RANSVESTIA

caused me to once again close my eyes. But each time I re-opened them the image of the Scott house and the surrounding houses became clearer.

I was back in time to the age of six!

But it was no dream. Because I could, at the same time, continue to feel the dull throbbing of my neck. There was also the continued pull of the ropes and the knowledge that I couldn't move. Moreover, I could feel the girls working on my fingers, and Sylvia still shaving me with the

razor.

They had administered the powerful LSD drug!

That had to be it. Because, how could I know Sylvia and her goon- girls were still working on me; how could I feel the throbbing of Sylvia's blow; how could I feel the pull and burn of the ropes and yet not bring the girls into focus, or hear their gay laughter and banter, or smell their intense perfume?

Instead, a young girl was coming out of the Scott house. It was Judy! Judy, whom I hadn't seen since the age of six. Only her face bore a re- markable resemblance to Ruth! I kept closing my eyes and re-opening them. But always, she was coming nearer and nearer to where I stood - only I could not feel myself standing there before her.

She was carrying a little pink, pinafore dress and a pair of patent- leather shoes. As she stood directly in front of my eyes I could smell her fragrance, the same sweet fragrance I could recall on the hundreds and hundreds of occasions when we had played together. And then her voice. Not Ruth Zittner's voice, but the voice of Judy Scott-six years old.

"Donny," she said clearly, "I want you to dress up again for me.

"But those mean ol' Harris brothers might come walking down the alley looking for pop bottles and see me, Judy,” a voice pleaded. Whose voice? Someone had spoken the words because Judy heard them! Was this my raspy, girlish voice at age six? I closed my eyes to shut off the impossible torment.

But Judy continued pleading with me. Explaining that I had dressed up in her clothes the day before and she wanted me to do it again. My mind reeled with the fury of what was happening. I knew my memory