a transvestia TRUE

STORY

Helen

in

Wonderland

Helen Roberts

I arrived in the suburban shopping center just South of Providence just before noon on Monday morning. I eased my wagon into a parking space and stepped out. In the center of the Plaza where I stood I was surrounded by seven or eight of the finest ladies' apparel shops in Rhode Island.

The names emblazoned on the Facades were those long established houses made prosperous by serving the fashion conscious women of the state for many years.

One salon had particularly attracted me and I strode across the square to window shop. The rain was coming down ever so lightly leaving a jeweled mist on my black turtle neck sweater. I caught my own reflection in the store window as I approached the shop. Six foot, blonde crew cut, 180 lbs. Black navy sweater, dark pants and black shoes, Every inch the sailor.

I was captivated by the lingerie confections in the window. Here was no display of tricot and lace. These were a wonderful array of colorful candy stripped and prints in a thousand different designs. I have never in my life seen anything like it. How deliciously impracti- cal.

I was rudely awakened from my ecstacy by laughter from across the street. Six construction men were eating lunch on the curb. I had let my guard down and the

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