Date: Wed, 5 Mar 2003 20:48:40 EST
From: Josie
Subject: Studio of Dreams, part 3    (tg- femdom, chemical)

Studio of Dreams
Part III

by  josie


-------------

Synopsis:

It has been a remarkable period of change for both Simon, and
Leonora. Simon has come to embrace the illusion of his feminitiy, and
Leonora is no longer the tired and worn ballet mistress she once appeared.
She has become a formidable force capable of shaping the course of events
to her will.  Indeed, everyone has undergone a re-creation to fit the role
that is theirs to play - but not Wilhelmina.  She continues to live with
too many unanswered questions about herself to know what is meant to be.
Still, she believes fate has brought her to this moment for a reason, and
is determined to stay at her post until she finds the answers which, till
now, have eluded her.

--------------


Chapter IX
Dream Revisited

After that day of reconciliation between mother and son, it became
impossible to ignore the inspiration in Simon's dance.  Unencumbered by all
the burdens his secret life had come to imply, Simon was now free to
indulge his art and Simone free to blossom.  He felt a comfort in no longer
having to keep his achievements secret from his mother, and pride in
himself.  Clearly his new circumstance inspired him, but it was the joy she
saw on his face that awakened in her memories of a childhood dream, still
unfulfilled.  She remembered her time spent at Dame Dupre's Conservatory,
and how she had wanted to create and perform the great opus of her youthful
dreams.

All that she once chose to forget now came back to her as she remembered
the disillusionment in her failing, and all the anguish that followed.  Of
course, she was much younger then and a lot had transpired between then and
now.  Her years of prowling the streets had taught her a lot about life.
Indeed, the Warlords and the Banshees, Simon and the studio had even taught
her a lot about herself.  Clearly much had changed, but her longing to
create and perform her opus had not.  Like some grand mountain peak she had
yet to scale, it was still there for her to do.  She still didn't know
whether the craggy cliffs of that mountain where scaleable, but she could
no longer deny herself the opportunity to try, nor deny her longing to
embark upon her creative journey once again.  This time, however, she was
determined not to let her dream of her opus elude her as it had years
before.

After the studio closed for the day and Leonora went off to visit Eunice,
Wilhelmina secretly slipped back into the studio.  She sat on the floor
where, lit only by the flicker of candlelight in the darkness she wrote and
rewrote the movements and danced the progressions until the early hours.
Unannounced to all, she worked for weeks on what she knew was at hand, and
until her vision of "Rumble Street" neared completion.

Wilhelmina found the creation of her life's opus more of an exercise in
self-examination than anything else.  It was a turbulent vortex around
which the gusts of her disordered emotions raged.  This journey of
self-discovery took her well beyond what she had achieved long ago at Dame
Dupre's Conservatory.  Though just as before, Wilhelmina's effort again
ended without the thread needed to stitch all the pieces together.  Only
now she understood in her heart that she was closer to finding that
unifying thread than ever before.  Just as she knew that without it her
opus, like her life, would forever be incomplete.

Thus armed, and with the confidence that her epiphany had rekindled,
Wilhelmina blew out the solitary candle for the final time.  She left the
studio not knowing how the performance of her life would unfold.  She
didn't even know whether Simon, Simone or Leonora would have a role to play
in the final casting.  She left only believing that there was a reason fate
had brought her to this studio and, with fate as her guide, she would
abandon herself to the foreordained to find what had until now eluded her.

----

A week after Simon's award-winning performance as Princess Aurora, Leonora
was again walking.  As fate would have it, the first storm of the season
also swept in that day.  The imposing northeasterly darkened the sky with a
thick overcast, bringing a bittersweet end to summer and an end to
Leonora's infirmity.

Out of that Leonora appeared without the aid of her wheelchair.  She looked
as imposing as the weather that accompanied her as she walked in wearing
her all consuming, floor-length gown that buried everything in her wake
beneath a sea of black velvet.  She fanned out her arms to embrace all in
her devoted flock as they rushed to gather round in gay excitement Simon
was there too, clinging to her skirt and so happy to see Leonora walking
again that a trail of blue eye shadow ran down his cheek, making a muss of
his rouge.

Wilhelmina watched her as she went about like some pompous queen, stooping
to bless each lil'princess with a reassuring kiss on the cheek before
coming around to Simon.  After drying his tears with a Kleenex, she turned
him about to face Wilhelmina.  She stooped down behind him and placed her
chin upon his shoulder so that together they looked her way.  Simon looked
disconcerted, and Leonora smiled - her grin subverted by the presence of
her hands, brought around from behind to cup his boyish breasts in mocking
jest.

There was a new sense of brashness in her demeanor as she palmed the
gathered flesh on his chest, and teased him until he was flush.  It was a
brazen act, and far more than what she needed to see.  To Wilhelmina it was
proof enough that a healthy Leonora was going to be more of a problem for
Simon than the one limited in range by two wheels.  After all, it was like
her to carry everything to the extreme, and if Wilhelmina wondered how
Leonora could possibly behave worse, she had only to wait until the next
morning to find out.

-----

For our new Miss Simone, the instant success and the recognition of her
achievement began to open the doors of opportunity quite rapidly.  In
truth, Miss Simone was inundated with invitations for every kind of
appearance.  Along with the invitations they sent flowers to beg for her
attentions, causing the little studio to become an array of bouquets, and
overrun by the smell of them.  Wilhelmina might have thought it amusing if
not so consumed by her work to consider the vision of Miss Simone "en
costume" among the floral tributes.  However, it was impossible to escape
Leonora's satirical antics which, in full bloom, were as colorful as the
flowers.  Especially when Leonora presented him with yet another bouquet of
long stemmed roses to lovingly cradle in his arms, and the all-girl troupe
gathered round to hear the accompanying invitation read.

"Hmmmm, don't they smell lovely, Simone?  Smell!"

"Such a fragrant perfume!  I think the rose-pink so suits your complexion!"

"They're from the 8th Ave. Ladies Auxiliary, and they'd appreciate the
pleasure of Miss Simone's appearance."

"What have you to say to that, Miss Simone?"

Of course, Wilhelmina saw this as just another example of Leonora's
outlandishness that had increased tenfold since Simon acquired his new
persona.  The truth be known, it seemed to be growing worse now that she
was no longer confined to her wheelchair.  Why she felt she needed to be so
snide and condescending still made no sense to her, but then nothing much
in Leonora's upside-down world did.  About the only thing Wilhelmina could
say about such foolishness was that Leonora dispensed it with equal
indifference to gender, or circumstance.  In truth, none of the "flowers"
in her studio "garden" were immune to her verbal barbs.

"Dawn! Come child. Let me have a look!  Goodness, the hair on your upper
lip gets coarser after each shave."

"I'm sorry, Madam. Mama says it's in my genes."

"My goodness!  Then if there is nothing to be done about it, perhaps there
are to be some manly trousers and boxer shorts to accompany that handsome,
full mustache in your future.  Tell me, my pretty little gent. Think you'll
find standing up before the toilet a more attractive proposition?"

>From Wilhelmina's perspective, these verbal assaults seemed innocuous when
directed at the girls.  However, when directed at Simon it sounded
altogether different.  It was as though her intent was to shame him.
Besides, what was the need to make a public mockery of Simon if not to
shame him?  Even worse, Leonora went about the undertaking with such zeal
that it was beginning to incite her sense of fair play.

"Tell me, Miss Simone. What kind of lipstick are you wearing?"

"Promises," uttered Simon. His eyes searching for some relief from her
gaze.

"And the advertising slogan, Miss Simone. Tell me again, my sweet. How does
it go?"

"He'll find your lips irresistibly kissable," Simon whispered, looking
away.

"Ahhh!  Perhaps something you look forward to, Miss Simone?"

Wilhelmina felt justified in her anger.  It was one thing for Leonora to
want to subdue his boyish penchant, but quite another to mock him.  There
could be no excusing Leonora's behavior.  It was shameful, but when she
tried to speak to her about it, Leonora would hear none of it.  She was
quick to respond, not caring who in the studio heard as she began lecturing
her on the importance of being honest.

"Leonora!  Why is it necessary to shame him when a few words of phrase and
encouragement will do?"

"Shame, you say?"  Leonora responded quite pointedly.  "Well, if it is
shame you feel, only you can speak to that.  I mean, isn't shame something
you feel when trying to hide behind a lie you want to protect?"

The room fell silent, as did a startled Wilhelmina.  Clearly the blasting
was meant to arouse her fear - and it did.  She feared the moment of truth
had finally come, and awaited the angry tirade coming next.  She could
already hear Leonora bitterly lashing out, calling her a lying low-life
thug who nearly killed an innocent girl doing no wrong to her. Then worse,
an untrustworthy bitch who was destined to hurt one of them if not
immediately tossed out into the street where she belonged.  She was in near
tears, sure that the axe was about to fall - but it didn't.

"Nothing personal, my dear.  I was just saying that one must be honest
before others can put trust in what you have to say.  Being open and honest
breeds recognition and acceptance, not shame!"

"I'm afraid you are mistaken on what you see, Wilhelmina.  That isn't shame
you see on their faces.  It's the humility that comes with accepting the
truth, knowing they can trust what I've to say.  Ours is a relationship
based on that kind of honesty, not lies and deceit."

"Might that be something you know little about, my dear?"

Leonora's words quieted her.  She was happy no worse had come of it, but
also felt the burden of the principles she was now powerless to defend.
She felt conflicted by the two opposing emotions and didn't like the
feeling one little bit.  Then too, she wanted to stay and, pursuing any of
this a moment more might well have consequences she wasn't prepared to
accept.

Besides, she rationalized, if Simon didn't complain about the way she
treated him, nor act like a boy in duress, what harm was being done?  If
anything, it seemed to make him even more acquiescent and modest.  As that
was all that truly mattered, she left Leonora to her affairs, allowing her
to deal with Simon as she would.  She had her hands full just teaching the
new movements befitting the new Miss Simone, and determined to have him
dance them to perfection - just as she had promised.

---

It was left for Wilhelmina to decide which public invitations Miss Simone
would accept and which she'd graciously refuse.  These were complex issues
that she would never think to take on without first consulting her mother.
She had only the best of reasons to trust Katherine's judgment, so it made
sense that she would listen as Katherine trimmed the list down to three,
then two, then to the one Katherine unwaveringly proclaimed as the sure
winner.

"You remember Cecilia . . .  Cecilia Wright?  My understudy at the Met?
Well, she's now the Artistic Director at Ballet des Jeunes!"

Wilhelmina didn't bother asking why Katherine preferred a Prima Ballerina
appearance at the Ballet des Jeunes over any other.  Nor did she question
her mother when she followed with a word about an obscure solo variation to
"The Firebird," Act II, which Cecilia Wright herself had written.

"I know many aren't familiar with the movement.  It's seldom taught, and
I'm sure that if done as a commemorative it would be well received by the
audience . . . not to mention Cecilia."

The suggestion appealed to Wilhelmina and in a matter of days she arranged
the choreography and began to teach Simon the movements.  It was a
delightful mix of classical and contemporary that heightened the brightness
of detail and variety of textures to his dance.  A quick learner, she
wholly expected that he would come to master the "obscure variation" in the
piece.  She was equally certain that he would approach the long hours of
rehearsal with equal gravity, always with the warmest of smiles for an
appreciative Wilhelmina.

Even so, the complexity of the series of Grande Jetes and landed jumps in
5th position would require time.  It was Wilhelmina's fear that it might
require more time for rehearsal then available to either of them.  Try as
she might, the days never seemed long enough for all that remained to be
done.

An added hardship for Simon was the strain that the increased demands upon
his time were having on his public schooling.  The truth was, he was
miserable at school.  It was becoming increasing difficult to keep up with
his 12th grade studies and his looks were making it impossible to escape
the scorn of his peers.  Unlike Wilhelmina, who could fight back in defense
of herself, Simon could not.  Likewise, his efforts to remain anonymous
fared poorly at best.  For Simon, going to school in his boy clothes, with
his brows, nails and hair adroitly sculptured was akin to playing a part in
a play.  In truth, it was an artificial role that just didn't fit.

Of course the problem did not escape Leonora.  She had always known that
Simon's continued contact with the outside world would put him in
increasingly more conflict.  Because he was so different, and because he
had to pretend in his boy clothes world to be something he wasn't, was
nothing less than a danger to him.  So she made the case that it would best
serve both Wilhelmina and Simon's interests if they were taught to pass the
graduation Regent's Exam in private study.

Leonora felt certain that Hoover High would be happy to rid themselves of
both of them; especially Simon, whose very presence taxed the school's
security systems to the max.  It would also lighten Wilhelmina's burden of
having to continually watch over and protect him.  Obviously it was the
right thing to do, and the tutor she had in mind would provide adequate
time for their dance.  Of course, financially this was out of the question
for Eunice who could scarcely make ends meet as it was.  Mindful of this
Katherine agreed to pay both tuition's so their education could begin
immediately under the guidance of Gertrude Simms - a retired teacher living
on her meager pension in a flat above Leonora's studio.

Thus, in a matter of days Leonora had won the privacy she sought.  Simon
won relief from his problems at school and Wilhelmina won the time needed
in her work with Simon.  Then to the gratitude of all, both received
private instruction three hours per day upstairs in Gertrude's apartment,
before a long day of dance on the floor below.


Chapter X
Simone

The advancing Autumn chill swept in as swiftly as did the passing of that
implausible summer of change.  To be sure, it had been a season of
unparalleled accomplishment in Simon's dance.  Wilhelmina seemed pleased
that he had taken so nicely to the Firebird variations in such short order.
In fact, in all her years on the dance floor she had never seen anything
like the commitment Simon had made that summer to perfect his craft.  That
said, it was also the summer that had brought on many other changes in
Simon's life, and Wilhelmina remained uncertain if any were for the better.

She had seen Leonora's personal influence over Eunice grow in direct
proportion to the number of their nightly visitations.  That they had
become the best of friends, there could be no doubt.  Even so, she was at a
loss to explain how Eunice's demeanor seemed to grow even more acquiescent
as Leonora's grew bolder.  After all, Eunice was a steadfast, opinionated
woman.  How could she suddenly come to have no voice of her own regarding
the management of her son, her words only echoing those of Leonora?

Leonora had privately reassured Wilhelmina that the nightly visits were not
intrusive, that they were just to share a cup of tea and provide friendly
advice when needed.  To Wilhelmina, however, there seemed more to her
visits.  Eunice's sudden conformity of opinion toward Simon's "proper
hygiene and grooming" certainly didn't ease her suspicions, nor did the
fact that Eunice slowly began to resign more authority to what she called
Leonora's, "better judgment."

She had unsettled feelings about Leonora and Eunice's burgeoning alliance.
It had always been the case that Eunice's sobriety acted as a counter to
Leonora's eccentricity.  Now, with both women in full collaboration she
wondered what might await Simon from an unbridled Leonora, and who, if
anyone, would now speak for Simon?  Surely not Wilhelmina.  After all, only
Simon had the power to speak out against his mother.

For his part, Simon appeared wholly un-perturbed by the feminine regime
thrust upon him.  He endured a smothering of petticoats and feminine
influence every way he turned, yet never complained.  In fact, Simon always
spoke in the kindest words for all his mother and Leonora did for him.  He
was thoroughly subordinate to them both, but with the two most important
people in his life shrewishly controlling his every move, how could we
expect otherwise?  Dare she expect him to stand up and fight against them?

---

It was also true that the long summer months of instruction had some very
interesting effects upon Simon and Wilhelmina's relationship as well.
Simon had become as amenable, devout and acquiescent as a puppy toward her
and, though she loathed having to admit it, her affections for him were
growing right along with Leonora's increasing efforts to feminize him.

To be candid, there were times when Wilhelmina would smell his perfume, or
watch him brushing his flourishing hair that she'd find herself breathless.
Watching Simon struggle with his composure after Leonora fastened a floral
barrette to his hair, then mockingly fawn "what a good girl," would inflame
great passions in her.  Such immoderate moments brought with them the
memory of Alyssa as she emerged from the dark of the alley, struggling to
hold together her self-respect, and the clothes her torn buttons could not.
Only now, it wasn't Alyssa's face she saw emerging from the dark of the
alley, it was Simone's!

Nowhere were Wilhelmina's affections for him more apparent than when at
day's end she would walk him safely home.  They were the oddest of couples
walking the streets of New York. This tall, masculinely dressed girl and
this short effeminate boy in a blue floral print dress simply could not go
ignored, even in New York.  Still no one dare speak a word about them as
they traveled the boulevard.  Wilhelmina saw to that.

Oh, occasionally some thug would get in her face, looking to bring her down
a notch or two.  Indeed, on occasion it even took more than a cart-wheeling
high kick to the chin and a barrage of punches to the nose before the jerk
scurried off.  The tough life on the streets was her element and, with all
those male hormones stoking her system she was always the undisputed
master.  In turn, Simon had the freedom and confidence to revel in his own
kind of mastery - the illusion of his femininity.

They made quite the pair as they made their way home laughing and playing
in a world of their own making.  Both comforted by the presence of the
other, they'd casually stroll from place to place, luxuriating in their few
precious moments alone together, rain or shine.

One such place they often visited along their way home was the abandoned
parcel of land off 84th St.  Taken over by the neighborhood, the locals had
transformed this once vacant land into a living monument of urban
horticulture.  This single lot, standing alone amid the towering rows of
tenement buildings, was overrun with flower and vegetable gardens of every
sort.  There, along the bisecting path, Simon would stop to smell the
Sunflowers and the Magnolias, then lift his skirt and dance amid the
flowers with a most feminine savoir faire.  As Wilhelmina watched him dance
along the path she could not help but wonder where his passion and artistry
came from.

To her, there was no question that Simon was of two souls.  On one hand he
was a misfit schoolboy who possessed the agile form and androgynous appeal
that made him fit to be a dancer.  But there was another Simon she saw
expressed in his natural exuberance, his emotional pathos and his embracing
of all things feminine.  His dance seemed possessed by this other Simon,
who danced to show how happy he was to be free.  As she watched this
spontaneous expression of himself, she could see the joy in his eyes and no
longer wondered about the nature of his artistry.

Another of their favorite pastimes along the way home was to play "what
if" games, challenging one another as to their favorite likes and
dislikes.  As it happened, one of their favorite places to play the games
was along the row of clothing shops they passed along the way home.  It was
not uncommon for Wilhelmina to stop to make a capricious comment about some
sports coat in the Men's Emporium store window.  Then in the spirit of the
game, Simon would respond in kind, telling Wilhelmina how pretty some skirt
looked in the Girl's Fashion Center window.  It was always good for a laugh
or two.

Then one day, after hearing Simon utter an unexpectedly exuberant "How I
simply adore that love-ly skirt," Wilhelmina felt drawn by something other
than the humor of it.  Perhaps it was the way he coquettishly uttered the
word "love-ly" that had put her feelings in turmoil, or possibly it was the
way he giggled and blushed in girlish muddle as he spoke.  Whatever it was,
Wilhelmina was beside herself with emotion.

"Will you tr-tr-try it on for me?"

For the first time since he had known Wilhelmina, Simon heard trepidation
in her voice.  Her suddenly flushed cheeks and the difference in her
otherwise cool demeanor told him there was something extraordinary about
her words.  Then and there his heart began to race, his thoughts were in
disorder.

"You want me to?"

"Yes!  For me!" Wilhelmina sighed.

Simon didn't have the words, only his nodding acquiescence.  He followed as
Wilhelmina led him into the shop and brought him before a gum chewing sales
girl whom they met just inside the door.

"My friend Simon, would like to be fitted for the pink poodle skirt and
Georgette blouse combination you've displayed in the window."

"Ahhh!  Oooooo-kay!" the girl stuttered, popping the big pink bubble.  "The
one with the pom-pom tie belt and stitched French Poodle?"

"Yes!  He thinks it looks quite lovely!"

"Give me a break!"

"How about a black eye?  Will that do?" Wilhelmina hissed in contempt.

"Like . . .What-ev-errr!  Jeeez!  Come on, follow me . . .  hon?"

A few moments later, Wilhelmina was beside herself as Simon sheepishly
followed the girl out from behind the curtained cubicle.  The vision of him
in that full, ankle-length, round poodle skirt left goose bumps on her
limbs and a wet spot between her legs.

"Will that be cash or charge, hon?" the salesgirl asked after the bubble
gum bust its bubble.

They spoke not another word the rest of the way home. There was nothing he
could say that would explain what he did for her.  He was her Simone now;
Wilhelmina was his Warlord, primping her pompadour and languishing over her
brood.  Simon was the Banshee, anxious but subdued, fearing the worst but
bound by devotion to stay.

Then, when they arrived at the tenement stairs, Wilhelmina turned to face
her Simon, dressed in his new blouse and "lovely" new pink poodle skirt.
Cradling his face between her open palms, she leaned down and kissed him.
It was their first, and it was the seal that would forever bond them as
one.  The kiss was short and the following pause breathless and long.  They
eyes met, their thoughts askew, then Simon turned to scurry up the steps in
a fluster.  His hands clasped under his chin, the pink ribbon about his
ponytail trailing wistfully behind as he ran.

Wilhelmina paused to light up a Camel, exhaling the smoke with a great sigh
of exultation.  Then with the cigarette dangling from her lip, she dragged
a comb through her greased back pompadour with one hand, and smoothed the
contour to perfection with the other.  Her hair perfectly in place, she
took a final drag upon her cigarette before putting the comb back into her
pocket.  With a smile, she flicked the cigarette into the street and headed
back down the street toward the studio, whistling her favorite Gershwin
melody, "Embraceable You."

The world had turned a degree on its axis that day for Willie and Simone.
To say that things weren't different after that first kiss would surely
diminish the importance of that day.  From then on, Simon eagerly awaited
other kisses, while Wilhelmina's affections were expressed in the
chivalrous terms of endearment- "my sweet," "dear," "my precious."

---

Wilhelmina was grateful for whatever time she had alone with Simon, but the
rigors of their demanding schedule meant that Leonora was always somewhere
nearby.  In all honesty, neither had much privacy in their lives anymore,
and that was rapidly becoming a big problem for Wilhelmina.  She needed the
time alone with him to teach him the movements of her newly composed opus,
"Rumble Street," and she certainly didn't want Leonora, or anyone else, to
know what she had secretly been planning.

Then again, she was resourceful if nothing else.  She knew from experience
that when she left to walk Simon home after class, Leonora also left for
the day.  In fact, it was not uncommon to see a taxi already awaiting for
Leonora's departure as Wilhelmina and Simon left.  So when she needed the
time to be alone with Simon they would leave, then wait around the corner
for the taxi to take Leonora to dinner.  Once the taxi vanished down the
avenue they would quietly slip back into the studio.  Alone at last, she'd
lock the door and put on the music to accompany the movements of her opus
she would have Simon learn.

Wilhelmina didn't tell Simon the reasons for teaching him the movements,
and he didn't care.  He was simply content that she presented the
choreography and, taught him the movements of her turbulent portrait of
love and sacrifice.  Their passion pulsed throughout the score, and in the
vivacious jetes and high extensions they gave themselves up to the
intensity of the choreography that spoke to Wilhelmina's life and desires.

They danced and rehearsed until it grew late and Wilhelmina brought an end
to their clandestine rehearsal.  Then, standing in the center of the floor
under chandelier light, she beckoned Simon to remove his leotard while she
placed her beloved Gershwin on the phonograph.  When he was barefoot, and
stripped down to his silk halter and panty, she invitingly held out her
arms to the demure boy-girl.

In the dim light she considered his timorous approach, the visible and
undeniable evidence of his excitement only partially concealed behind the
screen of his hands.  Wilhelmina reached out and Simon took her hands, then
rose up on tiptoes to meet her advancing lips. They kissed and tenderly
embraced, then Wilhelmina's hands slipped down to firmly grip the fleshy
knolls of his bottom.  She drew him close enough for his erection to press
against her belly then beckoned him to step up and place his feet on top of
hers - and in this way she waltzed her Simone.

They glided as one to the melody, her hands clasping his bottom cheeks, his
hardness compressed against her belly.  She plied her lips to toy with his
ear and slid her palms beneath his panty while impassioned whispers sang:
"it's got to be you . . . you irresistible you . . . "

Emboldened by his sighs, Wilhelmina spread his cheeks wide, her finger
searching out the rosette between.  She kissed his lips and her finger
found its yearning, eager target.  Then she impaled him on its length!
With the force of the invader he groaned, then sighed as his body rose up,
then down to the tempo of the music and the welcomed transgressor.

Wilhelmina had rehearsed such impassioned moments in her dreams countless
times.  She shivered in ecstasy over the control she had, delighting in the
boy's surrender.  Then, when Simon was spent and, the wet spot between her
legs ample proof that she had as well, she'd coo her satisfaction in his
ear; "Thank you, my Seee-moooooan."

---

It was impossible for the changes in Wilhelmina and Simone's attitude
toward each another to escape Leonora's notice, nor that of others in the
little corps de Ballet.  The word boyfriend was not so secretly bantered
about that Simon didn't blush upon hearing the whispering.  It also gave
Leonora ample reason to intensify her immoderate antics, the reasons for
which she simply didn't understand.  Wasn't it enough that he should accept
the part of Simone without shaming him as well?

"There's always reason enough to look pretty," Leonora cajoled.  "But for a
boyfriend we must take extra care to keep his attentions.  I do think we
must pay extra diligence to your toiletry and grooming, Simone.  Don't
you?"

Without Simon offering a single complaint, Leonora continued to step up her
control over him.  Given that he appeared each day more the petite Miss
than the day before, Wilhelmina had to presume that this included his
mother's influence as well.  How else was one to explain the sudden
emergence of a more exquisitely fashionable Simon each day?  Clearly, it
seemed ample proof of collaboration between Leonora and Eunice.

To be sure, Simon was now on a daily regime of beauty care.  Where once he
carried home at night a small, inconspicuous cosmetic case, now had become
a very large, very chic shoulder bag to fit in all his mother would need.
To Wilhelmina, the sumptuous white suede bag, adorned with its signature
"Angelina, Pretty Miss" moniker was a bold statement of all that awaited
Simon when he got home.

There were body lotions, creams, oils, soaps and emulsions to soften and
moisturize.  For his hair, there were products to add body and sheen.  For
his nightly facial, compounds to refresh and brighten.  For the body, a
full program of dietary supplements to firm and awaken.  For the
well-rounded disposition, a regimen of prescription pills to "soften
his edge."

Then there was the day Simon reached into his shoulder bag for a bill
needed to buy an ice cream.  With the flap raised, there was the
unmistakable sight of a certain feminine product in its distinctive
long-nozzle applicator, bearing its trademark, "Feminine Freshness"
logo. It was an item that she was all too familiar with, and when she asked
him why Leonora had given him the conspicuously feminine products to carry
home, he flushed red as a peony and, in a scarcely audible whisper said,
"It-it-it . . .  is for my mother."

Moreover, there were hints given to suggest far more.  Like the
conversation she overheard when Leonora was speaking on her office phone.
She could only overhear bits and pieces over the chatter of the girls in
the studio.  Nothing factual, but an intimation that Leonora and Eunice did
a bit more than discuss world affairs over a cup of tea while Simon
prettified himself for their approval.

". . . What's that?  Yes!  Cheryl's Junior Fashions, a boutique on 36th and
Division . . .  Sunday, we'll make a day of it.  There's a wonderful salon
close by as well.  What's that?  I expect as much.  We'll have to work some
on that this evening, but that's all part of growing up, my dear. We too
had to learn to appreciate the chore of being well presented.  . . .
besides, how else is one to learn?"

Of course, everyone knew enough not to tell Wilhelmina the truth about what
was really going on when Leonora visited with Eunice.  Then too, with
something so obvious you have to wonder how Wilhelmina couldn't have
figured it out on her own.  Surely when Willie the Warlord ruled supreme
she would have known when to sound the battle cry.

But there were never any lines drawn in the sand in Leonora's illogical
world.  Here, circumstances always seemed to be pushing and pulling at her
at the same time.  On the one hand it appalled her to think that the douche
might be for him, while on the other hand she was taken by the little
ingenue he was becoming.  There was neither rhyme nor reason here, and her
inability to understand any of it left her feeling bewildered and rife with
uncertainty.  Indeed her judgment and emotions were so muddled by doubt
that she scarcely knew what she should do, or how she should feel.

How else to explain her feelings for him?  There was no question that he
aroused a passion in her, but she was never certain if it was the thought
of Simon or the vision of Simone that made her feel as she did.

She supposed that her love for Simon overstepped his manner of dress, but
then she could never visualize him dressed any other way.  It was the
acquiescent Simone she longed to embrace, while the only Simon she had ever
known was the boy she nearly pummeled to death in Tae Kwon Do.  Once Simon
had asked: "Would you like me if I didn't wear a dress?"  Now, as
Wilhelmina considered the vision of him with shaped brows, extended lashes,
earrings and a hair style that would venerate a pixie, she was just as
certain of the answer: "I wouldn't like to wonder!"

"Look into the mirror, Simone," Leonora coaxed.  "Watch closely!  That's 50
light strokes on each side of the part, my dear.  Tell your mother you want
long, even strokes, like this!  Slowly and carefully so as not to pull or
tease it.  Can you see how the top to bottom strokes induces the natural
bounce to the curl at the bottom?  See how it enhances the sheen, makes it
flow softly?  And to be sure, my dear . . .  to be sure your hair receives
no less then the full 100 strokes it deserves, you will count them!  Do you
understand, dear?"

"Yes ma'am!"

---

Wilhelmina and Simon continued their additional work after class.  She
never told him why they continued to secretly rehearse her mysterious dance
routine, nor why she kept everything so hush-hush.  He never asked, nor did
Wilhelmina ever offer an explanation.  Simon just did what pleased
Wilhelmina, finding joy in his dance and bliss in the sweet aftermath of
Wilhelmina's embrace.

For Wilhelmina, all seemed so right.  As their affections and need for one
another grew unrestrained, the blossoming of Simone brought with it the
fulfillment of her dream though deferred, closer at hand.

Over the months that followed she secretly taught him the movements that
comprised her opus, and after, gave him the pleasure he hungered for.  She
lavished compliment after compliment upon him for his accomplished dance,
and for his accomplishments in her arms afterward.  In time, it didn't even
matter that she couldn't feel his hardness against her belly.  No matter
the results, Wilhelmina's encouraging "that's my girl" could always be
heard validating his breathless sighs of ecstasy - especially since the
increasingly apparent softness of him never seemed to deter his joy.


Chapter XI
Prima Ballerina

Autumn's parting carried away with it any doubts that Simon now mastered
the Firebird variations he'd be performing for Ballet des Jeunes.  Simon
and Wilhelmina had invested countless hours perfecting the subtleties of
the complex movements and it was obvious to all their work was nearing
perfection.  Both Leonora and Wilhelmina felt certain that he was as ready
as he would ever be for this very important event.  With one week remaining
before the gala performance, Simone was to begin his final week's rehearsal
in stage costume.

Like always, Leonora was in full charge of the costuming.  This in itself
was not unusual, but the fact that Wilhelmina still hadn't seen the costume
was.  The costume was already past due, but when she dare asked about it,
Leonora wasn't forthcoming in the least.  She'd simply say that it wasn't
hers to be concerned about such things and that the couturier would be
finished with his work soon enough.  Leonora's evasiveness angered her, but
her anger turned to outrage when she finally did see the it.  One look at
him dressed in that costume was enough to know why she would want to keep
it secret from her.

Leonora's choice of costume was a white satin and lace bodice, lined and
boned for shaping.  About the hips were five layers of ruffled crinoline
overlaid with embroidered white lace for the diagonally flared tutu.  The
delicate satin shoulder straps, copious ribbons and sequin applique made it
a sumptuous piece.  Then add the sheer, beige hosiery that enveloped the
shapely contour of his legs right up to the rose-garnished, elastic garters
at the foremost top of each thigh, and you've a picture of unquestionable
feminine vanity.

You would have thought all this enough to satisfy even Leonora's salacious
tastes, but it wasn't.  For between these rose applique garters, his panty,
trimmed in floral lace lay perfectly flat between the parting of his legs.
It was an extraordinary picture, with the piece de resistance, a pair of
striking, white high-heel pumps upon which he struggle to balance himself.
Elevated a lofty five-inches above the floor, it took all his concentration
to steady himself upon the points of his toes and spiked heels so narrow
that you'd think it'd have been easier for him to stand upon a head of a
pin.

Oh, but the sight of him!  The exquisite contour of those legs encased in
that divine hosiery; the rose garters, satin bodice and his exaggerated
posture elevated in those stilt-like heels made him look femme l'extreme.
At the same time, when first she saw him dressed as he was, she knew
Leonora's attics had finally gone to far.  It angered her to think Leonora
should be so bold, and the heels?  She was outraged!  Indeed, it seemed
such an obvious affront to her sense of fair play that she could no longer
hold back, and spoke out when she first observed Simon beside the toilet
room door, whispering something in Leonora's ear because Simon "en costume"
could no longer manage his own toilet.

"Leonora!  Don't you think you've carried these damn antics of yours far
enough already?" she said in a menacing tone.

"Antics?  Why I would have thought you'd fine the heels a nice touch,
Willie!"  Leonora sneered while unfastening his panty in full view of his
female classmates also vying for use of the toilet.  "Don't worry.  The
heels are simply for dress, not part of the costume.  A girl does like to
feel extra pretty now and then, you know."

"Don't be canny, Leonora.  I just want to know what the hell you think you
are doing?"

"Simone!  Tell Willie what you think of your costume!"

"It's beautiful, madam!"

"And Simone, my dear!  Would you please tell dear Willie who made this
lovely satin harness piece for you!" Leonora asked, while loosening the
silk tie that kept the conspicuously wilted and lessened genitalia locked
up tight - invisible between his legs.

"My mother, Madam!"

"You see Willie.  There are no victims here."

"Yah!  Like that's suppose to make a difference?  He'd say anything to
please you." Wilhelmina snarled, her fist clenched.

"My, my . . . getting rather uppity, are we?"

"Whatever, Leonora.  I'm just damn tired of watching you take advantage of
him."

"Aaaah, anger!  Good!  But is it you, or your anger that is in charge.  If
it is you, we'll all be better off in your striking out in defense of your
principles.  If not, then you might just as well be striking out at the
innocent as the bad.  Then comes the lifetime of consequences you'll be
paying.  Good, or bad, depends upon whether you know the answer to that
one.  It's the old "Devil or angel" question, isn't it Willie?"

"Devil or Angel?  Why would you say that?" Wilhelmina queried, worried that
the use of those words might be yet another indirect hint as to what she
may, or may not know.

"Oh, just something I read once that I think fitting in this case.  Are you
guided by righteousness, or did the devil make you do it?  By the looks of
you, I'd venture to say it's STILL the latter.  But I implore you to prove
me wrong.  Strike me down, then we'll see if you are to go on running from
the truth about the nature of your anger."

A shiver coursed through her as she considered the piercing indictment.  It
was as though Leonora knew more about the Lacy Richardson incident than she
was letting on, and her devil or angel refrain meant as a warning not to
make the same mistake again.

She didn't know if Leonora was really all that knowing - and Leonora wasn't
telling.  However, she did manage to raise the level of Wilhelmina's
uncertainty so that now, more than ever, she didn't know what she should
do.  Again, circumstances where pushing and pulling at her at the same
time.  The consequences of her standing on her principles would only get
her tossed out of the studio and probably arrested for assault.  That would
be no help to Simon.  Then too, saying nothing so she could stay didn't
correct the injustice done to Simon either.  Uncertain which of the two
impossible choices was the right one to make, she unclenched her fist and
walked away.  Once again her indecision won out, leaving her to languish in
her silence, and Leonora to have her way with him.

---

The buzz in the audience filtered through the auditorium, raising the level
of tension.  Back stage, last minute primping and calming of jittery nerves
played out in all the dressing rooms, including Simon's.  Standing before
the opulent vanity mirror, the prima ballerina gazed upon himself one last
time.  About him, his mother and Leonora made the final adjustments to his
appearance.

His mother, unwavering in her attention, carefully painted a final coat of
gloss to his pouting red lips.  Behind him Leonora, equally deliberate,
primped the stiff tulle that formed the foundation of his satin and lace
tutu.  Then came the stage call, as Eunice blotted his freshly painted lips
with a tissue and Leonora made a final adjustment to the luxurious lace
overlay.

Simon heard the tuning of the orchestra, the signal that the much
anticipated production of "The Firebird" awaited his entrance, and
he sighed.  With all the fastidious primping done he paused to gaze at his
sultry reflection in the mirror.  The vision of himself in that siren's
regalia simply took his breath away.

"Simone," Leonora whispered. "You are beautiful!"

Moments later, young Miss Simone Gray danced his way through the
intricately woven choreography with grace meant for angels unbound to this
earth.  His lighter than air movements gave physical and erotic intent to
the gravity defying jetes and to the crystalline purity of his amazingly
centered, triple pirouettes.  It was a performance to remember, without a
single misstep that anyone could count.

After the third curtain call and, after Miss Simone gave his curtsies and
bows to a standing ovation, a girl from the audience came up onto the
stage.  In her arms, the young girl held a bouquet of long stem roses she
presented to Miss Simone amid a battery of flashing bulbs.  All the praise
so overwhelmed him with joy that tears filled his eyes as he leaned into
the grasp of Wilhelmina's open arms.  Back stage, with his hand held in
Wilhelmina's, he answered the hordes of questions from entertainment
industry reporters before returning again to Leonora and his mother.

"Do you wonder now if all has not been worth the sacrifice?" Leonora asked.

"No, madam!  I am so grateful for all you have done for me!"

"Your flower has yet to bloom, my dear. Soon enough, your fondest dreams
will be yours!"


Chapter XII
Rumble Street

The picture of Miss Simone adorned the entertainment section of the largest
city papers the next morning.  His accomplishment did much to enlarge his
future prospects, putting him in much demand.  It also enabled an
enterprising Leonora to reap a significant sum of money from a variety
magazine's in depth article about her studio.  One would have thought it
was a good time to sit back and reflect upon their accomplishments, but in
Wilhelmina and Leonora's scheme of things this was no time to sit on their
laurels.  Each for different reasons, and each with reasons unknown to the
other, the two women set out to execute the plans they saw for Simon's
future.

The next night, Wilhelmina opened her heart to Simon, telling him her tale
of unrequited dreams.  She spoke to him with the passion of the artist she
was, explaining the reasons for secretly teaching him the mysterious dance
after class and about the masterwork, "Rumble Street," she had created.  In
so doing she revealed his part in it all and how she wished to make her
dream a reality with his help.

Simon, of course, was beside himself with joy.  Just asking him to dance
with her was enough for him to agree.  Besides, he could never think to
betray her confidence in him.  There was simply nothing in his makeup that
would lead him to do so.

Later that night, Wilhelmina went to her mother and told her of her plans.
Katherine reviewed the written dossier containing the choreography, then
listened as Wilhelmina described her dream of dancing "Rumble Street"
alongside Simon in a public forum.  Katherine was elated and, after she
read her daughter's masterwork, shared her excitement.  She could tell from
the first reading that it was something quite extraordinary and she told
her daughter exactly that.  She promised Wilhelmina her support, and most
assuredly the support of her old friend, Dame Fredricka Dupre.

It wasn't necessary for her mother to explain all that was implied in
having Fredricka's support.  Dame Dupre was an influential figure in the
world of ballet.  With a seat on the Metropolitan Theater board of
directions, the aged magna cum laude of dance had the power to persuade
many.  No one would be treating her recommendations lightly.

Katherine was certain that their combined influence would insure the best
forum for her presentation, and the forum that came to mind was the last of
this year's series of performances at the MET.  She recalled Nikita
Korolenko's recent cancellation and that the vacancy still hadn't been
filled.  She hadn't a doubt the board would listen to the wisdom of
replacing Korolenko with Wilhelmina's "Rumble Street" on the schedule.
There were few who could deny Dame Dupre her voice in the matter, that much
she promised Wilhelmina.

---

Leonora wasted little time in tying down all the loose ends once "Rumble
Street" was selected to replace Korolenko's La Bayadere at the MET.  For
reasons known only to her, all did not bode well for Wilhelmina, nor
Leonora's young starlet.  It was now a totally unabashed Leonora who
regained control of the studio and unprecedented control over them both.

By rescheduling the floor times and recalculating the premium fee the
studio could now command, Leonora cashed in on both Miss Simone's success
and that of her celebrated ballet mistress.  She disband her little troupe
and took on a select group of wealthy novitiates which Wilhelmina would
teach each morning for a very hefty fee.  Then each afternoon, Simon and
Wilhelmina were to have the floor to themselves to rehearse Rumble Street.
Now, however, everything was to be done under Leonora's watchful eye.
Whatever her intent, the net effect was that she now scrutinize all Simon's
movements and, in so doing, took from Wilhelmina the last of her private
time with him.

In the days that followed, Leonora began putting the large sum of money she
earned from increased fees and the magazine interviews to some use.  First
on the agenda was the redecoration of the studio with lush red draperies
and resurfaced floors.  A new storefront facade soon followed, as did
construction of private accommodations adjacent to her office, fitting the
status of her young starlet.

Leonora spared no expense in the building and decoration of the room,
complete with private bathroom, closet and a gold star on the door.  The
bathroom centerpiece was an oval claw foot tub of pastel pink porcelain,
centered upon white marble overlay flooring.  The tub, with its lavish
brass fixtures and floral ornamentation, dominated the opulent reflection
in the floor to ceiling mirror that covered the entire rear wall.

The young starlet's dressing chamber boasted equally lavish appointments.
The room featured a white, lamb's wool Persian carpet to match the French
provincial furnishings.  With its floral design wallcovering and satin bed
covered both done in equally stirring pink, the boudoir was a bold
statement of feminine narcissism.

It was all splendidly done, but few saw the inside of this room other than
Leonora and the Starlet himself.  Leonora made sure everyone knew that this
was a ladies room only, and made it a point to tell Wilhelmina so in no
uncertain terms.

"If you wish to see Miss Simone, you'll have to wait her exit," Leonora
would taunt. "How boorish, Willie!  I'd think it more chivalrous to respect
a lady's privacy!"

Surely Wilhelmina didn't have to hear the contempt in her voice to know the
truth about what was going on.  After all, everything Leonora now did
seemed designed to provoke her - obviously into a fight.  Wilhelmina didn't
know why she wanted to provoke her, but she had her suspicions.  Without
her around, she conjectured, Leonora would be able to do with Simon as she
pleased.

She would have liked to slap Leonora senseless and run off with Simon to a
safe place.  Had the timetable she faced allowed her to do so without
putting her plans at risk, she'd have already been long gone - with Simon
in tow.  But the production of Rumble Street had come to far to cancel now,
and she believed Leonora was using that against her to press her advantage.
To Wilhelmina, this was the core element of Leonora's strategy.  She knew
that Wilhelmina hadn't the time to begin anew and, as a consequence, was
powerless to act.  If she did, she faced losing everything, including
Simon.  As Wilhelmina saw it, this ruthless manipulation of her elevated
Leonora to a whole new status.  She was now her mortal foe, and a worthy
one, indeed.

All was not without hope, however.  There was always the possibly that
Leonora might lose the upper hand.  She might unwittingly make a mistake
that would lead to her downfall, or in a moment of weakness give up a
little of her control.  If that moment ever came, Wilhelmina knew she'd
show no mercy, and take no prisoners.  Wilhelmina, the cunning predator,
would be prepared to take the initiative in full battle mode. She'd seize
the moment, and Leonora by the throat to free Simon and herself from the
tyranny at last.  Until then, she'd just have to wait for that opportunity,
allowing her suspicions to grow and her hatred to fester as she considered
ways to save Simon from her clutches.

----

All the changes Leonora had made to the program amounted to an
unprecedented attack on poor Simon as far as Wilhelmina was concerned, and
she despised her for it Eunice now brought Simon to the studio in the
morning and took him directly to his private room.  There, Leonora would
keep him safely hidden away until rehearsal and, afterward, she'd escort
her starlet back to his room to wait for his mother's return.  She even sat
and watched rehearsal throughout, to ensure no one was disturbed.

She tried speaking out about what she saw as the injustice being done to
Simon, but Leonora wasn't listening.  She even tried talking to Eunice,
hoping she'd come to see the error of her ways and again take
responsibility for her son.  She used all her cunning, but Eunice would no
longer listen to anyone other than Leonora.  In truth, she was just as
indifferent to Wilhelmina's pleading as she was definite about slamming the
door behind in her face.  Still she tried, and when Leonora and his mother
set out to escort the sashaying, swish-skirted boy-girl home between them,
Wilhelmina would try and try again to free him from their grasp.

"Simon!  Would you like to walk home with me?"

Obviously, she fooled no one with her ploys to lure Simon away.  Leonora
would simply look away from Wilhelmina's acrimoniously piercing stare.
Then she'd turn to Eunice and say: "The green of envy does not suit Willie!
Nor does yellow suit Wilhelmina!  I must remember that when choosing the
color of the costuming!"

Yellow!  Oh, how she wished she could swoop down upon her for calling her
chicken.  Better yet, she'd like nothing more than beat the living
daylights out of them, over and over again.  Then after serving up her
comeuppance, she'd look down upon the floor at their sprawled mass and say:
"You're right, yellow doesn't suit me.  Nor does red look becoming upon
you!"

----

Wilhelmina could clearly see that all of this was having its effects on
Simon.  Locked up with Leonora in his room, he was drawing him further into
himself.  He was secretive to an extreme and scarcely said a word.  When
Leonora wasn't speaking on his behalf, her questions now drew only a head
lowered nod of recognition from him.

There were questions about his physical health as well.  He was growing
thinner by the day. He looked gaunt, and his complexion had lost its rosy
hue.  His increased use of the bathroom and the sound of his vomiting were
also becoming hard to ignore.  He refused to eat anything she offered, even
an innocuous offer of a sip of her milk caused him to give a nauseous
wince.  In truth, it looked to her as if the boy's sickness was causing him
to starve himself to death.

Naturally Leonora found reason to explain it all away.  She said it was
simply a matter of fatigue and intimated that there was a doctor involved.
It was an assertion made tenable when she overheard Leonora telling Eunice:
"The poor dear seems so anemic, and doesn't seem to be able to hold down a
thing."

"I know. He scarcely nibbles at his dinner," Eunice replied.

"The poor dear!  Some adjustment is in order. The doctor will obviously
have to be informed about his delicate condition."

Also about this time, Simon began wearing a loose-fitting jump suit over
some more rigid, corset-like foundation beneath.  Like everything Leonora
now saw fit to do to Simon, the pink velvet Jump Suit, with its frilly
ribbons, ruffle and lace was nothing short of exquisitely feminine.
Indeed, he posed quite a picture of contrived coquetry with the leggings
cuffed mid thigh, each cuff a cornice for its own floor length skirt of
embroidered lace.

Wilhelmina first thought that the jump suit was a ploy of Leonora's to
somehow seduce her into another confrontation, thus giving her reason to
kick her out of the studio.  Thankfully, Simon's new clothes made no
difference in his performance, so she didn't have to worry about falling
victim to the ploy.  She had only to smile and say nothing at all about his
strange looking costume to avoid the fight she believed was in waiting.

However, as the weeks of rehearsal continued to slip past, Wilhelmina began
to worry if there could be another motive for the new clothes.  Perhaps
Leonora was trying to hide the fact that he was infinitely lighter, and
thinner than ever before.  Surely with his waist now so unimaginably
threadlike, there were reasons enough to understand why she would want to
keep his poor health a secret.

Then too, there was a certain paradox in his poor health accounting for
such frailty in some areas, while growing considerably more robust in
others. While it was true that Wilhelmina had fond memories of Simon's
plump bottom, what now protruded from beneath his clothes didn't fit her
remembrance of him.  Nor did his hips which also seemed considerably more
robust.

To the trained observer the visual statement was undeniable, but Wilhelmina
had no way of knowing whether something more dramatic might be going on.
Indeed, nothing in her world of experiences even warned that such things
were possible.  Besides, there was an all-caring doctor involved, and his
vomiting, lost appetite, gaunt appearance and solitude could only mean one
thing.  To Wilhelmina he was a sickly boy in need of sympathy, not her
outrage.

I still hear your whispering skepticism, however.  You think there has to
be a more plausible explanation - that it's impossible to believe anyone
could be that naive.  Didn't she have her hands about his wasp-like waist,
and on his voluptuously bottom more often than not, especially during their
pas-de-deux?  That's without even mentioning the abundant epaulet-arabesque
and overhead horizontal lifts in "Rumble Street" that gave her ample
opportunity to embrace his more substantial hips.  Then there was the
little matter of the adjustments she had to make to accommodate the sudden
change in his center of gravity.  Now when lifting Simon high overhead to
lay out high in the air, she had to adapt to his changing balance point.
She no longer placed the palm of her hand on the small of his back.
Rather, her hand was now centered in the middle of his full, melon-like
cheeks.

That's all well and good if you think a picture is made up only of its
parts.  You must remember however, Wilhelmina saw the whole of him.  She
could see that he didn't act as though he were under duress, and no matter
how plump is bottom, he didn't seem like a boy longing to protest.  His
dance and his exuberance for it was always lively and expressive, and he
was forever focused on every detail.  In all Wilhelmina asked of him to do
he scarcely fluttered a pretty eyelash, and his responses were always so
lively and expressive as to think him programmed to respond that way.  His
bravura, his technique, the spectacle of his angel like spins and jumps was
crystalline pure.  So, despite the gaunt aspics of his physical appearance,
Wilhelmina clearly had a problem finding fault in her dealings with him.
For all the goings on, it seemed to her that his dance was even getting
better.

As the weeks turned into months, growing ever closer to the night of their
performance, Simon's mastery of the movements became undeniably brilliant.
The part of Gabriella that Simon danced to Wilhelmina's Cedric had become
such a part of him that it was impossible to distinguish between who was
who, and which was which.  Indeed, he so expressed an inner sense of
femininity that nowhere in the mix could Simon be found.  The facial cast
he wore, the fluid movement of hands first, then the following of his body
gave not a hint that the persona was not his alone.  Wilhelmina was at a
loss for words to describe the young boy-girl, except that he was
definitely more a she than a he, any longer!


Chapter XIII
Awakening

It was already the mid-January, just a week before their gala performance
of "Rumble Street" at the MET.  Winter snow had that morning covered the
streets and the havoc caused by the freshly fallen snow had brought the
city virtually to its knees.  As it happened, some of Wilhelmina's students
lived far enough away to require the use of a taxi each day to and from the
studio.  However, that day no taxis were available and, to insure the
safety of those students, she told Leonora that she would walk them home.

She put on vinyl boots and overcoat so as not to soil her impeccably
tailored white Versace suit while walking her small group home.  Wilhelmina
found it a delightful change to get out amid the flow of the city again.
She enjoyed the crisp, cool air and the sound of the city sifting through
the freshly fallen snow.  She leisurely managed her time away from the
studio, believing the break would afford both her and Simon a bit of a
respite from the rigors of their schedule.

She returned later that afternoon.  The studio was dark and empty as she
entered and she walked quietly not wanting to disturb the peace she found
there.  She removed her wet rubber boots at the door hoping to find Simon,
but instead, all she saw was a narrow ray of light coming from the
partially opened door of Simon's room.

It was precisely because the door to Simon's room was never left open that
her curiosity was instantly aroused - so she took herself quietly in that
direction.  When she had drawn close enough to see through into the room
she could see Simon sitting before his mirrored vanity with his back to
her.  He sat brushing his shoulder length, auburn hair, and she could hear
the slight inflection of his voice as he quietly hummed the Gershwin melody
to himself.

Dressed in a rose colored panty, nylons and heels she could see his
otherwise nude torso sitting upon the stool's red velvet pillow.  In the
mirror she could see the reflection of Simon's tranquil face.  It was the
first full glimpse of him she had seen in nearly four months, and what she
saw was not as she remembered him.  Indeed, with the hourglass contour of
his torso, and the spread of his bottom sitting upon the pillowed vanity
stool, not a hint remained of the Simon she once knew.

Wilhelmina put her hand on the half opened door and pushed it wide enough
to bring into view Leonora sitting in a chair beside him.  Leonora sat
transfixed, her gaze fixed upon Simon. Then, Wilhelmina and Simon's eyes
met in the mirrored reflection.  She returned his smile, and thought about
how beautiful and serene he looked.  At the same time, however, she thought
it was odd that Leonora still refused to acknowledge her presence.

The thought occurred to her that this might again be some sort of ploy to
lure her into a confrontation, and wondered if she should leave to avoid
the ensuing fight.  Had she not heard the siren's call from Simon beckoning
her in, she would have done so.  Now, however, that no longer seemed
possible.  So she pushed the door open still further, and entered.

She quietly stepped across the lush carpet toward Simon until she stood
behind where he sat.  Still no one, or nothing stirred but the gentle
stroke of Simon's brush.  As Wilhelmina considered the full reflection of
him in the mirror all came momentarily to a stop.  The world was
motionless, no sound heard but the pounding of Wilhelmina's heart.  Then
she lowered her hands, and reached down to see what she thought her eyes
could not - and Simon responded as she touched him:

"Simon has breasts!"

Wilhelmina turned around and ran from the room.  She didn't wait to see if
anyone called her back to explain, or if anyone cared that she ran.  All
she knew was that she ran through the cold January dusk, her face laden
with tears, all logic, all reason lost was to her.  She didn't stop running
until she was out of breath.  Then, forced to stop as much from
bewilderment as exhaustion, she ducked inside a doorway of a closed shop
and cried.

She was confused as to why she was crying, knowing only that she understood
none of what she felt.  One moment her heart raced, the next she sobbed
uncontrollably.  She was confused, not knowing how she should feel.  All
she knew was that as her tears rained down her cheeks, the image of Simon's
new breasts sliced through her feelings like the damp cold cut through her
clothes.

In the time that passed she could only think of one thing to do.  She had
to return to the studio and confront Leonora.  She had to know why!  Then
armed with the knowledge off what had to be done, she dried her red, puffy
eyes with the back of her hand and walked back to the studio.

When she arrived, she found the door to Simon's room closed.  But in the
darkness she could see the ray of light beneath the door telling her that
Leonora remained inside with Simon.  She made no secret of her entrance
now.  She walked hard against the floor and pushed the door open, but her
announced appearance seemed not to matter neither to Leonora nor Simon.
Indeed, no one even seemed to take notice of her at all standing in the
doorway.

Simon stood bent over the bed.  His stilt-like heels elevated his plumb,
upturned bottom high over head, and between the inverted "V" of his nylon
encased legs she could see his flushed face and the spread of his falling
hair, fanned out over the pink satin cover beneath.  Behind him sat
Leonora.  In her lap, a towel.  In her hand, a pink, rubberized baton,
glistening with a coat of Vaseline.

She watched as Simon rose up to step back into his panty.  In gartered
nylons and balanced on tiptoes atop the near vertical platform of those
heels she saw profiled his plump bottom, wasp-like waist and wobbling,
up-tilt breasts.  Between the lace garters a conspicuously wilted penis,
hardly a noticeable artifact befitting a small child.

As he squeezed into the tight fitting, French-cut panty, Leonora took great
care to wiped clean the stalwart harpoon then wrapped it in a towel.  When
done, she handed him the bundle, which he protectively cradled close to his
heart, and just beneath the upturned nipples of his teardrop shaped
breasts.  All this was done with complete indifference to her presence as
if she was invisible to their sight.

 "Come, my Sweet!  Take your dear 'Willie' into the bath with you and give
him a good scrubbing." she said while gently patting his bottom.

"Yes Madam!"

"You'll want your 'Willie' nice and fresh in the morning!  Won't you,
Sweetheart?"

"Yes, Madam!"

Wilhelmina could scarcely contain her outrage as she watched Simon bend
down to kiss Leonora on the cheek, then carried the bundle with him into
the bathroom.  Only then did Wilhelmina see the true nature of the horror
in very clear and concise terms.

To her, it was no longer a battle for the heart and mind of poor Simon, but
a battle between the forces of good and evil.  In Leonora's eyes she saw
two darkened wells of hate, seemingly elevated by the power of her
assuredness, looming down upon her like the archangel Beelzebub himself.
She could feel the ungodly force trying to pull her from the path of
righteousness she now traveled and back beneath the devil's shroud she once
wore so well.  It was against this HATE that Wilhelmina would now have to
make her gallant stand and strike a blow against the evil of tyranny.

Dressed in her saintly white Versace dress suit and white Toulouse fedora,
she would fight the good fight defending the one road to salvation.  So,
after Simon closed the door to the bathroom behind him and only the sound
of the bath water was heard, Wilhelmina took up a warrior's, offensive
posture and barked out.

"Leonora!  You unholy BITCH!!!  You deserve to be BEAT by better hands than
mine!"

Leonora, staring up from her chair, took on an air as contentious as a
cobra prepared to strike.

"You'll not strike me!  You're still too much a coward!  I should have
thought that you'd have stopped lying to yourself about that long before
now!  Lord knows I've tried all in my power to prod you into this
confrontation.  Had me worried.  I thought I might have misjudged you."

"A coward?  Me?  Try again, Leonora!  You're about to feel the wrath of a
coward beating you to a pulp!"

"Oh yes!  You!  Willie, the Warlord!  Didn't think I knew about you, did
you Willie?  But I do, I've known about you the first day you walked in
this studio.  Did you think you were fooling me Willie?  Did you think I
didn't know who you really were?"

"Who I was?"

"Who you were.  Who you are!  Nothing has changed Willie.  There is nothing
to excuse, no one to blame.  You are what you are, and shall ever
be. You're Queer!  A bona fide, board certified, 18 year old Butch dike,
and too cowardly to admit it!"

"You're the fuck'in dike, you sick bitch!"  Wilhelmina scowled, fists
clenched.

"No, my dear Willie, it is you who is still hiding from yourself!  That's
why I call you a coward - because you're too afraid to face the truth.
That is why I've been trying to provoke your anger, so all this would come
to the fore to help you come to terms with who, and what you really are."

"Provoke me?"

"Just have a look at yourself.  In your self made persona, needing to dress
like a man, act like a man, even demanding the respect due a man!  The
comfort you take in your masculinity is something you've always known about
yourself, and there was never any doubt that the idea of sexually
submitting to a man was abhorrent to you.  That's the way you are, at least
that's about as much as you've been willing to admit to yourself.  But what
you refuse to admit is that your masculinity, your cross-gender mannerisms
served another master as well.  Not only did it serve to placate your ego,
but more importantly it served as a convenient disguise to hide from your
true love of women.

"That's a lie!  I'm not queer!"

"You won't admit it, but you are!  The very thought of it is so unsettling,
so forbidden, so taboo that you've masked your feelings with defenses that
shield the truth from you even now.  Remember, you chose to be a Warlord,
not a Banshee!  You told yourself it was their respect you wanted, but in
truth it was Alyssa, the Banshee, whom you hungered for.  It was she you
wanted to possess.  For Wilhelmina to love Alyssa was taboo, but as Willie
the Warlord you could disguise your desires behind the facade and dream
that it was you pulling her back into the alley."

"Bullshit!"

"It's true, Willie!  You've always forbade yourself to think it possible
that you wanted to love a woman, but it was okay for a girl to submit to
you as the man you envisioned yourself to be.  After all, that's what boys
and girls do together, right?  That was acceptable; in fact, it wouldn't
even surprise me to learn that in your dreams you saw yourself with a penis
just to prove your manliness.  It was one thing to see yourself a man that
women were powerless to resist, but it was quite another to think of
yourself as gay.  That's why you felt comfort around your kindred spirits,
the Warlords.  That's why you needed to emulate them.  The more manly you
were, the more you could hide from all you sought to deny.

"You're the one who wants a gawd-damn penis!  Not me, you Bitch!"

"Now, Now Willie!  You see, I know all about you!  You thought you could
lie to me like you lied to everyone else.  But I know you, Willie!  Your
old friends didn't have to tell me everything!  While I am grateful for all
that Bubba, Tank, Sergio, Bosco and Frank confided in me, nobody had to
tell me what made you change from Warlord to "sweet little Miss
Wilhelmina" to win my favor.  You did it so I would let you stay!  And
please, don't delude yourself, dear.  It wasn't all the bullshit about
wanting to find yourself.  You wanted to stay because of Simon."

"That's another damn lie!" Wilhelmina bellowed, restraining her tears.

"It's the truth, my dear Willie!  Simon was the answer to your prayers.  He
was your salvation!  You don't need me to tell you that in spite of all
your success your male impersonation had only gotten you so far.  There was
still something missing in your life.  You were angry and frustrated, and
that you needed to be loved was a problem for you. It was Lacy Richardson's
misfortune to find that out."

"You couldn't love a man and you wouldn't allow yourself to believe you
wanted to love a woman.  Then in walks Simon, he had the qualities of both
male and female and he touched a sexual nerve in you.  He was a male
embodiment you could hide behind and a female to expel those sexual demons.
Simon made it permissible to love a girl, but only if that girl came in a
convenient male package that didn't threaten to expose the truth you were
hiding from yourself.  Simon made it all too easy for you.

"That's not true!"

"What's not true? That you felt sorry for him? Pitied him?"

"Yes, I did!  I felt sorry for him!"

"Oh!  Is that why you nearly beat him to death in Tae Kwon Do?  What pity
did you have for him then?  No, Willie, you told yourself it was pity once
you saw him dressed as a girl, but only as an excuse to hide your true
reasons.  You didn't pity him.  You needed him."

"I wanted to help him!"

"And how do you suppose you were helping him when you bought him that
dress?  How were you helping him when you called him a "pretty girl" or
stuck your finger up his ass to masturbate him?  The only one you wanted to
help was you.  You needed him to become more feminine for you.  The more
feminine he behaved and looked, the more it satisfied you.  Deny you didn't
moan in ecstasy when you held your boy-girl in your arms."

"But . . .  but he has breasts now!  I didn't want that!"

"What? You think his mother and I corrupted him?  Do you think us so cruel
that we could treat Simon other than how he wished to be treated?  Simon
was always master of his own fate.  And what Simon has done, he has done
for you both.  To begin with, he had always felt a certain discomfort about
his sexuality.  He was a misfit as a boy, then you came along needing him
to be more girl than boy.  He did what he did because it served his needs,
as well as yours. The more girl he became the more you were able to love
him.  Just ask yourself!  Would any of this have happened had you not
wanted him to become more feminine for you?  We both know the answer,
Willie - as did Simon!  Remember when Simon asked you if you would like him
if he didn't wear a dress, you told him `Perhaps.  But I wouldn't like
to wonder!'?"

"Simon told you that?"  Wilhelmina sobbed.

"Most assuredly!  He has only done what he thought would make you happy,
and all his mother and I did was to help him fulfill his heart's desire.
No one had to brainwash him or coerce him or threaten him.  Do you want to
know what happened during those many nights I visited Eunice at her home?
I'll tell you.  It was all about helping Simon come to terms with his love
for you.  He knew it was Simone you loved, not Simon, and he wanted to be
the best Simone he could be to hold onto your love.  He asked . . .  he
begged . . .  he pleaded with his mother and me to make him what he has
become, because he couldn't bear the thought of losing you.  He was the one
who asked to be sent to a therapist, then a doctor.  On this you needn't
question my veracity.  I've got the medical documentation, and the bills as
proof of the commitment he made for you.  In my eyes, what he has done out
of love for you is nothing less than heroic . . . as heroic as any person
I've ever met.  His tenacity, his fortitude, his bravery should make him a
hero in your eyes too.  You shall never meet another like him."

"He did it for me?"

"He loves you, Willie!"

"What's to happen to him?"

"What is there to think about?  He loves and needs you!  You love and need
him!  I think the future is perfectly clear.  After all, wasn't it your
love for him the missing piece that brought you through 'Rumble Street?'  I
think so.  Now all you need do is to stop being a coward and admit the
truth about yourself.  Only then will you understand why Simon has become
what he has become, and done what he has done for his Willie - and why you
truly need for him to be that way!"

Wilhelmina collapsed on the bed in sobbing hysterics.  Her heart filled not
with Leonora's words but with the pain from the expurgated demons torn free
from her soul.  Leonora let her be and, with Simon again at her side, they
shared in the sorrow of Wilhelmina's anguished lament.  Shrouded in her
darkness, Wilhelmina cried until she could cry no more, and until there was
space again for conscious thought.  Then the vision of Simon with breasts
again came to her, and she knew why she needed him, and loved him.

Leonora was right about her; her failings, her anger and her need for
Simone.  Wilhelmina had known all along that Simon was the missing element
in her life and his love the missing piece needed to complete her opus.  As
there is a light in the darkness of everyone's life, Wilhelmina saw herself
with new clarity.  Then, after a wait far too long, she felt the soft touch
of a hand coming to rest upon hers, and she knew at last who she was.

She drew herself up and leaned into the waiting embrace.  Her anger gone,
she was whole at last.  She held tightly to her Simone, her head resting
against his bosom.  For Leonora, Wilhelmina's tears of joy were enough to
thank her. To Simon she said:

"I love you, Simone!"


Chapter XIV
Dream Fulfilled

Malcolm Covington checked the monitor for the time, then looked back to his
guest sitting next to him in anxious repose.  He briefly went over the
comments he had prepared for his opening monologue before pausing to give
Wilhelmina a reassuring smile.  This was the last in the series of
televised interviews covering the season's productions at the MET, and this
was surely destined to be the most controversial.  One look at Wilhelmina
casually preening the callow down of a mustache told him that.

There were reasons enough for Malcolm to hold his guest in high esteem.
She had been, after all, a child prodigy of some repute, and a paragon in
the dance community with much heralded national acclaim.  That she would be
here to discuss her composition on a syndicated broadcast surprised no one,
but that she should want to be the first to do so "en travesti" was truly
another.

The producers of the program had no doubt this program was going to cause
more than a few raised eyebrows.  Malcolm had discussed the point at length
with her during a preface interview.  He had asked whether it might be in
everyone's best interest if she were not to bring this issue to the
forefront on this particular telecast.  But Wilhelmina was adamant and
Malcolm had to respect her for her stance.  Wilhelmina thought herself at a
consummate moment of clarity in her life and no longer wanted to hide the
truth from anyone.  Furthermore, she felt it would give everyone insight
into what went into the making of her masterwork, as there was much shared
in common with her.

Malcolm studied Wilhelmina as she straightened her tie, and straightened
the lapel of her tuxedo.  Now officially called William Mann, the perfected
masculine picture she conveyed was as willful as her tenor.  As she readied
herself Malcolm could also see she was in full command of her domain.

"Ready everyone . . .  19-18-17-16-15 . . . "

He caught her gaze one last time and thought of what this moment would come
to mean in Wilhelmina's/Willie's life.  No matter what else he might have
thought about what she was about to do, he knew that neither success nor
failure would diminish the strength in this woman turned man, one little
bit.

 "-5-4-3-2-1 . . .  You're on!"

To be sure, the interview had drawn the kind of attention considered
profound even for the art world.  Not all was positive, but Willie did have
her defenders.  The result was to excite the curious and attract
well-wishers to an already sold out performance at the MET.  She hadn't a
worry about any of that, however.  She didn't even bother watching the
taped broadcast with Leonora.  She had far too much to keep her busy with
the final production details in and about the theater. Though there was
still much to do, all was coming along as perfectly as her personal life:
Something she was again in full charge of.

Leonora had won the war of wills with Wilhelmina and with the emergence of
William she happily stepped aside and back into the shadows.  Her control
of Simon, now Simone, had ceased as well.  Now, Willie and Simone
flourished in a world of their own making.  No longer was the door to
Simone's dressing room closed and no longer did Leonora scrutinize his
movements.  The two were free to move about as the pair they had become,
with no interference.  Leonora now kept herself busy with the new dance
instructor she had hired to replace Wilhelmina.

But it did not escape her that Willie and Simone had a passion for one
another unlike anything she could have imagined.  Often in the still of the
late afternoon, after all were gone for the day, she'd see them out on the
floor waltzing to the Gershwin melody that was theirs.  Willie dressed in
Jeans and a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up over her manly shoulders,
and Simone's womanly torso filling out his leotard to form-fitting
perfection.

Leonora looked upon them fondly as Willie danced with Simone perched upon
his love's softly gliding feet.  Pressed in close, Simone "pierced Willie
to the heart with his torpedo like breasts," while his lips left their
glossy-red residue upon the "Devil or Angel" tattoo that decorated Willie's
bulging bicep.  Then looking up with a certain gleam in his eye, he would
toy with her handsome mustache as they waltzed in a graceful swirling
ecstasy.

. . . And yes, it was one of Frank's finer moments, and the best damn
tattoo he had ever done.


Chapter XV
All Is Well

Willie gazed a last time into the eyes of her beloved Simone.  He was the
perfect incarnation of feminine splendor.  His diamond tiara, his satin and
lace bustier bodice, his romantically bellowing, ankle length gauze tutu;
all formed a picture of grace and beauty.  He was the love of her life and
she knew that no matter the outcome of the nights performance her world
would forever be beside Simone.

As the stage lights dimmed, and the orchestra struck the opening notes,
Willie took a deep breath as Simone squeezed her hand tightly.  In an
instant, the curtain rose and Willie and Simone flung themselves onto
center stage in a bravura of jets and fouettes.  They enacted a
choreography both transcendent and terrifying, in a portrayal of love and
sacrifice set in the cold streets of New York.  Willie and Simone gave
themselves up to the intense desperation their street thug and enchantress
roles demanded, whipping themselves toward their irreconcilable fate.
Simone's agile, spirited brilliance gave a heartrending edge in his
struggle against tyranny's grip; while Willie's explosive passion gave
shattering intensity to her rage against innocence taken.  It was the role
of their lives, for that's what "Rumble Street" was all about, after all.

There could not have been a more resounding appreciation paid then the
three curtain calls that followed the performance.  Wilhelmina had
conquered her demons and Willie had fulfilled her dream.  So full was her
heart that, there on center stage between the reverent curtsies and bows,
Willie stooped down on bended knee before her love.  Then taking Simone's
hand, she asked him to be her wife.  The tears that cascaded down his
cheeks spoke the words his nodding consent did not.  So it was done; Simon
had conquered his demons, and Simone found fulfillment of his dream - as
Willie's bride.

Willie had rented a convertible at the Miami airport to carry them to their
beachside honeymoon rental.  Willie drove the convertible down the
boulevard to see, and be seen among those who came to luxuriate in the
warmth of Miami's winter sun.  Willie dressed for comfort in her white
linen trousers, Panama hat and Hawaiian shirt.  Simone wore a light, floral
print strapless shift, his long auburn hair blown back as they drove down
the boulevard.  They arrived at the beachside address just before sunset
with the failing sun shrouding the sea in a golden hue.  In their haste to
cross the threshold they left their luggage in the car, taking only an
oblong wrapped gift from Leonora.  Willie picked up her bride and carried
him in her arms, and in Simone's grasp the package was held tightly so as
not to drop it.  For whatever else Simone would do without this evening, he
certainly wouldn't be doing without his "Willie."

THE END
--------

Acknowledgments:

I'd like to thank Dawn DeWinter without whom this story would not have been
written.  Dawn, and his beloved David represent the best of our community,
and shall forever remain my inspiration. Thanks for showing me what it
means to live a life worthwhile.

I need also gratefully acknowledge Bea Wylie (aka. Bea's TV Channel.com)
for his help, wit and wisdom - All dispensed with a heart as large as his
titanic talent. Thanx, Bea. You are the best, end inquiry.

--------