Transvestia rocking they laid me out on the floor where I continued to spill out my insides and to cry.

I had a peculiar experience within an experience while lying there. Although I was still sobbing loudly I suddenly became aware that without any change in the sound of my sobs the emotion inside was no longer that of sadness, poignancy or hurt the things that lead to tears. I said out loud, "I'm not crying any more, I'm laughing," and I was. It suddenly seems so funny that I, who had come to the session secure in my knowledge of myself, at ease with my condition in life, and in general in control of the situation and yet of all the people present I had to be the one to break down and pour my heart out. It seemed so ironic that I had to laugh. I did so for maybe 30 or 40 seconds and then suddenly said, "I'm not laughing anymore, I'm crying," and I was. Because by then the condition of myself and all TVs seemed so terribly pathetic to me wanting to be gentle, feminine, dainty, graceful, pretty and so on, yet forced to face the world every day with a facade of strength, aggressiveness, power, dependability, decisiveness and all that. What a burden to live under! This thought broke me out in even deeper sobs and I remember saying that "I'm so tired of being a man and I want so much to be a girl yet I don't want any sex surgery!"

Well, I gradually ran down and Paul finally said he thought I'd had enough so I was allowed to sputter out like a dying fire while they shifted the conversation to someone else. I got up, got some breakfast, composed myself partially and eventually went over on the side, pulled two armless chairs together and curled up on them with my knees drawn up to my chest in a regular fetal position. Paul told the group that we were going into the pool again and that the women should form a circle facing out and the men a circle around them facing in. They began to get up to go out to the pool and Paul said, “Come on, Virginia, Let's go." I replied that I couldn't as he had laid it out perfectly clear women in one circle and men in the other and that I couldn't go because I wasn't really either one. I was still all shook up and softly crying to myself. I continued saying, “All I want is for somebody to take care of me, I'm so sick of making decisions all the time." Doesn't sound very much like the Virginia all of you have read and some of you know, does it? But all the surface veneer is discarded and the real nitty gritty is revealed in an experience like that and I guess that is the real me down underneath when the protective

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