RANSVESTIA

walk in high heels. I used to wonder how many enjoyed it as much as I did. The older annuals I later acquired usually gave generous space to the annual drama production, so that the pictures give what is virtually a little history of fashion from the first world war onward. Waist-nip- ping corsets and complicated draping are still evident in 1915, while in 1927 the boyish look for girls made simulation much easier. That year featured a musical with several boys got up as rosy-cheeked, wide- eyed flappers in short frilly skirts, cloche hats, shoes with straps over the insteps, long necklaces and bloomers of some heavy, shiny material the camera had caught them in a leg-kicking Charleston step,

Later annuals I have continued to receive feature the rather unattrac- tive post-war fashions of the late forties, and then the more attractive new look that suited the tall, slim figure, sometimes with the very full skirts supported by multi-layered waist petticoats or crinolines; the stiff versions of the latter were a hazard to nylons until my girl friend donated some ordinary nylon waist slips to wear underneath them. By 1950 1 had collected my own wardrobe and dressed up quite often, to the point in that year and the next of going out in public with that girl friend. Only some of her things would fit me, notably slips and panties, but such things as stockings, dresses, skirts, and even a smart coat and a full-length white nightdress, she bought or borrowed for me. Her jewelry, make-up and perfumes were mine to use at will. She even lacquered my nails for me on special occasions. And this blissful re- lationship all began when I showed her the old pictures of School for Scandal, in particular a photo of Lady Sneerwell in which I was sitting forward on a chair, back straight, legs demurely pressed together and angled to one side, so that the pleated section of my skirt at the rear draped down behind my legs and exposed an amount of slip lining the skirt to an inch or two of the strip of inside hemming material. “O, your slip's showing!" she giggled ecstatically, and soon after she cuddled up to me and in a breathy whisper said, "Do let me dress you up, darl- ing!" And away we went.

Claire came to the last performance, without Jossy, but with a girl friend of her own age, introducing me to her backstage after the play. Claire was a vision in white and I was excited by our play's success but sad to know I would have to take off all my clothes for the last time in just a few minutes. Still in a feminine attitude I stood talking to Claire and her friend, my legs together, hands loosely folded in front of me. Moving slightly I could feel the soft caress of Claire's fine satin bloomers between my upper thighs, the down-pointing of my feet inside their

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