ransvestia

having been apprehended in the potting shed. With such a news drought, I was lucky my pantie raid had not received banner headlines. My Friday night experience had been more shattering than I would ever be able fully to express. I knew the weekend was going to be one long horror, yet not long enough, because Monday morning would surely come and would mark the beginning of a nightmare that would not end for two long years, if then.

My parents, socially active, rather righteous people, felt humiliated by me. They had no understanding of my femmiphilic feelings and certainly no sympathy toward them. But I have this terrific sister, a couple of years older than I am, and she was wonderful. She is very worldly, and she buoyed me up considerably. I love her. Throughout that first weekend, though, awareness of my awful plight was never out of my mind. I anticipated with dread my coming ordeal. But, in fact, I underestimated it.

The awful Monday morning dawned cold and overcast. When I arrived at school, I could see it was going to be even worse than I had imagined. Little knots of kids stood about the entrance talking, and their conversations stopped abruptly when they spotted me ap- proaching. Some kids nudged their neighbors so that they could look at me, too. Those facing away from me sneaked looks with exaggerated surrepticiousness. Everybody was smiling, but not at me. When I pass- ed, everybody became very animated, and it was evident that I was the subject of their glee. I must have made a lot of people happy that day. Teenagers really relish other people's pains. Only one person spoke to me. A senior girl grinned contemptuously from one group and called out, "Hi there, slick! Did you enjoy your weekend?" Her companions thought that was pretty funny and directed sly, knowing, stares at me.

The entire student body assembled in the auditorium each Mon- c'ay morning for routine faculty announcements. A game was schedul- ed for that week, so the football coach opened the agenda with a kind of pep rally. Finishing up, the thoughtless man said, "... and speaking of the pom-pom girls, I see by the papers Washburn has been honored by an addition to our panty-clads. We can use her on the pom-pom varsity if we can coax her out of the potting shed."

The students cheered and whistled. Someone knocked on my seat- back. Heads turned all around the auditorium in an attempt to locate the new sissy. The gazes of a thousand eyes left no doubt that the new sissy was me. The worst part of all was seeing the girls' eyes reflecting

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