RANSVESTIA

in her eyes. As if I just had revoked God, Country and Motherhood in one fell sweep.

"No, not ever, "I said. "Suppose someone sees me ... I'll die."

Mother frowned disappointedly, but she did not say anything. The women finally parted, the guests Christining and kissing me to death. and distraction.

"Aren't they nice friends, Chrissie?" Mother said and then in her final voice: "They're good people." That always ended any argument about our guests. It said everything as far as mother was concerned. Just like it's not done. A final, unassailable, hard rock fact. So now two good people knew I was a girl at home.

Since that day, Mrs. Weingarten and Mrs. Rosalia appeared to visit with much greater frequency. It seemed to me that they were there almost all of the time. Or at least, every other day, I found one of them when I came home from school.

Where mother initially had her little plot to keep me under her wing by making me wear girls' clothes at home (I had long since be- come used to wearing panties even to school), the three of them now seemed hellbent on making me look completely like a girl. I say "look" but I really mean... ACT... FEEL... LIVE like a girl. Mrs. Weingarten insisted on teaching me how to improve my makeup. I must admit she was a whiz at it. Mom kept on showing me what she could do with my hair. She still brushed it for me every night and I usually wore it in plaits now. I once suggested a visit to the barber for a haircut. But mother reacted like I was going to have my nose cut off. So eventually I got used to them also.

One day Mrs. Rosalia insisted that I learn to "use my hands," as she called it. It began when a little lace had torn from my slip and showed under my skirt.

"Christine ... you can't wear a torn slip like that. Did not your mother show you how to fix that?"

"No, of course not," I said.

"That's terrible," she replied. "You're old enough now to do those

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