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  • Agnes Dourville Ch. 11

Agnes Dourville Ch. 11

I'm really looking forward to my next country time with Sharon. Working with her is nice, of course, knowing what we know about each other. We're drawn to each other, and it's hard not to continue where we left off, when we're working. But we're not the type to go sneaking kisses and caresses behind Agnes' back - we observe propriety.

She's dressing a little more suggestively lately. And me too, truth be told.

I really prefer being with Sharon more than with Agnes and Clarice. With those two, the sex was, how to describe it? - high-octane. They had taken me so far, so fast. Kind of took my breath away. With Sharon I have a true friend, a bosom buddy, and the relationship is more magical and fresh. We're taking things so nice and gradually - we feel like we're discovering sex and affection all by ourselves.

So, I'm pretty happy with my life right now. As Michelle.

It's funny how sometimes people's lives intersect in odd and unexpected ways. Like, things are predestined to happen - say, two solar systems colliding with each other, ever so slowly but surely, and ending up, after all the violence and collisions, with planets radically changed and new orbits set.

I'm walking to the Dourville grocery early one morning around 6 a.m. It's become my habit to walk the two blocks early so I can get a jump on the day, and remove certain things from the walk-in refrigerator and put them in the cold display case. Agnes appreciates that. I'm a good worker bee.

This particular morning there are very few people about and I'm enjoying presenting as Michelle. I have her walking technique down pat, I smile if I meet someone on the sidewalk, and I know I'm passing well. Today I'm wearing a well-fitted, blue-gingham, knee-length dress which shows my boobs to good advantage. It's sleeveless, and fortunately my arms are slender and as before, don't show much muscle. I really should wear shoes that entirely cover my feet (for storeroom work), but I always prefer leather sandals. They're just prettier. I only wear a tiny bit of mascara and a lip gloss that hardly changes the natural color of my lips. Petite earrings. Underneath, a lacy, sexy bra and as usual, the padded panty girdle, which is a contradiction in terms: why wear a girdle when I actually want to add to my hips ...?

And, finally, my uncomfortable but natural-looking blond wig. I'm looking forward to the day when my own hair will be long enough to do away with it. Yes, that's an admission that I want to continue as Michelle into the foreseeable future.

I pass a parked new-ish white van that was also there yesterday, not paying much attention to it since it appeared to be empty. Suddenly, I hear metal doors opening. I turn to look and see three men in nondescript clothing running to me. They are much larger than me. Two grab my arms and the third clamps his hand over my mouth. They virtually lift me off the ground. I'm so surprised I don't struggle. I'm in through the rear doors of the van, the doors are closed, I'm handcuffed, gagged, and blindfolded, and my feet and knees are somehow bound together.

I'm lying between some cardboard boxes, and the van takes off.

I hear one of them say, "I don't think anyone saw us."

I try squirming, to no avail. I worry about being able to breathe enough air through my nose. Is this some sort of sexual thing? Are they taking me somewhere to rape me? Do they know I'm a guy?

We drive, and drive and drive. I fall asleep at one point, and wake up having to pee mightily. I hold it as long as I can, and then soil myself. They smell it and laugh a little.

After what seems like three hours, we pull off the smooth highway onto a gravel road, which we follow for five minutes or so, and then we come to a stop. I am greatly worried, to say the least.

My beautiful and innocent time as Michelle, I assume, is about to change.

The doors open again. I'm carefully lifted out, my legs and arms freed, and I'm walked a short distance to some steps, helped up them into a structure of some kind, and led down what must be a hallway. I'm seated. My gag and blindfold finally come off.

My eyes take a while to focus and adjust to the light. I'm in a high-ceiling room of what appears to be an older house and only one of the men who abducted me remains. Now he's joined by a serious-looking older woman with gray hair in a bun and a brisk, important-looking man with a short beard.

"What's going on here?" I ask, feeling a bit embarrassed that my female clothes are disheveled, and my wig is sitting sideways on my head. "What the heck?"

The woman says, "We're leaving you alone here briefly, but there's no way to escape. Take all your clothing off, and go in and take a shower. You'll find new clothing in the bathroom. And even though you're undoubtedly scared about this scenario, I assure you you're in safe and good hands. We'll have a sit-down with you shortly to fill you in on New Promise."

"New Promise?"

"Later," says the woman with a forced smile.

One minute I'm in bucolic Douglas, Wisconsin and the next I'm a prisoner in a strange house with strange people in an unknown location. When the clothing laid out for me is for a man, I can only assume this has something to do with my female incarnation. After the needed shower, I put on men's boxer shorts, trousers, men's shoes and a long-sleeved shirt. I look at myself in the mirror and it's like looking at a stranger. I much prefer Michelle's looks to Michael's.

I leave the bathroom, with its barred windows, and return to the adjacent room. I'm carrying my soiled women's clothing.

The three soon return. They have me deposit my Michelle clothing in a bag which they seal.

The woman bids me to follow them into an antique-looking living room which is richly appointed, and we all sit down. I just can't get used to being Michael again. I just can't jump back into that mold.

The impressive-looking man speaks: "Hello Michael Petersen."

"Hello. What's this all about? You've broken the law by abducting me."

"It's not something we do with pleasure," he replies. "What we did is called an intervention. This is an intervention for your well-being."

The woman continues. "This may come as a surprise to you, but your father Eugene retained us after he learned you were somehow tricked or coerced into living as a woman."

The man: "We are an evangelical rescue group called the New Promise. Our job - if we accept one - is to extract young people from dangerous lifestyles, lifestyles that could jeopardize their becoming conrtibuting members of society."

"My dad did this?" I ask in amazement. "He doesn't know anything about me. He abandoned our family years ago."

"Ask Eugene to come in," instructs the woman.

Thus begins an entirely new chapter in my life. I am re-introduced to my father, who has now straightened out his life, left alcohol behind, and become a devout Christian. He explains that by pure chance he met someone from my home town who'd passed through Douglas and seen me living as a woman, and reported that to him. He couldn't see one of his children living in such a screwed-up way, he says, so he gathered enough money to extract me from, he says, an unnatural existence. He says I'll spend three weeks at New Promise, and then he wants me to come live with him, in a small city in northern Minnesota. He says he knows he can't force me to do so, but the invitation is there. I'll concede that he seems to be a lot quieter and more considerate than when he lived at home.

I spend the three weeks there. The house is locked. The back yard is surrounded by a fence too high to climb.

These people are quite good at what they do. At first I just talk to the older woman and the important guy, who turns out to be a shrink. They ask me every conceivable question about how I had decided to live as a woman. The way they orchestrate the facts, I have been tricked into losing my manhood by a very clever woman (Agnes) who finds pleasure in creating a daughter, and even worse, using me for sex. She even has sex with her daughter. In their religious frame of reference, Agnes is therefore an agent of the devil.

I've never been a religious person, and early on in life I dismissed the existence of a god, but their incessant harping about right and wrong, sin versus "seeing the light," and the clear distinction between the roles of men and women begins to sink in. Sometimes I just want to go off and catch up on sleep, but the meetings continue. When they see their endless preaching having an effect (after a week), they put me in a group session with some other abductees.

Two young guys are gay (I never would've guessed one of them was) and New Promise is trying to re-orient them. Another has been a wannabe with a motorcycle gang, but really doesn't seem like the type. A woman has been in a relationship with a guy into drugs and was in danger of falling into that life. We're urged to spill our guts out.

When I explain being Michelle to them, they seem mildly interested. Laying it all out in public; away from Agnes, Clarice and Sharon; seems to keep pushing me back into being Michael, as though the Michelle period was an aberration. I explain that my growing relationship with Sharon was based on being Michelle, and that Sharon seemingly wanted a relationship with a woman with a dick. They laughed a little at this. I admitted that maybe she would've liked me as a guy, too.

And on, and on, and on.

At one point, they coerce me into writing a letter to Agnes by saying it would prevent her and my mother from worrying. And it would also probably end any police investigation. I write:

"Dear Agnes (and mother),

"I'm sorry if my abrupt departure had you worrying about my safety, and I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it beforehand. But I finally felt that my stay with you had reached its end. It was time for me to return to being Michael. I will be in touch with you down the road as I become settled in a new life in a new place. I appreciate all you did for me, and please let Sharon know I will miss her very much.

"Michael"

I imagine that Agnes and Clarice, upon reading this, will think our last corset orgy was just too much for my young sensibilities. The New Promise people tell me they'll have the letter mailed in Chicago (I've learned that our house of detention is in Iowa).

One evening, at an outdoor barbecue, the staff burns my Michelle clothing symbolically, and it actually seems like the right thing to do. Maybe Michelle is a soiled part of me that needs to be exorcised, and now I can act like the biological man I am. That is, become Michael again. Mike.

However, before turning in, the only woman abductee has a furtive word with me away from the others.

"Michael."

"Yes."

"Look, I sympathize with you. I see some feminine qualities in you. But of course here they'll say men should be men and women should be women. So ... here's a little gift that may help you get through all this brainwashing and re-programming."

She opens her fist and out springs what appears to be a pair of white cotton panties with lace trim, which she quickly puts in my palm. She smiles angelically.

"Thank you! And I hope you will be happy after all of this," I say.

"I guess I'll give my parents their money's worth," she says.

I go to live with my father in Hibbing, Minnesota, carrying those gift panties hidden in my travel suitcase.

Maybe after all this time, I'll finally learn who dad actually is. Unbeknownst to me, he left his shipboard life two years before, where he was pretty lonely, and where drinking was a tradition. Now he's driving mammoth trucks in a huge open-pit iron-ore mine. After some training, and with dad's recommendation, I'm hired to drive there too. I must've moved up in the world, having graduated from making a few bucks at the Dourville Grocery to making big union bucks at the Hull-Rust-Mahoning mine, one of the largest in the world. Michael Peterson is now doing a man's work.

While wearing panties.

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