Dennis unlaced his tennis shoes and removed them. He stripped off his tee shirt and stepped out of the grass-stained bluejeans. A woodland breeze struck him across his bare chest and he felt a sense of vulnerability standing there almost in the nude. The flat stones he was standing on chilled his feet. With final resolution he peeled off his undershorts. He stepped into the coveted swimming suit and bending over pulled it up over his calves and thighs in urgent motions. It was a bit of a struggle with the unfamiliar garment but in a minute he had the wide elastic shoulder straps in place and the remainder of the suit adjusted easily. It fitted him quite well. Selfconsciously he inspected the results turning this way and that to see behind. He lifted the pleated skirt and peeked beneath to examine the fit of the panties. The layer underneath clasped him firmly while the top layer of the panties hung in loose puffs and folds. The tapering bodice clung to his torso, lightly squeezing his waist and lending the look of slimness. The girl who had owned the suit could have been no older than he ten going on eleven. At this tender age he was free of hair and his fair-skinned blonde complexion was inherited from generations of Scandinavian and German predecessors.

The effect was very pleasing. But more remained to be done and he hastened to the task lest anyone chance along and discover him at work. From his own blue bathtowell he retrieved the two glass bottles he had taken from the medicine cabinet. One of the bottles contained a wine red nail polish. The other was a bottle of polish remover. This would be the crowning touch to tint his toe and fingernails with lovely red paint He would appear exactly like the girls and women he had seen at the pool. Opening the container he applied the polish with surprising ex- pertise. A sense of excitement and confident daring was growing within him.

When the polish was dry on both hands and feet he donned the rubber bathing cap, buckled its chinstrap, and carefully pulled out a lock of blonde hair under the front of the cap to leave as a sort of wayward bang. His disguise was complete.

It was now a barefoot little girl who stepped along the path towards Watkins Hill Memorial Pool carrying a blue bathtowell in one hand and clutching thirty cents in the other. The little girl stepped cautiously lest she stub her toe on unexpected rocks. The noise of the swimming pool could be heard now just ahead, a medley of screams, voices, and splashing

water.

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