etc. The high heels were so lovely and made even my legs look shapely and feminine.

"

Further recounting would be a repetition of "then I did this, etc, etc. Suffice it to say that I tried on everything, even to stuffing the bra cups with facial tissue. At some point in this adventure, my wife phon- ed and blessedly gave me the exact time she intended to return by asking me to start our evening meal potat- oes baking in an hour. I relaxed and unbolted the door.

I was then emboldened to try lipstick, powder and mascara, and to wrap my head, turban-style, with a yellow bath towel. It was narcississitic of me, I guess, but it was still difficult for me to get used to how nice I looked, and more than that, how feminine I looked. With long pendant earrings and a rhinestone choker necklace, I began to feel I was ready to challenge Marilyn Monroe. The stuffed brassiere rose and fell as I breathed slowly and deeply. My mascaraed eyelids were half-closed a la Theda Bara, as I reveled in this new secret passion I had discovered. All too soon, the time passed and I had to return to the masculine appear- ance I was never to prefer again.

Needless to say,

none of the items were returned except for larger sizes, and they were hidden for my private use from then on. For months afterward--when- ever alone--I wore my glamorous possessions. I bought several pairs of sandals and pumps to wear and hosiery presented no problem.

Sears Roebuck provided me with my favorite bra, a black lacy strapless 40-C which made me feel so very, very feminine. I loved strutting about with these mounds sloping from my chest. I looked forward to every moment when I could safely be alone long enough to wear my things.

Inevitably, the day came when I began to wonder if I was on the road to homosexuality. There was no Virginia Prince to confide in, no other TV's to ration- alize with, and I began to condemn myself for a soft- ness of the brain.

Just at this time--Christine Jorgenson burst onto

22.