Transvestia

He was so used to wearing feminine clothing--several hours a day---that it was no hardship. He allowed his hair to grow, first wearing a wig, then a trans- formation, and finally, when it grew long enough, his own hair. He has now lived as a woman for over two years, and is perfectly content, and looks upon himself as a woman and plans to continue as one for the rest of his days. He will stay with me as my maid as long as he wishes."

"But how about his beard?" I asked. "His face is as smooth as a woman's."

"He had the hair permanently removed a long time ago, not only his face but the rest of his body where it shows. He looks quite nice in an evening dress, and is hairless, of course. I hear him coming now with our breakfast trays. Look him over carefully, and see if you can pick any flaws in him as a woman."

me.

In spite of what Grace had said, I admit that I felt rather foolish to be sitting there propped up in bed on a lace pillow, in a woman's nightgown, wearing feminine make-up and with hair draped over my shoulders, and with Grace in male disguise beside. If it had been anybody else except "Anna" who was coming in to see us in that way, I would have hidden in shame. But knowing that Anna was a man made all the difference in the world. It was with curious eyes that I now closely examined Anna as "she" came in with our trays, and greeted us with a "good morning" and a pleasant smile. If Grace had not told me, it would have been impossible for me to believe that Anna was a man, for he was completely feminine in every visible aspect. His face was pretty with a nice complexion, though, now that I looked closely, perhaps there was a slight trace of masculine coarseness, but no more than thousands of woman have. His features were regular, his teeth nice and he had a pleasant smile. He reminded me of the familiar figure of a lady's maid on the stage--a French maid,

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