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               Tuck Season, Wabbit Season, Tuck Season!
                              -*-
      Copyright 1999, 2004 by either Joel Lawrence or Ellen Hayes


Any resemblance between the writings in this work, and any actual
persons or places, living or dead, are purely coincidental, except when
used for satirical purposes.

This work contains adult situations, adult language, adult concepts, and
possibly sex.  If you are legally not allowed to read materials
containing such things, then you will be breaking the law by reading
this.  I am not responsible.
Continuing to read this document, or storing it or reproducing it
in any format means that you explicitly affirm that you are legally
allowed to possess and read such materials in your city, county/parish,
state, and country.

All rights reserved.  See the bottom for distribution rights.


+++++


     First, the thanks - Joel Lawrence (who wrote the first one); Tigger
(who has written most of them) and Brandy (who wrote one herself) both
of whom were of immense help in writing this; Teresa; Kelly Rogers,
Terry; of course the Proofers From Hell; and most importantly my darling
SO who may at some time in the future speak to me again.

     Second, the instructions.
     If you haven't read the ongoing Saga of Tuck, then this is not
going to be nearly as good a read.
     Likewise, if you haven't read a few of the Seasons stories, this is
not going to make a whole lot of sense.
     Read 'em both.  And don't whine about 'how much you have to do'; at
least this stuff is all FREE and it probably won't be on the final exam.

     Third, this story is not what one can call "canonical" Tuck.
Instead, this story takes place in an alternate universe with the same
characters.  It begins sometime after April 15th, and skips a lot until
May 24th...

     Fourth, there aren't any date/time stamps in this one.  It's
sequential in time, so it shouldn't be too hard to figure out.  If
anyone thinks I need them: too honkin' bad.

     Fifth, this is not the same 'edition' as previously showcased on my
site; *I* *TOLD* *YOU* not to save the previous copy.  This one is
seriously revised, in part because during the first writing of this,
Tigger wrote at least two more Seasons stories with recurring characters
("Hold, I say HOLD that damned universe STILL for a minute, wouldya!")
and thus the introduction of those same characters into the previous
version of this one was necessarily rather choppy.


     Geneology and Timeline:

     Seasons Of Change - Joel Lawrence, c. late 1980's
     Tales Of The Season, Darla's Story - Tigger, c.1994
     Tales Of The Season, Kendra's Story - Tigger, c.1994
     Tales Of The Season, Caitlyn's Story - Tigger, c.1996
  -> Tuck Season, Wabbit Season, Tuck Season - me, c.1997  <- this one
     A Time For Every Season - Tigger, c.1998

Circa dates are when I estimate the story happened, not when they were
written.


     Lastly, this is a work deriving from the story "Seasons of Change"
by Joel Lawrence, using characters and places invented by him.  That
means that this is a derivative work, and thus technically he owns the
copyright to this story.  If Joel Lawrence wants to discuss this with
me, well... he's gonna be right, and I'll be wrong.  But I hope he'll be
merciful.

     But I still get to keep the rights to Tuck, no matter what.  Nyah!


+++++


     Tucker protested, "I gotta what?"
     His father sighed, and removed his glasses; a bad sign, Tucker
knew.  "Eugene, we're worried about you, so-"
     "It's just a summer camp!" Mom inserted.
     "I HATE summer camp!" Tucker protested.
     "Eugene," his father said, in that No Interruptions tone of voice,
"just try it for a couple of weeks, alright?"
     "Well, I mean, what kind of summer camp is it?"
     His father and mother looked at each other, and Tucker felt his gut
drop.
     His mother said hesitantly, "It's, it's sort of like Outward
Bound..."
     "It'll show you how, how to..."
     "Self-discipline," his mother said.
     His father added, "And self-respect."
     "How to get along better with other guys!" his mother finished,
smiling.
     Tucker's face told them that he didn't believe a word of it.
"You're sending me to boot camp, aren't you?" he accused them.

     "Dad, I'm not going!"
     Bill Tucker sighed.  "Son, I-"
     "Dad, I had a JOB," Tucker emphasized.  "I PROMISED my GIRLFRIEND
I would work this job, and now YOU have decided-"
     "Eugene!"
     They stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable time.  Finally,
Bill sighed and took off his glasses to polish them, his signal to take
some time and think about things.
     "Eugene-"  "Dad-"  Tucker shrugged.  "Eugene," Bill started again,
"I really do think this camp will do your self-esteem a good turn."
     "I don't," his son replied flatly.
     "We do," Bill said firmly.  "And," he said in a softer tone, "I
know you were going to work this summer, and how much that meant to you.
So, I'm willing to offer a bribe, IF and only if you finish out the
entire course."
     Tucker was skeptical.  "What?"

     "I can't believe they're doing this!" Tucker complained to Mike
later.
     "Me neither."  Mike looked out the window of his car.  "I mean, did
they even tell you what it was?"
     "No.  Just the name: The J. Thompson Academy."
     "Oooh," Mike winced.
     "Yeah, I mean, they wouldn't tell me if it was bad, would they?"
Tuck asked rhetorically.  "So I get shipped off to gods know where, and
it's probably some sort of military school, and I get abused all summer,
and this is supposed to make me into a man or something."
     Mike looked at Tuck.  Tuck looked back.  Finally, Tuck said, "Shut
up, Mike, I just do that because Debbie and the rest of the Pack-"
     "Yeah, yeah, I know," Mike cut Tuck off, not in the mood for his BS
answers.  "And that's not the problem in the first place.  The problem
is-"
     "The problem is, the world of the locker room has no room for
brains," Tuck declaimed.
     Mike raised his fist in the air and shouted, "Right!"  They banged
fists together.
     "So, you need to help me out."
     "What?  You're the one getting the Libretto!"  Tucker had, Mike had
to admit, come up with one hell of an inducement to successful
completion - a Libretto 50 with all the trimmings.
     "IF," Tucker emphasized, "and only if, I make it through all the
way.  Which I am not gonna be able to do if it's filled with psycho
jocks.  You gotta help me out, Mike, or they might ship me home in a
pine box!"
     "Would I get your Libretto-"
     Tucker smacked him.  "Seriously!"
     Mike sighed.  "I know."  Pause.  "So what do you need?"

     "I'm not going without a laptop, Dad.  I'll chain myself to the
bed, I'll claim asylum in Cuba, I'll-"
     "Alright!" Bill cut his son off.  "A laptop.  486 okay with you, or
do you need something better?" he asked sarcastically.
     "486'll work if it has a modem," was Tuck's instant reply.  "And a
CD-ROM.  Standard rules," meaning that he was entirely responsible for
its safekeeping, and he would have to replace or repair it if it got
damaged or stolen.
     "And then you'll go, right?  No more arguments, no more yelling..."
     Tucker sighed.  "Yeah, I guess..."
     Bill shook his head.  "Son, we're not doing this to punish you.  We
really think it'll help."
     "You've been wrong before," was Tuck's sorrowful reply.
     It cut Bill to the bone, but all he said in return was, "So have
you."

     "I need an ID," Tucker realized.
     "You HAVE an ID, you dumb-"
     "No, I need another one," he grinned.
     "Oh no," Mike sighed.

     "Okay," Mike asked, "so what do we do about the laptop?"
     Tucker shrugged.  "I guess the cable will have to do."  He waggled
the security cable that was designed to lock the laptop to a desk.
     Mike raised a finger, signifying an idea in progress, and went
digging in one of the innumerable boxes in his room, finally holding up
a metal chain.  It looked like a pull chain for a light switch.
     "What the hell is that?"
     "Dog tag chain.  At least you can carry the key around your neck;
that way they won't be able to take it off you."
     "What if they make me?"
     Mike shrugged.  "Then you lose the laptop, but at least you'll KNOW
you lost it."
     "And you ship the spare key along with the other stuff."
     Mike groaned, "Oh, Ghu, the POSTAGE..."
     "Mike!  At least you're not going to be stuck in Marine wannabe
central!"
     Mike sighed.  "I know, man, I know."  They both sighed.  Mike
finally noted 'spare laptop key' on the manifest.  "Okay, weapons?"
     "I'm not taking any, except the Swiss Army knife-"
     "-if you can call that a weapon."
     Tuck shrugged.  "SLIGHTLY better than nothing, and less likely to
get me arrested."
     "True.  So what do I ship?"
     "Lots and lots of knives."

     "Noooo!" Debbie wailed.  "You can't!"
     "Oh god," Tucker muttered under his breath.  "Deb, come on, it's
not like I want to!"  *Don't make this harder!*

     The hard part, Tucker realized, was not going to be taking all this
illegal stuff with him.  And the hard part wasn't even going to be
making sure he didn't get caught with it in a casual inspection.  The
hard part was going to be PREPARING everything so all the illegal stuff
wouldn't be caught in a casual inspection.
     Then again, Tucker supposed, that was why they made daypacks with
that padding against the back; so you could remove it and install other
things in the space.

     "Smile, asshole."  Tucker smiled for the camera, and it flashed and
blinded the hell out of him.
     And everyone else in the room, judging by the protests.  "Shut up!"
Mike demanded.  "Dan, did you see any of the flash?"
     "No," Dan answered, over the radio.
     "Good, 'cause we're blind right now."
     "How's the picture?" Tucker asked.
     "Shut the fuck up, would you?" George bitched.  He hadn't been
happy at all about the idea, but Tuck had thought it a necessity and
Mike had agreed it was a good idea.  Of course, while they were here...

     Mike looked at Tucker's official school ID, and then at the one
they had just made.  Except for the makeup on his face, the name, and
the year, it was just about a perfect match.  "How come you want to be
so young?" Mike asked.
     "I look younger without makeup, remember?" Tucker said.
     "How's mine?" George asked.
     "Great, great.  You two would make a lovely couple, you know," Mike
said right before he ducked.
     "A senior dating a freshman?" Tucker disputed.

     Debbie sighed as she picked up her shake, looked at it, and put it
down.  "Deb," Tucker said soothingly, "I hate it too, but they're making
me go-"
     "I just don't see what it's going to do for you!  They'll kill you
there!" she protested angrily.
     "Hopefully not," Tucker said, and held up a hand when Debbie was
going to yell some more.  "Deb, come on, this is my last night with you.
Let's make it a good one, huh?"
     Debbie bit her lip, and drew a ragged breath before she started to
quietly sob.  Tuck moved around to her side of the booth as Kim eased
quickly out of the way, and put his arms around her.

     Tuck waved as the train pulled out of the station, paying close
attention to Mike and Debbie, until they were all out of sight.  With a
heartfelt sigh, he pulled the laptop out and began to type.

     The Pack and Da Boyz clustered around Mike's computer.  "He says
he's past Rochester," Mike read from the screen, "and everything's okay,
but he's tired.  Jeez, Deb, what did you do to him last night?"
     "None of your FUCKING business, Mike!" she snarled, and the other
girls started to hoot.
     "I bet that's exactly what they were doing," Kathy drawled, and
blocked Debbie's slap.

     Tucker pulled the Konexx acoustic coupler from the pay phone,
stuffed it into the backpack, slammed the laptop shut and stuffed it in
its bag, and ran for the train.  He wasn't the only person with a
computer making the dash from the bank of pay phones to a train, but he
was definately the youngest.

     Mike listened silently at the door to his parents' room.  Satisfied
that they were asleep, he crept back to his room and began to pack items
into a large box, referring to a clipboard and checking off whatever he
put in.  MRE's, electronic gear, spare clothes, a few books, maps, the
taser and spare batteries... and lots and lots of knives.

     "Charlene?" Jane said as she finished her pastry.
     "Yes ma'am?"
     "It's about time to go, are you ready?"
     "Yes ma'am."
     "Good.  Marie?  Are the phones working yet?"
     "No, Jane, not yet," came the voice from the kitchen.  Marie came
out bearing a travel mug full of coffee.
     "Blast, I'll have to call from the station, I suppose," Jane mused
to herself, before she gently wiped her mouth and stood up.

     Tuck began typing frantically as the train slowed.  A sign had said
'Westbury', and this was probably the last chance he'd have for any kind
of communication until he could find a phone line and tap it.

     "Where IS that boy?" Jane wondered to herself.
     "Maybe he was delayed or something?" Charlene suggested.
     Jane mused, "And of course, we wouldn't know, because the phones
are out.  Come along; we need to make some phone calls."  She waved
Charlene in behind her as she marched off towards the phone booths.

     Tuck had just dumped the latest packet of incoming messages onto
the hard drive for later perusal, and was looking forward to whatever
Debbie had sent - at least, he thought it was her from the header he'd
glimpsed - as he frantically stuffed components back into their
traveling containers.

     Jane was flustered and irritated, having been drawn into a long
argument with an idiot at the phone company about whether her service
was working or not.  She slammed the door to the booth open and was
about to head back to the platform when she saw the figure she had been
expecting making a mad dash in that direction himself.  "Eugene?" she
called loudly, and with a hint of command in her voice.  It stopped the
young lad in his tracks.

     "Huh?" Tucker said to himself as he looked around.  "Who the
hell..."  There was an extremely well-dressed woman walking rapidly up
to him as if she recognized him.  "Excuse me?" he said politely.

     Jane frowned.  The boy in front of her was smaller than she had
expected, which was going to present some problems.  But on the positive
side, his voice still seemed uninfluenced by testosterone, his hair was
longer, and his eyes were a brilliant blue...
     She began to wonder, in fact, if this was the correct boy at all.

     The woman slowed in front of him, and stopped, frowning.  "Excuse
me, are you Eugene Wallace?"
     Tuck nodded.  The woman immediately assumed a commanding tone in
her voice, saying, "Good.  I am Jane Thompson," she said, like he was
supposed to be impressed.  He was more impressed by the young woman
behind her, who was wearing clothes he'd never seen on a living human.
Tucker wondered what the hell he was getting into.  "And-"
     "Um, hi, but I think I'm supposed to be meeting someone-"
     "Yes," Jane told him, with such confidence that Tucker froze.
"And I am here to pick you up."
     "What?  You're it?  I mean," he added quickly as the woman's face
darkened, "I thought I was going to, uh, to..."  To the J. Thompson Nazi
Youth Academy.  Obviously "J" stood for "Jane", though Tucker thought it
rather strange that a woman would be running a-
     "No, Eugene, you are at the correct place, or I wouldn't be here to
meet you."  That made sense, he decided.  And besides, she did know his
name.  "Now, if I may finish the introductions you so rudely
interrupted?"
     *Oh boy,* Tucker thought, and nodded.  "This is Charlene, my
protege," she said of the young woman standing two steps back and to the
side.  "Charlene, this is Eugene Wallace."  Tucker held out his hand as
she curtsied to him.  They stared at each other blankly for a moment.
Tucker thought she was pretty, though a little butch compared to most of
the girls he knew.  And taller than all of them except Kathy.  And it
looked like she was overcompensating, too, since she was wearing not
only a full load of makeup but a dress that was way too elaborate for a
Sunday morning.  Unless they were going-
     "Um, are you going to church today?" he asked before he could stop
himself.
     The woman's eyebrows went up as considered it for a moment, then
said, "I hadn't planned to, but if you feel it necessary..."

     Jane wondered why Eugene had brought up the topic if he was so
violently DIS-interested, judging by the frantic way he was shaking his
head in answer.  A moment's thought, though, gave her the answer.  "No,
but I decided we should dress up to fetch you."
     "Oh," Eugene said, looking confused.
     "Come along, then.  Is that all your luggage?" she asked.
     When he nodded, she called to a redcap to take it away, and was
astonished to hear him say firmly, "No."
     "What?" she asked as she turned back around.
     He wilted instantly under her gaze.  "I mean, uh, I mean, th-they
lent me some stuff for the summer, and if it doesn't come back I have
to pay for it, so I can't let it out of my sight.  Ever," he added,
putting a little more spine in it.  "Ma'am."
     The boy seemed firm about it, even though she was non-verbally
pushing as hard as she could.  *Must be important, then,* she thought to
herself.  *We'll grab it later today.*  "Well, then, come along, if
that's all you have brought with you."
     "Yes ma'am," he said behind her as she strode off, away from the
trains.

     Things were not what he had expected.  Then again, nothing had
been as he expected.  He'd sort of been anticipating big goons in
uniform who would start him on running and push-ups before he even got
out of the station, not these two... who were, he had to admit,
extremely well-dressed and polite, but...
     They turned down an unexpected driveway, out in the countryside,
and Tuck craned his neck to see where he would be spending the summer.
Again, he was wrong in his speculations.  Instead of something that
looked like a fortress - though it did have walls, along the road - or a
tent city, or surplus quonset huts, or even your normal camp
environment, what they were approaching was a Victorian looking mansion,
with useless architectural fripperies all over the place.  Tucker
halfway expected to see women on horses riding past, sidesaddle, or
colonial-era gentry lounging on the porch.

     Charlie led the new boy up the stairs to his room, trying not to
laugh out loud at what was going to happen next.  When he opened the
door, it was everything Charlie had hoped for.
     Eugene stopped, obviously shocked by the lace and frills within,
and sagged on his feet, and a forlorn and hopeless, "Oh, NO..." came out
of his mouth.  Turning, he asked, "I have to stay HERE?"
     Charlie nodded happily.  "Yes, this is where you'll be staying.  IF
you stay," Charlie added ominously.  "Just put your bags on the floor
and I'll take you down to the parlor.  Jane wants to have a talk with
you."  *And I get to change out of this mess,* Charlie thought.
     "'Kay, I gotta go first though.  I'll be right out," and with that,
he walked in and shut the door.
     Charlie frowned, and sighed, and leaned against the wall to wait
until he came out.

     When Tucker had finished securing his gear to the bed frame, he
opened the door to find Charlene waiting with an air of impatience.
"Well, let's go," he said, injecting some false cheer into his voice.
     She led him downstairs, quickly enough that he didn't have a chance
to ask her anything, and through the rooms to a door.  He looked at her
for confirmation, and she knocked.  "Come in," Jane's voice called from
inside.
     Tucker opened the door and stepped inside, and was a little
disconcerted to hear Charlene shut the door behind him.  He slowly
walked to the chair Jane indicated, a straight-backed monstrosity that
fit the rest of the house, and gingerly sat down.
     Jane began to lecture him, and he instantly set his mouth on
autopilot and tuned her out, turning to more immediately demanding
topics, like Where was he? and How could he get out of here?  He saw a
phone, as old-fashioned looking as everything else in the house -
*Figures,* he thought - and discreetly craned his neck until he could
see that it was a standard four-wire cord going into the phone, which
indicated to him that not everything in the house was an antique.
     *That'll come in handy,* he thought to himself, glad that he had
taken the home-built lineman's phone with him instead of having Mike
mail it.  Phone lock-outs were nice, but they only went so far, and it
wasn't far enough against what Tuck could come up with.
     Jane stood up and walked around the desk towards him, and he
shifted his conscious mind back to her.  She stood over him and began to
declaim, "Self control is everything in a young man who aspires to
success - true success in this world.  Most young men your age seem to
realize this in spite of themselves.  You must develop a deep and
profound respect for the rules of the society in which you find
yourself.  Initiative is one thing, but the performance outlined in
those letters is moronic and bizarre.  Open and willful neglect of
convention and tradition will never be tolerated in the circles you
aspire to.  Do you understand that?"
     "Yes ma'am," he answered automatically, wondering what circles she
was talking about.
     She stood over him for a long moment, making him wonder if she was
going to start screaming, and then went back and sat in her chair.  She
pulled up the papers she'd been referring to while she had talked, and
scanned them some more.
     Finally, she put the papers down, removed her glasses again, and
sighed.  "I must take it, then," she said, "that your excuse for this
insolent behavior is to be excused because you yielded to the 'macho'
pressures of your crowd."  *Say what?*  "Clearly you have let your
distorted sense of ego and identity get in the way of your common
sense."
     "Uh-" he began.
     She ignored him and went on, "I suspect that must be the case.  And
if it is true, it is a trait you must disabuse yourself of.  Blindly
following the rabble out of a misguided sense of male bonding is
ridiculous.  More importantly, it is a repudiation of convention that
people of breeding hold important.  It is not any individual action, but
the pattern of them that makes me believe you lack significant
sensibilities."  She referred again to one of the papers, "'Exhibits an
insolent disregard of refined behavior....' Would you not agree with
that assessment?"
     "Um, maybe?"  *Refined behaviour?* he wondered.
     "Maybe!" she snorted.  "Well, _I_ see no maybe about it, and my
experience with boys just like you compels ME to agree with the
observation.  Eugene, you know the path you were on would inevitably
lead to jail, don't you?" Jane asked sternly.
     "Jail?!"  *Whoa, this was going way too damn far-*
     "Jail.  As that was your alternative to coming here-"
     "What?"
     "Young man, is your hearing deficient?" she asked, and when she
waited for him to reply, he shook his head.  "Then be quiet and listen.
Jail was inevitable, except in the single case of changing from your
previous path to a new one that I lay out for you," she promised.  He
nodded dumbly, wondering what he'd been nailed on.
     "Now, your mother is an old friend, and your being sent here
indicates she places some importance on my reassurance to her in the
fall that you have become civilized enough to return home."
     Tuck was now scared out of his mind.

     Jane continued with her speech, seeing that it had finally had the
effect she wanted - she now had his complete and undivided attention.
     "You see, young man, I have had experience with instilling
gentility and refinement in difficult children of both sexes.  I was,
for many years, a headmistress at a rather serious school for young
ladies.  I have had some small measure of success at cultivating grace
and polish.  And after meeting you, I believe I am prepared to undertake
this task, as a favor to your Mother."
     Silence again, leaving him to his thoughts for a few moments.  Her
last words, she anticipated, would have him direly worried about what
penitential aspects she had planned for him.
     "Let me put it this way," she said, as if a declaration of finality
was beginning to form in her mind.  "It is beyond dispute that you will
not be allowed to return without my commendation, and I am not planning
to dispense that approval unless I see improvement.  Secondly, that
approval is not to be forthcoming unless you accede to whatever program
I devise and do it dutifully and cheerfully.  Do you understand?"
     With absolutely no comprehension of what she had in mind, the boy
in front of her nevertheless surrendered to the inevitable and nodded
assent.  *So easily they fall,* she thought to herself.
     "I understand you argue with your mother quite a lot, about what it
means to be a man in today's world, is that right?"
     "Uh, I guess," he replied, sounding shell-shocked.
     "But you, yourself, have no idea of the pressure a woman has in
today's world, isn't that also correct?"
     After a slight pause, he said, firmly, "No."
     *Hmmm, interesting reaction there...*  "Maybe that's the key," she
said in a musing tone as she turned away.  "You may know, there is a
practice prevalent in England for curbing defiance.  The English call it
petticoat discipline.  Have you heard of it?"
     "What?  No.  I mean, no ma'am."
     She stared out the window, seemingly deep in thought, while tapping
the stem of her glasses against her cheek and watching his reflection.
"Yes," she announced with resolve after she had waited long enough,
"that will be exactly it.  Eugene, I must exact from you a firm promise
that you will unhesitatingly obey every command I give you, no matter
how unpleasant or disagreeable you may find it to be.  It will be at
least a start, to see if we can instill some self-restraint.  If at any
time I detect resistance, I will not hesitate to wash my hands of this
endeavor and advise your Mother accordingly.  Is that agreed?"

     "Uh..." Tuck stalled, thinking frantically.  This was pretty much
what he knew was going to happen, but the hair standing up all over his
body told him that he was going to regret saying yes.  But what choice
did he have?  At least at this particular moment....  "Yes ma'am, as
long as it's safe, and legal," he added.
     "Oh, your safety is paramount, I assure you," she told him, which
made him feel a teeny bit better.  "Legal and physical.  Now, please go
outside and wait in the foyer, and tell Charlene to come in here,
please."
     "Yes ma'am," he said, and stood up, fighting the urge to fling her
a Nazi salute.

     "Well, Charlene," Jane said as Charlie shut the door, "He's agreed
to the ultimatum, much as you did.  I know it had been some time, and
you  might have forgotten, but he needs time to think it over and worry
about what he has agreed to."
     "Yes ma'am," Charlie sighed, remembering quite well that horrible
first day.  Charlie hoped he could forget someday.

     Tucker, however, was not waiting around like an idiot.  As soon as
the door was shut, he lept up and ran for the bedroom his stuff was in.
As he went, he paid attention to where the wooden floor creaked and
where it didn't.  As expected, towards the edges of rooms and hallways
it was almost silent.  *Nighingale floors, no problem* he thought to
himself as he glided up the staircase.  *Rat Boyz rule OK!*
     He slowly turned the doorknob, happy to find no signs of squeaking,
and eased the door open before sliding through it.  Closing it the same
way, he bent to his gear and began unpacking frantically.  He had a
feeling that keeping his stuff was not going to be in anyone's plans but
his own.
     As he was about to start unpacking his 'real' gear, he found
himself nervously looking at the mirrors.  *Why...*
     *They might be two-way,* he realized, and stood up and found his
way into the attached bathroom - which meant he wouldn't be sharing with
anyone, if he was going to stay in here; good thing too - and grabbed
some towels.  The big three-way in the corner was too thin to hide
anything except fiber-optics, and there wasn't anything connected to it
when he moved the mirror to check, but the one on the closet door and
the one over the makeup table - Tucker could still smell cosmetics,
faintly, though it had been cleared off - were definitely possible
places to conceal cameras, so two towels each went over them.

     Charlie clopped down the hall in the damned heels that Jane had
insisted on today, wondering where in the hell the twit was.  *I wonder
if he took off?  He'd be the first, from what I can tell.  And maybe the
smartest.  Nah,* she decided, *he's not that smart.*

     At the sound of footsteps outside his door, Tuck paused in taping
the last coil of cord to the inside of the closet wall.  The footsteps
stopped, he was sure, outside his door.  He finished applying the duct
tape to the wall, then slid the clothes - all of them girl's clothes,
too; they must've stuck him in someone else's room or something - and
snatched the towels off and silently danced into the bathroom and made a
production out of flushing the toilet and washing his hands.
     As he came out, wishing he'd had time to hide more spare clothes
than just one pair of boxers and his escape outfit, Charlene was waiting
for him in the same pose she'd displayed earlier.  "Jane requests your
presence at lunch," Charlene said, in a snotty tone he was already
beginning to dislike, even though she was a babe.

     Lunch was just as strained as Jane had expected.  She lectured
Eugene offhandedly, mentioning what sort of improvements Charlene had
shown in her stay.  Eugene responded politely enough, but it was obvious
he was more interested in eating than conversation.  Common enough in
boys his age, Jane realized, but that didn't make it any less
irritating.  He did respond to her commands on manners, however, which
pleased her.  *That should make things easier,* she thought.

     Marie stared at the quarter inch thick steel cable that was
securing Eugene's bags to the bedframe.  And at the locks on the zippers
that prevented her from removing the contents without destroying the
bags.
     *Curse that child,* she thought, *I'll have to see if Jane will
allow me to use the bolt cutters.*

     Jane was blathering on about manners and Charlene and all sorts of
uninteresting topics, which was why Tucker was concentrating on the
food.  Besides the fact that he was starving.  *Maybe I should have
eaten on the train,* he thought idly as he accepted some cake from
Charlene, and thanked her like Jane had 'suggested' earlier.  But, not
unusually, he'd gotten wrapped up in a thorny digital problem or two,
and forgotten to eat.  Besides, he needed all the money he could save.
     Jane was still going on, but the cake was most excellent, so he dug
in, making sure to take smaller bites and chew and so forth, to keep
Jane happy.  *At least I won't starve here,* he thought with relief.
Tales of SOS and other such anti-delicacies had not made him happier
with the idea of camp.  But this was excellent food.
     Charlene cleared the cake away, and came back with a couple of
glasses, one blue, the other red.  Jane got the red one, which Tuck
figured was symbolic of his blood that she'd be feasting on.  *Shut UP,*
he firmly told himself as the goosebumps raced across his body.
*Proving that too much English class is bad for your brain...*
     "It's my custom," Jane said, picking the red glass up, "to have
sherry at lunch."  Tuck's mind immediately raced across the sexual
innuendo possibilities of that statement, but he kept his face frozen.
"I welcome you to my house, and hope your stay proves beneficial."  She
rose the glass, and Tuck took his quickly.  They both sipped at it.
Tuck found the flavor intriguing, though a bit strange.
     Jane began speaking of this and that, which Tuck tuned out
immediately, though the references to Charlene were flowing faster now.
The sherry, however, was most excellent.

     Eugene yawned again in front of her, and Jane smiled to herself.
"Eugene, you seem tired from your trip.  Why don't you go up to your
room and have a nap?"
     "Mmm, Miz Thompson, I think that would be a wonderful idea," he
breathed, and a moment later smiled politely at her.  Jane smiled back
to reward him, but he didn't respond.  He excused himself almost
politely, and lurched off towards the stairs.

     *Goddamnit,* Tucker wondered dazedly, *am I supposed to not notice
I've been drugged or something?*  He had been exaggerating, but not too
much, his inebriation, in the hopes that he would indeed get to go up to
his room to 'sleep it off'.  He was going to do just that, as soon as he
got a couple of things done first...
     "First things first," he said to himself as he shut the door to his
room and wedged it shut again, and then unlocked one of his bags and
fiddled around until he found the emergency sewing kit.  *No, first
things first,* he reminded himself, and went to get the towels out of
the bathroom again.  He managed, with four tries, to get all the mirrors
covered.
     Then, he went blank.
     He came out of it as he fell painfully to the floor, and scrabbled
over to the sewing kit with a dazed sense of emergency, pulled out two
sewing needles, and stuck them into the flesh on his left arm.
     "Fuck!" he squeaked, as quietly as he could, but the pain and the
blood both shocked him back to full awareness.  And nausea, which was
just as well, since he had to throw up anyway.  He did, losing lunch and
hopefully at least some of whatever drug they'd used on him.  When he
finished, he felt a little more alert, but still awful and lagged.
     A light was on by the bed, and the sheets were turned down.  Tuck
caught himself looking for the small chocolates that hotels put on the
bedcovers.  *Doof,* he told himself as he went to the bathroom, *I don't
think this is going to be a vacation.*
     Visions of being abducted during his nap made him take more
precautions than usual, including preparing to chain his ankle to the
bed.  His bags were now mostly empty or full of decoys anyway.  He
chuckled to himself at the thought of someone expecting a laptop in the
other case, and finding junior high school English notes.
     The laptop he concealed by making a small slit in the fabric
covering the box springs from underneath, placing the laptop inside, and
wedging it into a solid position
     The rest of his gear he un-stuck from the walls of the closet, and
set to work hiding it in other, less obvious places.  Pulling out the
drawers on the chest of drawers convinced him that he was definitely in
someone else's room, since they were full of underwear of a most un-
camp-like variety.  Tuck held up a silk something-or-other, and wondered
idly for a moment if Debbie would like a bagful as a present.  *No way,*
he told himself as he carefully placed it back in its original position,
*she'd kill me if I brought her someone else's underwear.*  Instead, he
set about stowing his tools and the other gear he'd brought in the
spaces beneath and behind the drawers.
     That took about fifteen mimutes, and by then he was reeling again,
and even twisting the needles didn't help.  "Time to go down," he said
to himself quietly, and grabbed the sewing kit and went into the
bathroom, where he removed the needles, wiped them off, wiped his arm
off, and applied two of the band-aids that were in the sewing kit in
case he had to stick needles in his arm.  Usually he'd have been sort of
sick at this point, but he was too far gone, and he knew it, and just at
this moment he was grateful.  *Not that I'd need the needles if I wasn't
drugged, though...*
     Next, he managed to take the towels off the mirrors and stagger
back into the bathroom to fold them before losing his balance and almost
killing himself in a fall.
     *Fuck,* he decided, *being neat.*
     "No," he told himself, *don't want to give her a clue as to what's
going on...*  He managed to get them into rough order even though his
eyes were spontaneously closing, and it took a supreme act of will plus
slamming a toe in the vanity door to get him back on his feet.
     The last thing he did was un-wedge the door, since it hadn't
escaped his notice that the locks were only supposed to work from the
hall side, and that implied that he might expect visitors.  And visitors
like that, would probably be less watchful if they thought he didn't
know what was going to happen.  Pleased with his preparations, he got
into bed and under the covers, locked the cable around his ankle, making
sure he wasn't going anywhere, collapsed onto the pillows and was almost
instantly unconscious.
                                          
     Marie crept into Eugene's room quietly, holding a massive pair of
bolt cutters in one hand, and stared at Eugene's bags.  No cable.  She
KNEW there had been a cable...
     With a silent snarl, she picked up all three of his bags and crept
out of the room.

     Tucker was having severe problems.  First had been the explosion,
caused by a overenthusiastic Mike breaching the house, and then there
had been the aliens, and Tuck couldn't quite figure out how this house
had been connected to his school, but they were wandering around, trying
to make it to math class without getting eaten, which was getting harder
because there were always more of the aliens around and they were
running low on ammo, and Mike had just blown up a cluster of them with
the grenade launcher when Tuck tried to advance to cover him and felt
something grabbing him by the ankle... he looked down in horror to see a
black claw holding him by the foot, coming through the floor under him,
and he roached the entire magazine while screaming-
     Tuck sat bolt upright in the bed and almost screamed again, because
THERE WAS SOMETHING GRABBING HIS-
     Wait, that was the laptop cable.  He gasped for air as he inched
towards the foot, relieving the pressure on his ankle.
     Pressure of another kind told him that he'd better unlock himself,
and quickly, or he was going to have to explain a wet bed to unfriendly
people.  He scrabbled at the chain around his neck, finally getting it
off, and hastily unlocked the chain and made a mad dash for the toilet.
     Sitting on the throne after the shaking had stopped, he decided
that now would be a good time to find his spare clothes, since his T
shirt and boxers were completely soaked with terrorized sweat.
     Unfortunately, someone had done as he had feared and stolen his
bags while he was asleep.  "Damn," he said quietly to himself, torn
between feeling pleased at his cleverness in anticipation, and being
really pissed off at someone stealing from him.  Then he noticed that
his pants and overshirt were gone, too.  "Shit," he said with real
feeling.  In fact, the only thing visible was the cable around the
bedframe - which he quickly unwound and used to lock the laptop to the
box springs under the bed while he was thinking about it - and...
     Tucker frowned.  That lace-infested sea-green nylon robe had NOT
been here, in general, or on the bed in particular, when he went to
sleep.  He would have noticed.  And it was NOT something of his, nor was
it something a military camp would want its members, male OR female,
wearing-
     There was a knock at the door, and Tucker just barely managed to
stand up and turn around before Jane came in.  "Well," she said to him,
"I see that you are awake."  Her nose wrinkled and she frowned as the
scent of a nightmare'd Tucker caught her by the nostrils.
     "Uh, I slept bad, uh, ma'am," he explained.  "Um, and my stuff is
gone-"
     "Well, you'll have to wear something else, then," she said in such
a forceful tone that he almost grabbed the robe before he stopped
himself.  "That will do," she smiled, nodding approval.
     "What?  THIS?!" he questioned, picking it up and waving it at her.
"Don't you think this is a little... femme?"
     "I think you are going to come with me in a very few moments, and
that I will not have you reeking from soiled clothing in my presence."
     "Oh, uh, um...."  Shit.  He hated things like this.  He sighed.
"Okay, just give me a minute, uh, please, ma'am, if you would,"
remembering to add the flowery oration she seemed to like.
     She nodded, and he dashed into the bathroom and shut the door
before stripping off the T shirt and boxers.  He sighed as he stepped
out of them, realizing that unless he carried them with him, they would
be gone when he got back to the room.

     The bathroom door popped open, a few seconds earlier than she had
expected, but he didn't come out.  "Um, ma'am," Eugene asked hesitantly,
"would you like me to take a shower first or something?"
     That was a good idea; he did smell rather strongly.  "If you would,
please," she replied calmly, revising her timetable estimates as he shut
the door.  The shower came on moments later, proving that he was at
least clever enough to run water in the tub before trying anything.  A
few seconds later, the sound of water streaming onto the porcelain tub
was muted as, apparently, a body was interposed.  Jane listened intently
for a few moments, and finally satisfied herself that it was in fact a
body in the shower, and not, say, a T shirt being held in the water to
gain time for some ridiculous evasion or trickery.
     A few short minutes later, the water shut off, and a minute or two
after that, he stepped out, the ankle-length green robe wrapped around
his still damp body.  "Come with me," she said, and turned on her heel
and walked out.

     She'd led Tucker away from the stairs down, which was good, because
if she thought she was going to lead him into the clutches of a drill
instructor like a sheep to the slaughter, while 'dressed' like this, she
was seriously wrong.  Instead, though, she led him to a room on the
second floor, which looked like a home office to him when she opened the
door.  Minus the necessary computer equipment, though.  That bugged him.
On the other hand, it was also minus any signs of Marine wannabes, which
pleased him.
     She indicated a seat for him, in front of the desk of course, and
sat in a large leather chair behind the desk.  Of course.  He felt like
he was in the principal's office again.
     "It is time," she began, steepling her fingers and giving him that
principal look he knew too well, "we began your lessons, my dear young
man."
     *Principal's office,* Tucker groaned silently.
     "You have had your rest and time to think about our conversation
this morning.  I might add I found your behavior at lunch fairly
boorish, but that merely bolstered my earlier conclusions."
     *Well, fuck YOU, Miss Bitch,* Tuck thought in astonishment.  His
grandmother wouldn't have had any complaints...
     "I am convinced we will have it out of you by Tuesday... two days
hence.  That is the last day I will trifle with your conduct.  After
that, it is, as I said, out of my hands."
     That reminded him of something else she'd mentioned in the
conversation earlier, which is why he didn't get up and say some choice
words of his own.  "Uh, did I mention I really don't want to go to jail?
Ma'am?"
     That seemed to please her.  "Well, then, good.  I am going to give
you a brief overview of the routine, Eugene, and you will hear me out.
That promise of compliance I exacted this afternoon is decisive and
final.  After you have heard me you will choose either to comply,
utterly and without fail, or we will be done with all this and you will
go home tonight."
     *And then off to jail!* part of him sobbed inside.  Another part
was quickly evaluating the chances of getting loose on a trip versus
breaking out of here.  And the largest part wanted to know what the hell
was going on.
     "First of all, that garment you are wearing; you didn't like
putting it on, did you?" she asked.

     The lad shrugged in response, actually SHRUGGED.  Jane wondered for
a moment if she should have gone for something even frillier, though the
abundant lace on the robe should have had him turning alternately red
and white with shame and embarrassment.
     "I'd prefer my own clothes back," he said calmly.  "Where did they
go?  And the rest of my stuff?"
     "They have been put away until such time as I decide that you may
have them back," she stated, wondering at the boy's self-possession.  He
hadn't reacted at all, except to his own belongings being removed.
"Tell me, though," she asked in an attempt to regain the initiative,
"how does it feel, wearing that gown?  It feels nice, doesn't it?"
     He frowned at the question, heartening Jane.  Finally, he said,
"Uh, soft, smooth... not very warm.  It's, uh..."  She watched him
fumble for a word.  He finally said, "Sticky," which was not the class
of adjective she was looking for.
     "Sticky?"
     "I'm still damp, and it's sticking to me," he explained.
     Jane tried not to sigh.  "How does it make you feel?"
     "Uh, I, uh... a little silly, I guess...  I mean, this IS a girl's
robe, you know.  And the other clothes in my room, I mean, if I'm in the
wrong room I don't want to get yelled at or anything-"
     *Finally,* Jane thought with some relief.  "No, Eugene, you're in
the correct room.  I put you there specifically."  She waited for a
moment to see if he would pick up on the clue.
     Eugene frowned, and thought, staring at the bottom of the modesty
panel in front of the desk.  "Why there?" he asked.  "Is it, I mean, was
it Charlene's room until I got here or something?"
     She shook her head, smiling.  "No, dear," she said gently, "those
clothes are all for you."
     There was a long silence, as he looked up at her, startled.
Finally, he gasped, "Whaaaaaat?"
     "We've arrived at the crux of the matter," she said firmly.  "While
you are here, and until I deem it otherwise, girl's clothes are ALL you
will wear!"
     The emotional reaction she'd been waiting for arrived.  Eugene
stood up, almost sparkling with the intensity of emotion storming
through him.  "WHAT?!" he shrieked, letting the robe inadvertently fall
open.  He was not wearing undergarments, either.  Jane averted her eyes
towards his face.  "ARE YOU INSANE?!" he demanded.  "I'll be KILLED like
this!"
     There was outrage in him, of course, but also a real fear- no, a
terror, of something very specific happening to him.  "Why do you say
that?" she asked in a curious, un-hysterical voice.
     "What?!  BECAUSE!  The other inmates or whatever'll eat me ALIVE if
I show up in girl clothes-"
     "Other?  Inmates?" Jane interrupted, puzzled, and Eugene stopped as
he frowned at her.  "There are no other students here besides you and
Charlene at this time," she said, wondering why he had assumed there
were more.
     He blinked, several times, at her statement, then realized what he
was displaying through the gap in the robe and sat back down hastily,
folding it tightly around his body.  Jane kicked herself in the shins
several times to keep herself from smiling - or far worse, laughing out
loud - at the expression on his face.
     "There's... no one else here?" he asked.
     "No, just you and Charlene," she repeated.  "Why do you find that
so amazing?"
     "My..." he mused, and then his countenance grew dark again.  "They
LIED to me!" he yelled in fury.  "I can't BELIEVE-"
     "Eugene!" she snapped, drawing his attention.  "Whatever your
mother may have told you, you are here.  Now.  Under my control.  And
you will calm yourself, young man, is that understood?"  She allowed him
to sit and smoulder long enough to get his adolescent fury back under
control.
     "Now," she began, "as I mentioned, I have decided that the English
technique of petticoat discipline would be the best thing for you.  That
means that at all times, within or without this house, you will dress
and act at all times a proper lady...."  Jane had to break off and kick
herself some more at the utterly bewildered expression on the boy's
face.
     "You've got to be kidding," he finally uttered in an incredulous
pitch.
     "I assure you, I am completely serious.  So much so, in fact, that
you have less than an hour before you won't even recognize yourself."
     "You can't be serious," he insisted earnestly.  "How is this going
to HELP me?"
     "Because, Eugene, you desperately need to learn some discipline,
and this is the quickest and most effective way I know to control and
leash such, such chaos."  She smiled at him, baring her teeth, and
added, "And now it is time to begin, Eugene."
     "What if I refuse?" he asked directly.
     Jane shrugged.  "The door is unlocked.  You may leave this house,
dressed as you are, and attempt to make your way back home.  And I will
have your luggage shipped to your mother."
     "What, like-"
     "Just like that.  Right now," Jane smiled.

     Tucker thought, *Oh yeah, and then I get to make my way home over
how many hundreds of miles of hostile territory without any gear?  Or at
least to the post office... but I can't go into a post office naked!
SHIT!*  He sighed, wondering where his mother had run into this lunatic
woman, and why she had decided that THIS was the place for him.  *There
will be 'words' when I get home, that's for damn sure!*
     He sighed again, deciding that he had a better chance submitting
for the moment, and choosing his time and place of escape.
     Besides, if he could fool his girlfriend's mother, he could fool
anyone, and if the cops were looking for one Eugene Wallace Tucker,
adolescent criminal, they almost certainly wouldn't blink twice at
Valerie Davis, going home after visiting 'relatives'.  And when he
caught up with Mike and Debbie and the rest again, they could help him
figure out what to do from there.
     And if he made it through, somehow, the computer of his dreams
would be waiting for him...

     The young man thought silently for quite some time, and Jane was
about to administer a verbal nudge when he shrugged at her.  "Okay," he
said almost casually, surprising her.  "Let's do it, I guess, if that's
all the choices I have."

     Jane looked at him for a long time, and he was beginning to wonder
if he'd made a serious mistake, when she shook herself and stood up.
"Very well," she said, "come along then."  He stood up behind her and
followed her out of the office and back down the hallway to the room she
said was his, and into it.  And into the bathroom.
     A woman he hadn't seen before was wearing a white uniform and
preparing towels.  She'd also run a bath... a large, white, foaming mass
of bubbles.  The cloying floral scent caught Tucker straight in the
histamines.

     Jane heard a gasp, and when she turned around, all she saw was one
heel and the door slamming shut.  She looked at Marie, who shrugged,
looking as mystified as she knew she did.  "What the..." Jane muttered
as she opened the door and saw Eugene sitting on the bed, breathing
hard.  "What do you-" she began, but he raised a hand and cut her off.
     "No, Miz Thompson, no.  You said you wouldn't, wouldn't put me in
danger, or whatever it was," which statement, and the fact that it was
delivered in a hysterical panting, intrigued her enough to stall the
rage she was about to fly into.  "I have, had, I mean I used to have
asthma, and if I get in there, with all that perfume, I might choke to
death."  He began spastically shaking his head.  "No, no, I can't, if
this is part of it, I can't..."
     Jane would have disputed him, having had similar histrionics from
students before - though not usually over a mere bubble bath; they
usually had many other, worse things to upset them - but his tone of
voice, and the small catch in his breathing, told her he was serious.
He scratched his arm absently as it was wrapped around him, and then
noticed what he was doing with a look of horror.  "See?" he gasped with
a disturbing note of hysteria in his voice.  "I got welts!  I'm already
itching, that means I'm allergic to it-"
     "Alright, alright," Jane sighed.  "Would a shower be acceptable?"
He nodded frantically in front of her.  "Well, then, we'll air out this
bathroom, and you can complete your preparations in Charlene's
bathroom."
     "Okay," he acquiesced, still sounding shaken, and looked up at her
with those brilliant blue eyes.  "Thank you... 'M sorry Miz Thompson,"
he mumbled, "but I'm not making this up, really.  I can't go in there."
     *I believe you,* she sighed mentally, *God help me.*  Aloud, she
said sternly, "Very well, but this is the last deviation I will permit."
The boy just nodded absently, as he rubbed his arm and stared at the
floor, his posture one of a person who is recovering from a fright.
     Marie came out, bearing a load of towels and a caddy filled with
bottles.

     Charlie was working on a book report, mainly because there was
absolutely nothing else to do, when there was a knock at the door.
Charlie looked up, and Marie came in bearing a load of bathroom goodies.
"What-"
     Jane followed Marie in before Charlie could finish.  "Charlene,"
Jane said, and Charlie had to keep from grinding his teeth at that hated
name, "Eugene will be using your bathroom tonight, because he is
apparently asthmatic and the bubble bath would do him ill."
     Charlie sighed dramatically, and swept off the bed.  *Why does this
always have to happen to me?* he wondered as he proceeded downstairs.

     *Why does this always have to happen to me?* Tucker wondered as the
two women in the bathroom showed no signs of leaving.
     "Now, Eugene," Jane said to him, "I want you to wash yourself
thoroughly.  Cleanliness at all times is the rule in my house."
     *THE rule?  The ONLY rule?* he wanted to snap back, but bit it
back.
     She also showed him the shampoo and conditioner he was supposed to
use, explaining the directions like he'd never used the stuff before,
and also told him to shave his legs and armpits.  Tucker almost snorted
when he heard that.
     Jane finished with, "You have precisely twenty minutes.  When you
are finished and completely rinsed, and shaved, there are towels there
on the vanity," she said gesturing. "You will also find a pair of
underpants you are to put on.  If you are chilled, you may put the robe
back on.  But be absolutely certain you are wearing those panties, and
that all of your leg and underarm hair is completely gone.  Come into
the bedroom when you are done.  Your bedroom," she added as they both
began to walk out.  "Remember, twenty minutes, or we come in and do it
to you ourselves," Jane said as she closed the door.
     There was no sound of feet walking out of the room, he noticed.
     Tucker sighed.  *Great,* he thought.  Then he smiled.  *Well, if
they want to wait around, the least I can do is entertain them...*

     Charlie wandered across the hall and back into his room to find
Jane and Marie waiting outside the bathroom door.  "Well?  How's he
taking it so far?" he quietly asked Marie.
     Jane stared at the wall, her arms folded.  Marie gestured towards
the door.  Charlene looked at her, surprised, then moved closer.  As she
did, the reason for everyone's attitude became apparent.
     "... when you walk next to me," Eugene sang over the sound of the
water.  "They say I ain't good enough for ya," he continued, "why don't
they come and tell me..."
     Charlene looked in amazement at Jane.  Jane continued glaring at
the door.
     "...when they see us out in the night, can't wait to tear us
apart... I hear 'em say lovin' you ain't right, well they better be
ready 'cause honey I'll be there," Eugene sang in a rush, then switched
into a full bore chorus, "I will fight, tooth and nail, count on me,
I will not fail you..."  Eugene had a clear voice, too.
     Charlie didn't remember singing love songs that first night.

     Tucker was about to pour the shampoo into his hair, when he caught
a telltale scent.  He sniffed, sniffed again, then lifted the bottle to
his nose and inhaled deeply.
     As the coughing fit cleared his lungs, he was grinning in between
spasms.  *Thought I wouldn't notice hair dye in the shampoo, huh?  Too
bad Susan tried this one already, you fuckers!*  He'd been almost
classic Nordic blonde when he'd finally figured out what was going on,
and his sister had been grounded for a month solid.
     *But not this time...* he grinned.  "Don't bring me down," he
started to sing,  "no no no no no no no, no...  oohWEEEEhoo.... I'll
tell you once more, before I get off the floor, don't bring me down..."

     Jane had finally given up and gone to her study to brood, and
Charlene had taken her bed back, which left Marie to finish the
alterations to Eugene's bedroom.
     He was still singing, too, and quite loudly.  "You don't need
diamond rings, or eighteen carat gold... fancy cars that go very fast,
you know, they never last ohhh nooo..."
     Marie's secret weakness was pop music, and it was rather nice to be
hearing it away from the small stereo in her bedroom.  She mouthed the
words as Eugene sang from the bathroom, "What you need is a big strong
hand to, lift you to a higher ground..."  He faltered a bit on the
higher notes, but she couldn't really blame him.

     *Funny,* Tucker mused as he began shaving the stubble off his legs.
*I thought I'd have problems growing it all back, or get in trouble with
the guys about it.*  He'd managed to avoid problems in his school locker
room, barely, but he knew that was only because of Debbie's easily-
visible interest in him.  And telling all the guys she hated leg hair.
*Now I have to shave it all off.  Go figure.*
     "Yeah baby, she's got it...."
     Tucker knew better than to try and replicate the guitar parts.
     "I'm your Venus, I'm your fire, at your desire..."

     Charlie, by now, had no damned idea what to expect at this point,
but when the door opened and Eugene came out, he wondered why he was
even surprised.  The new kid had wrapped one towel around his hair, and
another around his chest, so that he looked like any other young woman
coming out of the shower.
     "Hey," he said to Charlie, then apparently noticed the time,
because he exclaimed, "Oh shit!" and dashed out the door and across the
hall.
     "Fuckhead brownnoser," Charlie muttered under his breath before
turning back to the novel.

     Tucker dashed into the bedroom, then stopped dead in his tracks.
"Jeez," he said without realizing it as he gazed around the room.  *Boy,
did they do a number in here while I was showering...*
     The bed had been re-made with fresh sheets, and a little stuffed
bunny sat on the pillows, facing a doll on the other end of the bed.
Almost everything wooden had been covered with lacy cloth in one form or
another, including the legs of the bedframe.  That gave Tucker a bit of
a fright, since the laptop was secreted in the box springs.  He hoped.
     They'd turned on the lights at the makeup table and the mirror, so
the room was a lot brighter than it had been.  *Great,* he thought.
*Just what I need.*
     "Eugene, sit here," Jane commanded, indicating the chair in front
of the makeup table.  *Now, when have I done this before?* he thought
ironically, and had to repress a grin at the thoughts of Debbie and Lisa
working him over at a similar table washed over his mind.

     Jane looked over at Eugene, and saw that he was sitting primly in
the chair, face and neck stretched out and forward, as if to accept...
*Why, the cheek!* she fumed silently to himself.  He'd already figured
out what they were going to do to him, probably from the makeup on the
table that hadn't been there before, and he was WAITING for it!

     "Eugene!" Jane spat sharply, and Tucker looked around guiltily,
trying to figure out what rule he had broken this time.  "Stand up!"
Tucker got to his feet, thinking, *Now it starts...'stand up, sit down,
stand up, sit down, left face, right face...'*

     Jane rummaged in the drawers for something appropriate, and the
first thing that caught her eye was something so pink and lacy that it
almost offended HER.  *This ought to provoke a reaction,* she thought
gleefully as she turned around.
     Eugene stared at the pink garment she was holding in her hand, his
blank expression quickly turning to one of worry.  He raised a hand as
if to point at it, and his mouth opened to say something, but Jane
deliberately cut him off.
     "This is a body shaper," she explained, "also known as a corset.
You'll be wearing it this evening, since it will provide the necessary
support for the rest of your garments."
     Eugene shut his mouth and dropped his arm, but kept staring, and
Jane finally felt like she had the upper hand.

     Tucker sighed as the garment went around him and cut off his deep
breathing.  *I thought I was done with this corset bullshit back in
Februa-*
     Then someone pulled the laces.  "Heerrrrrk!" Tucker said in
surprise as he instinctively pulled against the tension, and before he
could reverse himself she was tying the laces.  Or using a
quick-tensioner on them; that was too fast to tie a knot, he thought as
he tried to breathe.
     "Now, Eugene," Jane said, "What I have to show you now demands some
lengthy explanation."
     *What, you're going to show me a top quark?* he thought at her as
he panted.  Then she held up something which chilled him.
     It was a long, flowing garment that looked a lot like a skirt, if
skirts were meant to flare out at a forty-five degree angle with their
own bulk.  *Oh, NO...*
     "This, young man, is a petticoat.  You heard me mention 'petticoat
discipline' this afternoon, and it is from this garment that that term
derives.  I can think of few articles of lingerie that are more girlish
and juvenile.  This little item is the symbol of your station for some
time to come, and it gives me great delight to put you into it.  In
fact, you are going to be favored with four layers of these tonight."
     To say that Tucker was 'displeased', was much like saying that
allowing a maximum of one child in a culture which placed great
importance on first-born males was 'less than completely brilliant'.

     Jane was gratified to see the boy in front of her pale somewhat at
her words.  She handed the petticoat to Marie, wishing as usual to savor
the moment she was about to witness.  "You need to remove your towel and
step carefully into this," Marie softly requested.
     He sighed, and took the apparently offensive garment gingerly, then
looked at them.
     "Yes?" Jane asked after several unmoving seconds.
     "Um, could you turn around please?" Eugene requested.
     "Why?" Jane asked before Marie could.
     "Because I don't like people looking at me naked," he said in
return.
     "Are you wearing those panties?" Jane asked.
     "Yes, ma'am," the boy sighed, and turned to the side and pulled up
the towel to show that he was indeed.
     Jane thought, and weighed the request itself versus the tone it was
delivered in, which was at least not demanding, insolent, or
threatening.  "Very well," she said, and motioned to Marie.
     *Besides, we can see everything in the mirrors quite as well,* she
thought smugly, but when she glanced to find him, he wasn't there, and
before she could find his reflection he announced, "Okay."
     When they turned around again, he was indeed wearing the petticoat,
and picking up the discarded towel as well.  He stared at the floor in
front of him as Marie took the towel and placed it on the bed, then
lifted the waistband of the petti a bit and tied the drawstrings at the
rear.
     The second, third, and fourth pettis were pulled over his head, and
he seemed to be getting smaller and smaller with each one.
     *It always works,* she thought gleefully.

     Tucker stared at himself in the mirror where he had been placed by
a grinning Jane, and looked.  *Whoopee,* he thought.  *This is worse
than a prom dress.*  The multiple layers almost stood out sideways, it
seemed, and the horrid pink corset - Tucker wondered if it was really
fluorescent or just burned the retina the same way - gave him a shape he
was all too familiar with already.  The combination of little-child
skirts and hooker-pink upper undergarments made him rather ill.  He felt
like he was advertising for pedophiles.
     Jane moved the chair closer to the vanity and told him to sit there
again.  When he had, Jane told him, "I'm leaving you to Marie's expert
hands, Eugene.  You will obey her as you would me," *Which is to say not
at all.*  "When she is completely finished with you, you will come back
downstairs to the parlor.  Is that understood?"
     "Yes ma'am," Tucker sighed in response.  With that, she nodded at
Marie and left.

     Marie thought that the shampoo-and-peroxide should have lightened
his hair more than it had, but it was still almost the same shade of
brown as when he had arrived.  This irritated her, because now the
hairpiece she had selected wouldn't match.

     *Egad,* Tucker thought in amazement, *and I thought the petticoats
were bad.*  The garments that Marie had made him put on reinforced the
little-girl image, which was accentuated bizarrely by the corset.  Now
he was afraid most of all of being taken outside and being dumped in a
downtown district somewhere - he was sure that he wouldn't live out the
night if that happened.


+++++


Distribution:
No part of this work may be distributed as an original work by another
person or group.
Permission is given to redistribute this by electronic means, as long as
the entirety of the work (from the BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE header to
the END PGP SIGNATURE footer) is distributed, and credit is given to the
original author, me.  And no fee may be charged.
Archiving is permitted provided no fee is charged for access.

All rights reserved.


+ @>--,--'-----   Ellen Hayes   o===[--------      __      vicki .sig  +
                  -=[1990]=-                       \/      virus 12.2
+      http://www.barkingduck.net/ehayes     PGP key: EFC9 5D55 (1996) +



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