Rights reserved by author, permission granted to Big Closet

This adventure is another dive into unreality where we examine the events effecting two primary characters. The point of view is through the first person view of these characters. We have Andrew Lyons a seventeen year old male high school honors student in his senior year. His associate is also a seventeen years old. She is female high school honors senior named Jean Phillips. The two are the major players who tell you their stories. They are not alone. A narrator used sparingly fills in the gaps. The narrator expresses his distaste of being forced to participate by reading this story. There is always a critic. This adventure carries with it a warning. Characters are prone to swear on occasion. There is one section in chapter two where a sexual encounter is described (gently) and in chapter six the threat or attempt of rape is discussed. It is light regarding the graphical description of rape but heavy in the terror aspect.

The tale is complete filling eight chapters of equal size. It is approximately the same length as “Bracelets” my story of a few months back. 50,662 words total. Each chapter is about 6300 words and will appear every four or five days. Depending on how long it takes to complete a final edit prior to listing. Serious comments about the direction of this story may be incorporated or included as last minute changes if the ideas offered work with what the author has in mind.

Essentially my story is coming to a conclusion. My reckless adventure landed me in a place I could not possibly predict. Either my life as I’ve known it is over or it’s at a new beginning. Whatever; shit, I’ve been saying that word more and more, it is upsetting shaking me at my core. I have to stop this; I’m getting strange glances every time I say it. Oh well, recently I learned something most people know or should know. Never, ever open spam mail. The beginning is the best place to start as they say. I’ve been trained to excuse every act as we are not responsible for what we do. It is always somebody else’s fault. My parents refined deflecting into an art form. It is the primary reason they are in jail never to see the light of day. Most likely the reason my last month or so created so much confusion and turmoil. It is like I’d been swimming through a fog.

It all began on a late dark stormy night as all good horror stories have their beginnings. Mom and dad Lyons were, no are what is known as Grifters. They never earned an honest buck in their sorry lives. Recent results verify they were less than perfect at their craft. I do not remember a day of my life when we were not on welfare. It’s not all bad we did have good days like the time dad got me this nifty laptop from Walmart. Some poor sap bought a new machine and somehow dad distracted him while mom liberated the computer. It is one of his specialties otherwise known as the bait and switch. Dad ran on about extended warrantees while wearing one of those nifty blue Walmart vest. During the process mom lifted the mark’s full Toshiba box from his cart. She exchanged it for an empty one. While dad is talking he substituted the sales slip the mark had for a bogus one of dad’s own. They merrily walked out of Walmart with a new laptop complete with sales slip. That was the last birthday present I ever received. It was my seventeenth before beginning senior year. Oh, when was that? My birthday was back in the spring. It seems as if it’s a lifetime ago.

Somewhere in early October the cops raided our house cleaning out almost everything except my hot laptop. I’m a private type guy with hundreds of secret places hidden around the house. I learned long ago not to trust anyone. That is why my computer was hidden so well. The good news from all of this is mom was at least looking out for me. She did on some level because they’d never involved me in any of their scams, except once or twice. It pissed dad off because he believed he should teach his son a trade. Grifting is all either of them knew.

Those are the last words you will hear about my parents, because their behavior caused me to pay the price. Even though they let me play sometimes they were never caught when I was part of their game. Out of loyalty I could or would not testify against them. My Initial reaction had been they will be out soon, they always were. I can take care of myself in the meantime. As happy as I was to be left alone a nasty missive quickly slapped me in the face. Remember I mentioned the welfare? If you are not familiar with that dysfunctional cabal consider yourself fortunate. No sooner were my parents hauled off to a state run residence the welfare sent a case closing notice. They will cut off rent payments at the end of the month. Without resources this sweet gig will not last long. I can expect to be homeless come November 1.

Slinging burgers for minimum wage will provide spending money. It sure as hell won’t pay the rent. Being a realest I packed up my most valuable belongings which is not much expecting to become homeless. Mom and dad taught me pack light and be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I never counted on the next assault from the welfare. When will these fools ever learn to leave well enough alone? They just got out from under one thousand per month cash payments and five hundred in food stamps. They closed the free health care as well. No more Medicaid, like it matters. There is not a single doctor in town who will accept that garbage plan. I should have been angry over my parents leaving me high and dry. I hadn’t even begun flipping burgers and already learned a valuable lesson. The welfare gig pays a lot better for nothing. Like I said social services can never leave well enough alone.

Here I am almost at the end of the month meaning there will be no checks, no food stamps and no clue. Then the blue mini van shows up at school coming to the rescue. Within a hundred feet of my school stoners hide in an alley, drug dealers conduct business in dark corners. Pimps hustle their terrified sister and misguided brothers for that matter. None of that goes on in my school. The halls are patrolled by nuns with big blackboard pokers. These fools at the cop shop and welfare are blind to serious shit going down all around them. What do they do? They come to get me a straight A student with no disciplinary issues while walking right past the miscreants invisible to them. I worked hard at being invisible and thought I had honed my craft. I found out otherwise when Miss Nigel showed up. I saw a woman leaving no doubt why at fifty she is still a miss or is it mess? She stands five foot nothing weighting two hundred plus pounds leaning on a cane to prop herself up. She even has a handicapped sticker on her van. She hustled me out of school in front of everybody. It was so embarrassing to be forced to sit in the back of a blue mini van while every preppy gawked. The only thing she did not do was drag me out by the ears. That act is reserved to the nuns.

I did laugh when I saw the driver’s seat pop a spring as her fat ass landed on it. How in the hell can somebody in that condition tell me I am in need of help? Anyway she drags me into Family Court because of some stupid child protection crap. They had it all worked out I’m to be shipped off to a foster home with a dozen other kids crammed into a shoe horn. That is until the fools gave me a lawyer. The guy tells me he is my law guardian. He is going to protect my rights. So somebody finally figured out I have rights. The almost a lawyer is about to ship me off and collect his fee to be done with it.

What I did not know at the time is these family court law guardians work on the Hey You schedule. That is why none of them walk down the hall passing the judge’s office when on their own time. Because they are lawyers the county requires them to serve as law guardians for kids like me. The problem is they do not get paid. It is their duty to the county bar. There is also no schedule meaning everybody hauled into court for day has to be there at nine am. You sit in a waiting room with every other victim until the judge decides on hearing your case. The bottom line is Mister Law Guardian may get stuck hanging around all day getting paid zip. The way it works is the judge tries to cut deals calling in the lawyer, welfare worker and a probation officer. They cut a deal and the case goes away. No deal and you wait longer. What lawyer is not going to cut a deal so he can get the hell out of there to make real money?

The lawyer, I forget his name it does not matter what he is called. For crying out loud I’d have been better off with Danny Devito. Anyway the sleazy cheap suit tells me it will all work out not to worry he is going to cut a deal with the judge. I trust him like a shark or somebody in my father’s business. I dig out a quarter to call the school to talk to Sister Martha my counselor. I tell her where I am hoping she can put in a good word for me.

In the meantime they worked out a deal where I’d cop a plea to being destitute and guilty of having jailed parents or something. Deal making took place in the judge’s chambers. Talk about politicians in smoke filled rooms. They would not let me in the meeting because only interested parties are admitted to chambers. I heard the CPS flunky say “It is on a need to know basis.” Like I don’t need to know what they have planned for me. All smug and self righteous they file in the court room as I’m sitting there with the bailiff. When my lawyer drops into a chair next to me saying everything worked out. It is good to know my lawyer is protecting my rights by agreeing to everything these guys these guys want. It does not take the brightest bulb to figure out the guy in the cheap suit is only interested in making this go away so he can move onto the next sad sack.

Then it all went bad. Bad for do gooders incorporated. The judge asked if I had any questions before I became a ward of the state. I only had one. I live in not the best of neighborhoods so I hear these kids talking. I learned long ago what the important questions are. The judge is ready to pound the gavel, unless that’s only done on TV for dramatic moments, when he made his inquiry. No one had given me any say or shown interest about what I thought. The judge must be required to get me on the record to make this scam look good. Most kids would freak out or just nod trying to fade into the woodwork.

“Yes your honor I have a question sir.” He smiled while raising his brows. I told you I was a straight A student. “You can call Sister Martha at St Michaels she will verify. She is my counselor and is waiting for your call.” Straight A students know you suck up to judges and apply groveling when needed. I learned the last from my father the failed Grifter. While he is thinking about making that call, his doubtful expression suggest he might not I threw out my second question. “I understand foster Care stops at age sixteen, your honor.”

Judge Olson peered over his glasses gazing down from his perch nodding. He appeared to be deep in thought. Long silent moments of pondering are something they teach in Judge School. “Yes son a child can only be placed in foster care after they turn sixteen on a voluntarily basis. As you probably know we can’t require children to attend school once they reach sixteen. You will have to go to school and reside in Foster Care until then. When do you turn sixteen?”

I smiled humbly answering with my best Parochial School voice like this guy was Sister Pious. “Last year sir I am a senior honors student at St. Michaels. I will be eighteen this coming spring.”

The temperature in the room dropped fifty degrees it could have snowed in here. Now the judge is dialing the phone. “Sister Martha please,” a pause, “Sister Martha, this is Judge Maurice Olson at Family Court. I understand you have a student named Andrew Lyons. You do, uh huh. You don’t say, straight A’s, no discipline issues, ever?” Another pause while rubbing his chin, sister must be giving him an earful. “Really, likely valedictorian. Thank you sister could you forward his latest report card? Certainly sister I understand.”

I really wanted to laugh when the judge’s icy stare focused on Miss Niger. “Ms Niger did you take even a cursory glance at this lad’s grades? Did you happen to notice or catch a hint of what is written on his birth certificate? While I am at it Counselor Brown did you question any of this?”

Stone silence, excuses and backtracking followed. I had no idea the tremendous backlog that exists at the welfare office or how over worked underpaid lawyers are. I will cross them off my list of career choices. The judge now in possession of those two documents asks me another question.

“I see your parents are in prison. How do you support yourself and is your tuition paid?”

“Well your honor until the end of this month we have Aid to Dependent Children but the letter came canceling it. Would you like to see it? November first will end any welfare checks so regarding income my answer will have to be no. Yes my parents paid tuition for the full year before the beginning of school. I will get a job at Burger king so I can pay the rent. All the landlord is interested in is prompt payment.”

The Judge, I forget his name looked coldly at the fat woman. “You know what this means. Under regulation 682.4 and point 5,” his voice rose when he said point five. Point five must be a whopper. “The agency is required to continue rent payments as long as this lad attends school. The state placed his parents in jail while the child is a recipient of AFDC. His record indicates he is attending school everyday. I am issuing an order that the agency continue payments as they are until the end of the school year. Miss Nigel please refrain from wasting the courts time in the future. The case against Andrew Lyons is dismissed. Keep up the good work son. Andrew your Sister Martha is quite a stickler for the rules. Would you do me a favor? Sign a release so Sister Martha can send me a copy of your transcript. It might be a good idea if you need a representative in court to ask her.”

Keep up the good work, yeah right. In other words keep your head down and don’t make waves. Sure I will sign that thing for the judge. I don’t want to piss him off. Like I said it is always a good move to keep the judge happy. The landlord is happy. He does not have to close the place up and lose a month or two of rent. The joint won’t be empty and his direct payments will keep coming in without problems. The Welfare had to do that because the old man was always trying to make a big score. Paying the rent was never high on the list. After years of welfare, second generation I think, the agency knew enough to deduct rent and power bills from his allowance. They got tired of evictions and fuel emergencies a long time ago.

With the promise of no parties, rent paid on time; keep the place clean and no cops I get to stay right here. Not bad it is a three bedroom single story ranch one of those popular designs from the seventies or so. Decent sized yard with a garage. No car but a garage to keep my bike in if I had one. I do have the internet though but no cell phone.

No parties the man said. Geeze really! Don’t you need friends to have parties? On second thought what you do need is a teenager with a house of his own and no supervision. I am not going to go there. My old man did not raise a fool. I know when I am in the cat bird seat and this is it. Scratch the friends or users I don’t need them. I got this far on my own I’m not going to change it now. You should be able to tell I’m one of those people who are excluded. I am going through life as an observer untouched and ignored. My philosophy is if you don’t let them in they can’t hurt you. You might have gotten a hint of this attitude when discovering it took me until the third page to mention my name. This is another fine point for those of you who go through life unmolested by social services. After court Ms Niger could not give me a ride home. It seems she is only allowed to drive active victims err clients. I guess since she dragged me out of school and blew the case I’m no longer a child in need. It is comforting to know they are so caring.

I’m not exactly home free I now have Ms Bishop keeping tabs on me. The good news is this woman has a hundred and twenty families to harass. She is one of a dozen county Income Maintenance workers. It is her job to make sure I’m following the rules. To think my parents are in jail for being Grifters while this sorry excuse of a president isn’t. Look at what the guy did. He creates jobs by hiring more welfare workers to keep track of all the people forced on welfare because he screwed up the economy. It is an excellent way to control everything. He watches the watchers who report what everybody is doing. You don’t think that is a major con? The guy has total control by threatening to cut off your free money. The message is be good, shut up and stay in your place. Every six months Ms Bishop wearing her cheap pants suit stops by to check up on me. That is not a certainty I have to wait five more months to see if she remembers. At least thanks to the ACLU they stopped unreasonable demands like making me quit school and document employment searches. Nobody comes around checking up complaining about dirty dishes in the sink. But they still know how to make trouble.

Back at school, well it was the next day without anyone knowing I was not here the day before. I must admit the nuns love me. I clean up well, do my work, keep my mouth shut and don’t make a mess. For the record I am about five feet seven inches solid built without flab or zits. There is little to make fun of it goes hand in hand with my lack of anything to take a second look at either. Girls, yeah I love them every curve and short skirt about them. I can sit admiring their cute little walk and the way they wear their hair. I love everything about them. The problem is they can’t see me. It is not that they dislike me or find me repulsive they just don’t notice me. As far as guys go last year one of them talked to me once or twice but he transferred out.

I have my own lunch table with plenty of privacy except when the janitor takes pity stopping to chat. Well enough of this you get the picture and can see why I stepped into it when that freaking spam invitation ended up in my mail box. For someone who watches like that Percy guy in the movie “Being There” the temptation is simply too great. That is why I am writing this to warn people to stay away from spam mail. It is the Grifter’s greatest friend.

We entered the later half of October with my private battle lines drawn. It is my intention to score the valedictorian award as it is my best avenue to get into college. There are a few competitors, a jock named Pedro Roman. I know before you go there jock and intelligent is the definition of oxymoron. The other is a girl named Jean Phillips also known as ‘Parker.’ Let me explain she lives in a trailer park hence the cruel nickname of ‘Parker’. I cannot verify it is a trailer park I never followed her home. For the record I am not a sicko stalker.

Here is where I place my disclaimer I’m madly in love with Jean Phillips and conflicted about beating her out of the award. The kid has less than I do and needs a scholarship. I’m a realists and self comes first my parents taught me that. Jean has less friends than I do, that is not possible I have no friends. I guess we are tied then Phillips zero, Lyons zero. I will say more about my dream girl later.

Another down side of this is I have to do my own laundry. Fortunately Saint Michaels does not require uniforms saving me a load of work. So I’m sorting whites from colors my briefs and socks in one pile. I throw my jeans and tees in another. What is this? I interrupt my self startled to find something I wanted to forget. Oh, well I might as well tell you it is this lot that gets me in trouble. Bear with me I’m reading the labels here because I am clueless about this crap. There is a Royal Robbins Promenade skirt. You heard me right a skirt. According to mom it is made of lightweight, wrinkle resistant Marori Poplin. It will keep me looking great all summer long. They gave the color a great name, Soapstone. What kind of a name is that? Actually it is a light tan or cream.

The skirt is described as a practical, but fun option that's ready for any warm weather outing, It is made of lightweight, wrinkle resistant Marori Poplin to keep you looking great all summer long. I think I said that already. It is because I am focusing. If I keep talking I will forget I have no idea what Marori Poplin is and I need to find out. So hold on a minute.

Okay I’m back. I had to Google Marori Poplin simply because every girl is required to know this stuff. Well aren’t they? According to the description I found Marori Poplin is a type of weave that is a synergistic blend of cotton and nylon. It is soft, breathable, quick drying and wrinkle resistant. See now I can offer a coherent answer when asked about my skirt. My Grifter parents taught me the art of sarcasm in case you misinterpreted my tone.

Mom and dad dreamed up a bait and switch requiring a mother and daughter. Guess who got to play the daughter wigs and all? Before you ask I have a set including matching blouse and shoes. The blouse goes with my modest knee length soapstone skirt. I’m a Catholic girl remember? The blouse, right it is turquoise. Before you worry about it clashing, never fear the blouse leans more to the blue than green. According to more information on the tag it’s a polyester jersey camisole style blouse making layering easy with its four way stretch, adjustable spaghetti straps and built in shelf bra. I almost forgot they went all out to include an A cup set of lifelike bra fillers. I can only guess a shelf bra is supposed to makes things look bigger by holding them up. That’s what a shelf does right?

The designer went to great trouble identifying this garment as a blouse to my great relief. I always thought a camisole was underwear. No way will this kid ever wear girl’s underwear. I can justify a blouse because that’s simply a fancy name for a shirt. You witnessed another of my issues just now. I get distracted by over explaining everything. Where was I? Oh yeah I tossed those into the second pile with the jeans and hung up the other girly out fit. You may as well hear about it to save time later. It is what I wore after I responded to the spam. Not that I wanted to, they forced me into it.

You have to love the name these clowns gave this skirt. According to the sales blurb it is great for jaunts to town. Not that I’d ever do that. I got side tracked forgetting to tell you the name. They called it Horny Toad's Sidekick skirt. Not that I’d date a horny toad. Girls described as toads are not high on my list. Anyway it is made with quick-drying, stretchy and durable fabric to keep up with my active lifestyle. The skirt feels like one of those sexy materials guys like to touch. The label says quick drying, stretchy and durable organic cotton polyester fabric. Let’s not forget the color. They call this one, oatmeal it pretty much describes it. What I really like about this one is it has slant hand pockets with welt back pockets offering a classic fit. You wear it just below the waist. Before I forget it shows your knees plus two inches above.

It looks like October is drawing to a close I’m going to need a pair of tights. What, before you make assumptions I not going weird here. Tights are needed since all that skin is exposed that’s all. It is crowding November here meaning cold. I’m not exposing my legs to the November wind and rain. I need to find a color to go with the blouse. Mom thought this outfit would be great on the weekends. I don’t know what she had planned but she mentioned wearing it in the backyard. They must have had another scam in the works. I’m procrastinating, how many guys talk about wearing something described like this? Well no guy I want to meet, now if it is his sister you bet. It is lightweight 3.8 oz. cotton jersey knit and comfortable V-neck Carhartt tank top. Guaranteed to keep you cool, casual and let you show off those arms. I love the color, Petal Pink. Could you tell this is more sarcasm?

Did you ever hear of Jack Rogers' shoes? I hadn’t my shoe knowledge is limited to Nikes. Well Jack Rogers is one pair mom bought me. I don’t have the time or the desire to Google Jack Rogers. If you want to know do it yourself. The box says they are pretty, feminine silhouettes of slim flats sports medallion style. They detail in the form of swirling rondelles and whipstiching combined with its solid color leather, it's a textural masterpiece. The color of the shoes is a dull gold. Does anybody understand the meaning of what I just read from the label? Seriously, is this a central focus of a girl’s life? Is knowing this crap essential to navigate the halls wearing just the right thing? If I ever get the courage to speak to Jean this is a necessary question. I have not exchanged a single word with her in four years. It is not like I will ever find out.
I don’t want to bore you but I discovered rondelles are a flat bead, often of rock crystal or onyx. So that explains those sparkly things. The whipstiching bullshit is nothing more than an attempt to impress you with naming a fancy stitch. Wow I bet these things set them back plenty. They sure as hell will look great with my soapstone skirt. I’m beginning to figure out why mom and dad were always late with rent payments. The next pair of shoes costs over a hundred bucks on sale.

They are called Mary Janes. But the over priced fashion company had to lay it on thick. Here is what they had to say. Blending the cute, girly style of a Mary Jane with a chic, stylish, cork wrapped wedge heel the Teva's Riviera Wedge Mary Jane shoes offer a versatile, urban style you'll love with the wear all day comfort of a sculpted leather foot bed. They are fitted with a leather and textile upper and a hook and look asymmetric strap wraps over the top of the foot. The shoes feature cork wrapped wedge midsole and heel with a Durabrasion rubber outsole. You have to be impressed with that ensemble. I’m glad I am not a girl. Give me my jeans, tees and sneakers. I’m just a simple man without any need to fill my empty head with information this detailed.

To top all of that off they sprung for real hair wigs in two styles. One is a chestnut color something close to an early Meg Ryan hair style. The other is a honey blond style that brings Reese Witherspoon to mind. I would not be wasting your time with this if it were not relevant to my tale of woe. The spam company made me do it. It sounds like an excuse they came up with in government school because it is always somebody else’s fault. Okay it is my fault because I am impatient, curious and could not wait to try out my free fun week end. That is what the spam called it anyway.

I will give these hucksters credit they are good when it comes to timing. The spammer arrived in my G-mail on Saturday. It promised to provide a free weekend of adventure giving you an enhanced version of yourself. All you needed to do is be sure a real life avatar is in your e-mail user account. This free one year pass is valued at $10,000 with minimal obligation. All I have to do is write a five page description of my weekend for them to post on their website. I should have known this is too good to be true. I won when I never entered. I told you my parents are Grifters and they trained me in the art. You know what they say, you can’t kid a kidder. Oh yes you can because we grifters are too smart to be caught in someone else’s game. So we tell ourselves making us easy targets. Anyone who watched the old TV show Mission Impossible knows that. I don’t mean the lame movies either those pathetic things were terrible.

The deal is weekends are afforded only no mid week adventures are offered. Registration must be made in person on Fridays between five and seven pm. sending the spam to me on Saturday makes me wait a whole week. Even worse I cannot register until next Friday meaning I do not get full details until then. Go figure, it is like receiving threatening letters from bill collectors Saturday morning whose office is closed weekends. So you get to stew for three days. I bet they time those assaults on purpose. I told you I’m a grifter I know how e-mail works. If you believe G-Mail keeps your data secret then you likely swallow the crap coming from the white house these days.

I told G-mail my name is Andréa Judd an eighteen year old female. That is all the data I gave them. I doubted these guys from the day they admitted they got all that personal info by accident. The Street View bullshit comes to mind. They got the stuff by accident and are keeping it at server farms because why, they don’t want it? Please anyone dumb enough to swallow that is what grifters call a mark. Now my Ms. Andréa Judd wins a prize when only G-mail has this name and e-mail address, some coincidence.

I discovered when wearing my Horny Toad's Sidekick skirt, V-neck Carhartt tank top in petal Pink and those Teva Riviera wedge Mary Jane shoes I looked hot. Especially when adding a pair of sheer black tights and the Meg Ryan wig. I looked in the mirror and almost passed out. If the hair color were more brown I could be Jean Phillips’ twin. Using Jean’s photo for my Andréa avatar might have been a dumb move. That is how I appeared with my coupon on that fateful Friday promptly at five pm.

My dear reader you noticed I said Friday is a week away and suddenly I jump right to Friday. It is a courtesy I extend to you avoiding describing my boring week. Classes were the same as always with nothing happening. I sat three seats away from Jean Phillips staring and drooling only to be ignored. How much of that can you take? To spare you I jumped to Friday night a week in the future.

You have to see this place to believe it. I spent ten bucks on a cab because as I said there is no car in my garage and I do not own a bike. Really can you imaging an upscale seventeen year old girl who appears to be twenty-two riding a bike? For that matter considering my outfit, can you imagine such a girl walking that far? If she did not get grabbed of by a perv trolling some other not so fun fate would strike.

The house looking ever so like something out of a bad Steven King movie has a simple board sign out front. It read Sanctuary and I swear those shuttered windows would scare Eddy Munster. I bravely walked up the creaking steps to the porch when an eerie Eastern European voice bid me welcome. The door knocker shaped like a wolf’s head made a loud whacking sound. At least it did not howl. Perhaps it did at one time and is the reason they now have to give out freebies.

A thick carpeted entry room with a tall butler type behind the desk eased the fear factor. He smiled and groveled the way they do in those British films. The guy looked like David Niven. I presented my coupon to receive a pile of forms or rather disclaimers. You could only interpret one of every dozen words or so encouraging you to skim and sign, which I did to my regret. How many times must we be told you have to read bill before signing it? Like Nancy I signed it to find out what is in it later. That was an expensive mistake worse than any made by congress. Though I suspect many of you readers would break your neck getting here when you find out what happened to me.

I turned in my signed forms all fifteen of them to receive a plastic swipe card. Bela Lugosi or a close cousin led me down a hallway to the sign in terminal. He explained for this weekend there are four options. The offered choices are Romance, Ski Resort, The Spa or Relaxing Weekend. Romance requires legal ID as it is X-rated you must be 21. Then his eyes drank me in, drank is a kind word for how he looked. He sort of hinted the other three activities offer many opportunities to take advantage of romance. He did not have to say more than that, I got his meaning.

A brochure accompanies the welcome information with a warning. When you swipe your card the scanner verifies your identity, your e-mail avatar comparing both to your body scan. When that information is processed you are to step into a containment chamber where the scanner will make adjustments. There is a little hint, hint at the bottom warning customers the process cannot make radical adjustments. If the customer is really a four by four they cannot make you look like Brad Pitt or your favorite actress.

It went on to say expect ladies to appear a little softer with sharp edges smoothed out to present a more feminine affect. It advised there will be no sexual enhancements such as larger breasts and the like. Your natural beauty will slightly modify. The enhancements should fade slowly over time. However with repeated use of our system they could become permanent. For males the same is true except modifications tend to the ripped side. Men were warned not to expect bigger well you know. Once the scanners have completed their work a door will open allowing admittance to the vacation of your choice. Themes change from time to time please sample as many as you like but only one selection is allowed per weekend. Enjoy your stay.

Okay I have been warned and am growing concerned because a number of guys are standing about looking at me like that. I hurry exiting the place conflicted about showing up as Andi Judd tomorrow at eight AM. I am also growing concerned because my clothes feel fabulous. The pink top brings out the deep blue of my eyes. I wore tiny maple leaf shaped gold earrings that shimmer adding a sparkle to my hair.

My old man thinks he is really the sharpest tool in the shed. He does not know I found his tackle box. The one he buried behind a false wall in the cellar. I’m pretty certain he is counting on this for his retirement when he gets out in twenty years. There is close to a hundred grand in small bills neatly packaged in bound stacks. I discovered the stash some time ago and have zero guilt in liberating a few grand. He left his kid high and dry with no support. At least he thought he did. His kid has a need so a short trip to the used car lot satisfied my handicap. I now am the proud owned of a Volkswagen Beetle. Do you note there is a bit of irony here? Back in the day every college girl seemed to own of these rigs. Everybody thought it looked cool to see a short skirt working a stick shift. When I saw the car I balked thinking no, it’s not a car for a cool guy. When I saw the price an image appeared in my rear view mirror. You can just envision Andi sporting around town wearing her wrinkle resistant Marori Poplin soapstone skirt. I think I need to pick up a set of tennis whites.

I did not wear that outfit when I went to buy the car. Just to be clear I’m not interested in appearing in public like some kind of fruit. With the car safely tucked into my garage, my garage what a hoot mom and dad must be sitting in their cells worried about how their kid is making out. Yeah right, I’m sure they are. So the clothes are laid out on a chair at the foot of my bed.

It is nearly ten pm on this Friday night as I sit here pondering the stupidity I have planned for tomorrow. Do I even dare wear these ridiculous clothes? I even let my fingers splay over the sensual material of those Hanes silky nylon briefs. The Bali bra is hanging over the back of the chair. I already tried the forms mom bought for me to ensure they fit. A little medical glue and that strange garment should bring the desired effect.

My resistance is wearing down. I’m certain my disguise will present a credible likeness of my dream girl. The question is will anyone buy it? I finally cave doing something I can’t admit to myself I’ve been dying to try. It took awhile but I’m decked out in my Jean Phillips clothes ready to gaze into the mirror. There stood Andi Judd. “Holy shit it is Jean.” Then I passed out.

Next Week Chapter 2 Jean Phillips: Dealing with it