Transvestia

but feminine.

To the Notre Dame des Champs Metro station. Down the steps. To the ticket window. Do I dare? "Deux, premiere." The ticket lady hardly glances up. I have had the change ready so no delay. Down more steps. Delicious. The old harridan punching tickets doesn't even look up. A few people on the platform. Only two at the first class position. A distinguished elderly gentleman and a well-dressed lady. Sit to wait for train. "Sitting must be ladylike,' said Susanna. Yummy feeling. Train comes in, I get aboard and sit again in carriage seat. Yummy feeling. Small boy stares at me. Am I being read? will he blurt out, "Mommy. That's a man!" He loses interest, contemplates old gentleman fixedly. It must be his way.

Change trains at Concorde. Medium crowd. First class carriage fairly full. Two empty seats. Man gestures me to seat. Me! Breathless with pleasure. Give him small flash of smile. Most delicious feeling yet! Heavens! Almost forget to get off at Georges V. Small smile to benefactor who will never know the pleasure he gave. Up the stairway and along the corridors, clicking deliciously, with a little sharp echo from the tiled walls of the corridor.

That guy that just passed me. He stared. Or did he? He's gone, I think. Did he read me? I don't know, but I'm committed. I'm here. I'm being a woman, and I want me to be exactly the way I am, so I don't care if he did read me. There's a cop! I ignore him, he ignores me. In New York it's life and death. In Paris, it's life. Live and let live.

I stop at the newsstand at the top of stairs, where the subway steps come up to the Avenue des Champs Elysees. "Times, s'il vous plait." A rolled paper under my arm, with "London Times" on the outside should discourage unwelcome approaches. An Englishman wouldn't, an American wouldn't want to, and a Frenchman would figure he couldn't talk to her. Newsdealer fumbles for change, places it in my gloved hand, saying "Merci, Madamoiselle." Madamoiselle! Oh lovely word! It means that I am really a she. I glow.

The cafe's are beginning to be a little less than full. My tiny watch shows 11:05. I take a second-row seat at a sidewalk table not too close to other people, and back to a tableful of young, argumentative intellectuals. Check voice pitch with small hum.