RANSVESTIA

would ring just from the "concept" of my going out in public in the clothes of the opposite gender. That almost mischievous sense of excite- ment was slowly replaced by a wonderful calm. It was natural and good that I accpeted and expressed the feminine aspects of my per- sonality. And this acceptance and expression have brought to me a remarkable serenity that has helped me survive the past twelve years. As I walked to the restaurant I watched the people around me, not wondering how many could tell I was really a man, but wondering how many of my sisters were out that night.

As I walked into the restaurant I saw Arnie standing by the bar. He saw me and came over to where I was standing.

"Evening, Bobbie," he said smiling. "What are you drinking?"

"Whiskey and soda," I said in the slightly hused alto that I use as a

woman.

Arnie ordered my whiskey and a martini for himself. We then made our way to a booth in a far corner of the dark room. I thought I had left Greg's frustrations in the apartment, but apparently some had stayed with me.

"Something bothering you, Bobbie?" Arnie asked.

"Nothing," I said in an effort to bravely, vainly dispel his concern. "It's just been a very long day."

The drinks came, I took a sip from mine and looked up to see Ar- nie staring at me. He looked deeply into my eyes as if looking for something. Then I realized what he saw in my eyes. He saw Greg. I was going to say something, but Arnie spoke first.

"Just who am I out with tonight? Bobbie or Greg?" he asked.

"What difference does it make? I mean really."

"Well, if I'm out with Bobbie I'm in the company of an intelligent and attractive girl. If I'm out with Greg I'd just as soon be playing handball with him.”

I sighed and told Arnie about Greg's rotten day and the story of how Betty Clapper went over my head by going under my feet behind

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