46 -SANDY THOMAS ADV.

P.O. Box 2309,

accustomed to the tightness of my girdles; them becoming less and less bothersome every day.

When I left the shower, I couldn't help noticing how weak and shriveled my genitals had become. Could such a dainty garment have such a formidable and devastating effect on my maleness? Could the rigorous implementation of a girdle and the hormones harness my supple maleness--overpowering it?

It was almost like these girdles were designed to put a curve on here and take a bulge off there. Like the wearer were merely a chunk of putty.

It was long before I was beginning to be conspicuous that the girdles were progressively altering my maleness. My waist had reduced several inches while only shaping my hips. It was obvious that the male genitalia, generally speaking, is just a soft boneless mass and it could be given an outward appearance simply by squeezing it into a mold.

Under the hormones, my skin texture was marvelous----malleable and clear; my nipples pointed outward at the slightest caress. I wondered how long it would take before I couldn't appear with my chest exposed at the beach.

Under the torrent of female hormones, my maleness responded predictably. I shook my head. "Up boy," I'd coax but soon realized the futility.

"Easy there," Mary whispered at my abortive tries at making love in the old way, "It's too soft, honey."

Instead of getting all worked 'UP' in the old way, I felt different inside: all soft and buttery. The maleness of my personality was fighting the femi-

Capistrano Beach, CA 92624 USA TV CLASSICS -47

nine sensations that were rushing through me. I wasn't ready to give up that part of my maleness yet.

In an effort to clear up my confused, mish-mash of emotions, Mary emphatically decided that my days of mounting her were over. I felt panic and disgust with myself for letting this all go this far. I felt neutered but Mary insisted I continue with the hormones. She said, "It just isn't a very ladylike thing for you to be doing anyway."

This ultimatum was like my real initiation into womanhood.

We gave up the 'old' and found new ways to love each other. I fell in love with Mary all over again. I felt dependent and began to look for glimmers of approval in Mary's eyes, like a puppy watching his master's hand. I lived for her words of praise or a warm expression. I guessed these were a characteristic of feminine insecurity but I was powerless to change.

I worked harder to keep the house spotless, and wonderful meals on the table. My mood became ridiculously buoyant when Mary gave me compliments. On the other side of the coin, I became depressed during the five days a month when I was off the hormones.

My manner also changed. I'd catch myself acting like a little girl: I'd stomp my foot, pout, put my hands on my hips and flinch at the most trivial things.

I once stuck out my lower lip and called the butcher a 'hairy brute' for not having my pork chops ready on time. He didn't get mad, he was used to working with women and their moods. The next time when he had them ready, I pinched his cheek and said, "My hero!" His big smile said it all.