RANSVESTIA

three of them apparently women, one my mother, one her younger sis- ter, and one I didn't recognize. It was this last one that was receiving the amused attention of the others. She was wearing an evening dress, heavy jewelery, and her hair was done in the tight, short curls of the period. Suddenly, from the remarks being made, I realized that “she ̈ was my father, and I remember my heart beginning to pound as I took in the details of his costume the long evening gloves, the fur stole, the sparkling necklace and earrings. All this cannot have taken more than half a minute, for they were all about to go out the front door to the neighboring house of my aunt, presumably for a drink. One of the last tragments of conversation I overheard was a remark addressed in a gig- gling tone to my father: "It's cold tonight -- I hope you've got bloomers on underneath!” As he went out the hem of his gown swirled to give me a glimpse of a fragile gilt evening slipper and white silk stocking. And I remember quite clearly that he walked easily and naturally in the shoes and clothes, an evening purse hanging from one arm, the other arm holding the stole to his well-upholstered bosom.

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The incident did not in any way affect my attitude to my father anything, I believe I thought his “disguise" to be very clever. Even so, knowing I might have got into trouble by revealing the fact that I'd got out of bed long after I should have been asleep, I said nothing to either of my parents about it. Next morning after my father had gone to his office and Mother was out shopping or visiting somewhere, I wandered upstairs for something from my room. On my way back I glanced into my parent's bedroom and saw, hanging behind an open closet door, the dress my father had had on the night before. The vividness of the previous night's experience flooded back to me so that, naturally curious, I went in to look at it. My tactile memories suggest to me that it was probably chiffon lace over heavy crepe; it was black with bits of gold embroidery about the bodice. I was strangely excited. And then, under a nearby chair. I saw the shoes he'd been wearing. And on and over the chair were the things he must have had on underneath the dress, a long satiny slip of some dark pastel shade embroidered over the bodice with little flowers, a pair of stockings (they were so heavy then that a man probably didn't have to shave his legs), a stiff and complicated pink garment with things hanging from it and a row of hooks and eyes that I later learned was a corselette, and a pair of blomers that matched the slip. This last gar- ment intensified my excitement greatly. The elastic waist seemed so small, the embroidery above the elastic in the legs so delicate. I thought it must be wonderful to be able to wear them and all the other things. Lastly I saw a wig on the dressing table.

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