afraid that my feminine (padded) bosom might be discovered under my overcoat which I had put on as loosely as possible to avoid the contours). Antje asked me to come again in a fortnight in the evening, after dark. I happily accepted, but there was a condition: She would not receive me as a man, but only as her maid. So I had to repeat my transformation again. When I arrived at her house door, I rang the bell. The automatic buzzer opened the door and Antje from above asked: Who is it? Whereupon I answered: It is me, the maid. Where- upon she said: Come on in. I quickly closed the street door, and before I rushed up the stairs, I removed my overcoat, hat and shoes, which I put in my suitcase, put on my maid's shoes, and the wig, smoothed my uniform, and up I rushed as fast as possible in my shoes, into the arms of my girl friend.

Because of the war in the adjoining countries, I later on accepted a job in a country in southern Europe. Here again, I finally was lucky enough to meet an understanding girl. She turned out to be a dress maker and beautician. Often she would spend hours until my lips and hairdo were made up by her to her full satisfaction. I had to keep the hairpins ready, etc. and she got quiet impatient when I did not pass them as fast as she needed them. She often grew angry when I blinked while she tried to treat with mascara and brush up my eye lashes. Al- though I seemed to look genuine I still had my doubts. Vacation time came and her 14 year old daughter was home, and my friend had in- vited and transformed me before her daughter's arrival, just to prove that nobody would find out the "truth" not even when up close talking with me. It is true that I always had and still have soft voice by nature, and I still am often addressed on the phone as "Miss," "Madame" or "Mrs" unless I correct the operator. I often do not and I still get a thrill when passing as a woman on the phone. Although we spent many hours in the presence of the daughter to whom I was introduced as an aunt of her mother, my last doubts about recognition disappeared. When Carnival (similar to Mardi Gras or Holloween) came, my friend –I believe her name was Maria—rented gypsy costumes for her daugh- ter and for me, while she wore something different, also fancy, of course. We had lots of fun in the streets and the Cafes, where we rested up a bit, having just some milk, tea or a soft drink and cake. In one of the cafes, Maria met an elder gentleman, a friend of hers, to whom I was introduced as her aunt from out of town. That nice man unfortu- nately seemed to fall madly in love with me and asked for a date. I had to deny it saying that I had to leave town. Although I was naughty enough to try my feminine charms on him, by showing a bit of my

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