"She hasn't earned the right yet," snapped Consuela, pursing her full lips in irritation. Isabel's insistence on using the male pronoun for 'her' wasn't helping Consuela's training tactics. Only when the new 'Irena' did some- thing really feminine was 'she' allowed rewards 'rewards' that only a woman would con- sider thus. How could Consuela hope to turn him into seductive woman, like his sister, with such backstabbing coopera- tion from Isabel Ortega? Surely, she ought to know better.

"Don't stop,' ordered Consuela as the youth teetered on his black, shiny high heels and almost fell into a vacant armchair.

“But...but these h-hurt," murmured Esteban, his thin, feminized eyebrows coming to- gether in a frown of astonishing resemblance to his late sister's. He reached down to massage his calves, blushing even more as he touched the soft nylon to his skin. His fingernails sparkled with shiny red in contrast to his smooth skin.

"It's the same for all girls like us," said Consuela brutally, admiring the style of the patent leather high heels he wore. She must get some just like those. "Since you think you are going to be a girl like Irena, you'll have to learn to manage and look pretty, too, just like we all do.”

Esteban flushed. The red, silk scarf at his throat was bright and glistening like his lips, a thought he tried desperately to suppress as he wiggled his stockinged toes in the stiff, new shoes which let his freshly painted toes peep out in what seemed to him very female fashion as he glanced down through his tickened eyelashes at his female-dressed legs. The soft sweater he wore had strange, unfamiliar mounds on his chest and he had to look up quickly as he reddened even more. He was shuddering as he kept on walking. The tight skirt re-

stricted his movement, while the smooth slip and skirt caress- ed the back of his legs, sending wierd, though not necessarily unpleasant, sensations through- out his body.

"Why don't you have her," Isabel stressed the feminine pro- noun, “mime an announcement to the People?" Isabel's tone was petulant as as she framed the question that Consuela had her- self put to Salluca.

Consuela watched the new Irena mince gingerly up and down the room before she finally gave Salluca's response to her own question earlier. "Too many people would know about the mime. It would cause too much adverse comment. We must meet speculation head on with our explanation before she speaks." She eyed the boy speculatively herself. "It's tough enough to get proper corsets and padding for her...

Esteban's cheeks were on fire. The padding and tape over his male parts, about his hips and bounding on his chest, seemed tighter and lumpier as Consuela outlined 'her' failings as a woman. His garter belt, so un- familiar and strange to his shaven thighs, even seemed to tighten as he sashayed in what he thought was a hip-swaying, exag- gerated, feminine walk. And everything only seemed to get tighter and more constricting as Consuela referred to Esteban as 'her.'

"All right," said Consuela last. "Let's try her hair piece."

But before that, Esteban had to practice sitting down gracefully half a dozen times in the tight skirt, before Consuela arranged the blonde-streaked hair about his face and shoulders.

"My, you're hot," exclaimed Consuela with a sly smile as her fingers brushed his creamy, madeup cheeks. She gently arranged the golden bangle-like earrings more attrac- tively through the long waves

of the wig.

“W-Wouldn't you b-be

h-hot. angrily.

Esteban began

His protests, however, were cut short by a sudden, loud rapping on the outer door of the apartment. Isabel Ortega strolled to the door, an arrogant sneer on her mouth. She sneered even more openly when Francisco Salluca pushed his way past her into the Presidential suite.

The Eagle scowled haughtily in return at the Demo- crat; but he stopped abruptly, his face rapidly changing ex- pression when he saw 'Irena.' His smile was filled with pela-

sure.

"I told you. he began,

•

waving his hand at Consuela, even as his eyes never left those of the strangely demure Irena, so unnatural with her eyes down-

cast.

Consuela shook her head indignantly. "She isn't a thirty-three year old woman,' said Consuela, pulling on Este- ban's well-manicured hands to get him to stand up on his high heels again. She gestured to 'her' to smooth out the wrinkles in 'her' skirt. Esteban did so, but his arms didn't move properly with the padding at his chest. He was awkward not at all graceful like Consuela. He tried again, but his hands brushed his garters, panties and the lace-edged slip he had been given to wear that day. Remind- ed of what he was, he could not raise his dark, sticky eyelashes to look at anyone. He was sure they were all laughing at him and his attempt to be a

woman.

"She certainly isn't a thirty- three year old," Salluca agreed, but there was admiration in his voice, which raised goose bumps all over the flushed body of the feminized Esteban Varga.

"Her skin is too smooth," snapped Consuela irritably, ig- noring the suggestion in Salluca's words. words. "She "She has a