Transvestia

"A writer from the west?" The words froze in

my throat as I said them.

"Yes. Oh, and before I forget," he interrupted himself, "the clerk at the desk asked me to give you this envelope. It was left there for you.' Blankly

I took it from him.

"

"You say the young man was a writer from the west," I repeated too stunned to bother concealing my interest.

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"That's right. He is very upset." The manager shook his head. "One never knows, does one. Then clearing his throat, "Now, madam, the clerk tells me that you have a complaint."

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"No, no," I said, still quite dazed. "In view of the circumstances, it was quite minor. I had to think.

A smile flowed across the man's face. "You are

very kind, Ma'm. If you're sure there's nothing I can do for you, then I shall be about my duties.

"

"Yes, yes. It's quite alright. Thank you. He hurried down the hall. I slowly closed the door and, leaning back against it, I shut my eyes and tried to make some sense of it all.

It was useless. My mind skipped about like a rabbit turned loose in an open field. I could not hold one thought for more than a few seconds; then I was off on another. I luxuriated in the soft feel of the clothes and suddenly wondered to whom they belonged; I presses my thighs together as tightly. as I could as the ecstacy of my femininity flooded me to be quickly followed by a surge of panic when I recalled my lost gender. Tears began to well up inside me and burst forth seconds later in uncontrol- lable sobs. Blindly, I staggered foreward and fell across the bed.

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