RANSVESTIA

"Looks like a fairy."

"Let's take a look," said my captor, trying to lift my skirt.

I knocked his hand away.

"Gimme the purse," he commanded, grabbing it.

He opened it, and found a couple of cards with Sally's name on them.

"Where did you get this purse?"

"It's my wife's," I told him.

"I suppose that skirt's your wife's, too," he said sarcastically.

I didn't answer.

"I don't think this here Sally wants to talk. Let's see what she keeps under her skirt."

He tried again to raise my skirt. Instinctively I shoved him away, but since he outweighed me by about a hundred pounds, I didn't have much effect. He reached again, and I hit him as hard as I could, in the stomach. Like a flash, something hit me, and I was on the floor.

"Take it easy, Al."

"I'm going to teach this here queer a lesson," he snarled.

"You could kill him, Al," the woman cautioned.

"That wouldn't be no loss."

"Let him alone, Al, he didn't do you no harm. He just bought a pack of cigarets."

"That's what you think. This here ain't no fairy bar, and we're go- ing to keep it that way."

He reached again for my skirt.

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