Transrestia

for he wore a chic maid's uniform, a lace cap on his dark curls, and a little lace apron. He was not tall and his feet looked small and dainty in their narrow high heels. His hands were small and white, but what struck me most forcibly was his figure. It would have done credit to any French maid, it was SO dainty and he was wonderfully corsetted, a waist that could not have measured more than 18 inches- the same measurement that I had had for a few hours the night before, and thought so uncomfortable. I marvelled at it, to think that this man could go for years laced into an 18 inch corset all his working hours, and trip about on high heels, apparently happy and at ease, and perfectly at home in feminine attire, with his own long feminine hair.

It was all right, I thought for a man, like myself, to lace up and put on high heels and dresses and play the part of a girl for a few hours, but to think of doing it all the time, day and night, year after year seemed almost too much for a man to stand. But, of course, he would get used to it, just as women do. But I thought it unfortunate that he had to be so tightly corsetted and wear such high heels. But Grace told me afterward that she insisted on it, and that it was a part of the contract. He didn't mind. In fact, he liked it.

I watched him as he tripped in with our trays and served us. Every move was perfectly feminine, and so was his voice. His pretty brown hair under his lace cap was nicely waved and curled. I judged that it would reach well below his shoulders. He really was amazing, such a perfect girl--and yet a man. It seemed incredible.

"Anna" said Grace, "I am sure you wont mind be- cause I have told my "girl" friend here that you are not what you seem. Because "she" too, is not what "she" seems. You have much in common, both being "girls" of a peculiar type--that is--men--girls. Mr.---is naturally very much interested in you, and

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