that fact was between his legs. He knew that he was allowing them to essentially control his life because of his deep-seated need to be accepted and liked by his lady friends, but all that didn't matter to him as long as he had their friendship. That's what really counted!

Yet? Why did he like the feel of the pantihose covering his clean-shaven legs? Why did he tremble whenever a sleek satin slip slid down over his body? Why did his nipples harden every time he engulfed them in a bra? And, most of all, why did he take such warm satisfaction in the admittedly pretty woman who gazed back from the mirror before he left for work every morning?

Chris, like all modern young people, had heard the term 'transvestite' (and even 'transsexual') and most, Chris included, thought those people to be simple curiosities. Now the terms flashed into his mind unbidden and he considered for the first time that he himslf may be one of those curiosities.

'Yes!' he thought that morning as he examined the woman in the glass. 'Maybe that's what I am, a TV, if they dress as women then I certainly am

one.

But don't they do it voluntarily, to gratify some strange hidden urges. If so, where are those urges in me? I just want some women to like me, and this is the result. Does that make me a transvestite? If I am then what I have here at the clinic is a TV's dream come true.' He laughed at the pretty young female reflection as he scanned the perfect feminine contours of her body and face. 'Jeez! Are you really me?' He looked down. 'Yup, it's me alright! ... Damn! Why do I like this so much? Why do I like wearing these clothes and looking so feminine? I'm a man, aren't I? Suddenly Chris realized what he had just admitted to himself. 'Oh God! I LIKE IT!' For the first time since his parents death Chris

broke down, tears mixed with eye-liner formed dark streaks down his face as he sobbed....Oh Andrea, Mar.. (sob).. Judy, Car..(sob)? What have you done to me? What have I done to myself?'

Lying on the bed, weeping uncontrollably, he felt a heavy burden lift slowly from his body, as though a great weight was being lifted from him, pouring out of him in great racking sobs and a flood of tears. Eventually, Chris quieted his hysterics and the tears stopped. The emotional relief was so tremendous he felt like he had been reborn. Gone was the pent-up rage and sorrow of his parents' deaths. Gone was his concern for what anyone might think about what he wore, which, he now knew, had been the basic reason for his objections to all the improvements' in his image.

'What the hell!' he yelled at the walls. 'I'll be whatever makes me and everyone else. happy. I like the soft silky clothes and all the rest. Maybe this place is where I belong anyway! Maybe forever?'

A quick glance at the clock told Chris he was late for work. With shaking hands he quickly repaired the damage to his makeup as best he could, glanced at the lady in the mirror and winked on the way out the door.

Thanksgiving was a big disappointment for the only male on Ambrose Island. There was turkey and all the trimmings for dinner with a big ice sculpture of a turkey in the middle of the dining hall. But, that was all! No one seemed to consider it much of a holiday, except for Chris. For him, it had always ranked second only to Christmas. Yet, when he thought of all the fabulous holidays he had spent with his parents, this first major holiday without them became a depressing experience for him. He kept seeing their concerned faces as they allowed him to