New Year's, dancing with disciplined abandon, and flatteringly stage-lighted from within my first-floor front room, in a fragile Christmas gift confection, I collected quite a quorum of late-night wanderers, sitting for hours on the cold front-steps across the street. They watched in wonder at the four AM live fantasy, staged at my window.

Or my "it ain't so!" utter bemusement with various personally well-known neighbor men - now separated across the void of male-and-female by whom I'd decided to be that night their gentle but inflamed attempts at persuasiveness toward the end of my joining them for a romantic late-night frolic. Or cruder types who offered me cash money - proferring my membership in womankind's oldest profession. An honorary membership, as it happens, but none the less a "first"...and something to ponder over.

Being forever entranced by the feminine mystique whether projected by me during my adventures or ensnaring me in my more prosaic daytime self - my positive she-self MUST be preserved at all costs, or all the magic is lost. I demand the he-she relationship, whether in my fantasy-world or real world. Having male sex find me disturbing and gently provocative is a must but anything beyond (at most!) an affectionate hand-touch, a whispered inches-away conversation through a locked screen door is a fantasy-crumbler. Once the guy's conviction of my femaleness gets shaky, my whole female castle of dreams falls to ruin. But any male attention threatening my self-persuaded castle in some form is so sweet and so desirable! So real-making to me.

not

So much more the romantic than the realist no matter who I'm being, my poignantly-dear best memories are superficially not exactly earth-shaking. I adore recalling this past year a most verbally-profficient Lotherio under my open window, him snowing me with the most lavish flattery, most cultured protestations of love-at-first-sight, most poetic verbal advances leaving me with the most profound conviction of my female state. Only my presentation of lily-white chastity kept me from accepting his petitions. My he was persuasive!

There was a last-summer's night, balmy and perfumed with that season, when some Latin romantic saw me sitting on my