Transvestia

"Perhaps this one, monsieur?"

"No, something quiet. I must look nice. Not conspicuous.

"Perhaps this dusty pink tailleur - it has a jacket, or you can wear it as a short sleeve dress, quite fitted."

"It is very pretty. How much does it cost?"

―

"It is on sale, monsieur. 275 francs about $55. Yes, I think you would look very nice in it. It is very feminine. Permit me to try the waist." She held the waistline of the dress between her hands and held it against mine, while I held the top. "Perhaps it would be a little tight at the waist, but if you wore a serre-taille it would fit very well."

"Thank you," I said, “I'll take it.'

The list. Gloves. "Her hands are almost my size." Bag. "Do you have a purse that will go with these gloves?" Cosmetics. Several items. No explanation. Obviously a husband, visiting the city, picking up a list of things his wife asked him to get. Waist-cincher lingerie department (Let's not get carried away. We have a whole week in town!).

"We have not many styles, monsieur. The "serre-taille" is not the mode at the moment. But there are always some women who prefer the true feminine line, so we have this, and this, and this with the soutein-gorge."

Now the dress would fit. Slip. Easy. "Something pretty for my wife a little present from town." I had bought only white things, feeling pure. But some of those black things! Yumm! My "wife" would be back another day. A nightie. Men buy most of the sexy ones anyway. The choice was dizzying.

The list was nearly all checked off. Oh yes, falsies. "Seins en caoutchouc-eponge?"

"What size, monsieur? Does madame prefer them covered with satin or au naturel?"

It was all so easy, and it was not yet 6:30. Only a wig was now

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