RANSVESTIA

As I was arriving at the obvious conclusion of all this we swung into the driveway, Gillian crying, “First one in gets the last of the grub (food) and booze!" Taking off her shoes she sprinted away to the door, though I was surprised to see that Claire almost caught up with her. I was far behind, of course, Her firm young breasts heaving beneath her bodice, Claire said, "Gillian, you are unfair, you know. You knew we had stockings on."

I kicked off my shoes, which were beginning to pinch a bit, in front of the welcome fire, and curled up on the settec, not too expertly, since one knee arked upward from the other right before the kneeling Gillian who cried "Wheeee!!!" in mock appreciation of the view under my dress. "Swallow this," she continued, handing me a refilled glass of wine. In a little while I asked Claire to rescue my own clothes from the hall closet in which she had quickly secreted them on our first entrance, so that I could go and change somewhere. "Use my room," said Gillian. "And look," she added, "why not leave the things here? Adrian (her younger brother at my school) will drop them off at the theatre tomor- row. He has to go to some special service at chapel." The chapel was part of my school. I thanked her, then rose as Claire came in with my clothes.

"Here you are," she said. “Let me undo your dress for you." I felt her fingers work their way down my back. Gillian's last comment was, "Help yourself to cleansing cream, it's in my bathroom, pink jar with a rose on top.

As my family and Claire's socialized a good deal, I saw more of Claire and Gillian until university and the war scattered everybody. Gillian became a W.A.A.F. officer, and while stationed at Tangmere (Fighter Command) during the Battle of Britain was killed by machine- gun fire from a low-flying 109. Claire married soon after the war and had two children; the first, a girl, she named Gillian. I am her godfather.

I met Claire in London two years ago. Alone together for the first time, we dined out in Soho and then went to see Danny la Rue's latest show. Some think him to be the greatest female impersonator since Julian Eltinge.

"Come up for a drink,” said Claire, as I stood with her outside her hotel overlooking Green Park. After the drinks were brought up we sat in the drawing-room, chatting about family affairs. Her hand closed over mine, and her eyes widened as I enjoyed the beauty of her face. She

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