RANSVESTIA

clothes, evening dress, gloves, pearls and . . . and everything. Not bad, eh? Not as nice as you, though," she added quickly. “The rabbit in the other picture's me." But my eyes were all for Uncle Trevor in a long and clinging gown of some dark material, slit up to the knee on one side to reveal a stocking-clad leg and a high-heeled black. ankle-strap shoe. He had a knitted lace stole over one arm, a long cigarette holder in the other hand, and an elaborate turban instead of a wig. The pose was a most feminine one.

"He must have had a corset on," said Claire, no doubt seeing the nipped-in waist, the smooth in-and-out line from chest to hip.

"Of course," said Gillian, wishing to appear knowledgable, “or he couldn't have got into Mummy's dress. And he wore Mummy's best undies, I know, because I saw them when he was doing something to his stockings in the powder room. Black ones of glove silk they were." I stared at the picture with a strange, stimulating kind of fascination. "He must have dressed up before, though," Gillian prattled on, “be- cause Mummy laughed about some time somebody had mistaken him for a lady."

The album had edged my dress up over my knees and I noticed Gillian taking quick glances underneath it from her position on the floor. I let it slide up a little more and boldly parted my legs a little. The wine had relaxed me, in fact we were all feeling very gay. I glanced at Claire's little watch -only ten o'clock (the play had begun at six) and it was Saturday. My parents had given me freedom to stay out later if I wished in case there was a party somewhere after the play. Well, there was!

Gillian grabbed the album, slammed it shut, and suddenly rolled on to her back and kicked her legs in the air out of an excess of high spirits. A cloud of slip fell down to her hips so that I enjoyed a full view of dainty white bloomers stretched tightly over her young bottom, the material tugging at the elastic visibly pressing lightly into the upper reaches of the backs of her white thighs. She had no stockings on.

“Gillian!" called out Claire. "Really, when are you going to grow up?" Gillian sat up cross-legged, hair hanging down over one side of her face. She looked solemnly at Claire, then slowly stuck out her pink tongue. Claire couldn't help laughing as she said, "You should be in pigtails and white knee-socks."

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