ransvestia

"Does

your mother say anything about your clothes?"

"Sometimes

she likes them

but it's mostly Daddy; he has some-

thing grim to say almost every day!"

"Why did you come to my office dressed like that?"

"Good grief Luv!" said Cass, springing up onto her elbow and turn-

ing to the doctor. "Does it embarrass you

what's wrong with a sweater don't answer let me

and a tweed skirt in mid-afternoon in the winter

guess; you don't like mini-skirts or you think my fun-fur too funky.”

"I think you know what I mean," the doctor suggested, disdainfully serious.

"It's the mini ...

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"Come, come now...

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"Well, which?" Cass asked dropping back on the couch -- still swing- ing her chunky-heeled spectator back and forth. "The fur . . . these shoes...?"

"Tell me what

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"Yeeps!" Cass cried — interrupting. "I suppose you're like Daddy. You think I should wear a suit and tie. Ah, Doctor P., but then you would have been even more embarrased because I really look like some- thing else in a man's suit . . . this blonde hair and all it's not a wig you

know. I do have a cute pant-suit thing though. I could have worn that.”

"Why didn't you wear a regular suit?”

"Like I said, I didn't want to embarrass you."

'Nothing embarrasses me, young ma... lady man!"

—

"Why don't you call me 'Cass"?"

"Casper ... !"

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