Ransvestia

muscular as some girls I had known. And in that dress with its low-cut blouse and full hips, I really had the figure of a girl. It was probably my movements that gave me away.

A lot of things about it intrigued me - the idea of being a serving maid, the pleasure of letting people see me, a kind of pride in the way I looked, and wanting to reciprocate for all she had done for me. Also, the fact that the party was still several days away made the decision less frightening. I decided to do it.

From that moment on, my anticipation began to grow. By the day of the party, I was so excited that I was almost no help to her. In disgust, she sent me off to dress.

It was a kind of vindication, when I was ready, to look at myself in the mirror and to realize that the lack of toughness that had been such a misery to me as I was growing up was now having such delicious rewards. How many of my boyhood friends, who were so good at baseball, wrestling, and all the rest, were now finding their masculinity limited to grunting at a televised ball game? Or taking out their frustrations by abusing their wives? Or having to boast continually about their sexual prowess to the other men on their jobs? I saw what had become of them the summer I worked for the railroad. Not one of them could claim one half the masculinity I could -- masculinity com- plemented by a profound appreciation and knowledge of femininity. How many of them with all their self-proclaimed bravery - could have dared to step far enough into the feminine world to have tried on a bra and girdle, let alone to have dressed as I was dressed? No sir, it was I who won. It was I who not only enjoyed my masculinity enough that I didn't have to go around proving that I had it, but who could know it all the more for daring to step beyond its borders.

—

I looked at myself in the mirror - partly out of pride, partly out of the need to counteract the fear that the gang of boys had engendered. I saw myself having all the zesty, wholesome charm of a country girl. I saw the gentle roundness of my breasts disappearing beneath the gathers of my blouse. I saw my slender waist and full hips. I lifted my skirts, and was warmed by the glossy, smooth, pink femininity of my girdle nestled in the lush layers of my petticoat.

"Hurry up," Sally called.

I gave a last touch-up to my lips and lashes and went to the kitchen to get things ready for drinks.