satellite halfway/safe houses throughout the country.

Prior to 1967 - With only the Western Maryland Commune processing ATMs ........................Grand Total: 27

Year 1 - 1967 - 4 Centers, Total: 63, Grand Total: 90

Year 2 - 1968 - 6 Centers, Total: 97, Grand Total: 187

Year 3 - 1969 - 8 Centers, Total: 134, Grand Total: 321

Year 4 - 1970 - 10 Centers, Total: 178, Grand Total: 499

Year 5 - 1971 - 11 Centers, Total: 204, Grand Total: 703

Year 6 - 1972 - 12 Centers, Total: 131, Grand Total: 834

The End