RANSVESTIA

I knew she meant "gay girls"... but she would never use that term. Of course, it was true. Almost everyone in the neighborhood knew I was a girl, after that accident with Jimmy. But how come that "queer" business did not come up when I was changed into feminine clothes?

More scared than belligerent at mother's outburst, I held my tongue. The idea of another school sort of tranquilized me. A little ... anyway. And then... as I reflected further... I was more used to skirts now, rough pants would feel awkward and funny. How stupid can one get?

As the subject was buried for that night, I lay thinking in bed. It never occurred to me that probably many of my classmates would also be transferred to the new school.

―

So, come Sept. 4 and there I was dressed in new lingerie and the recently-acquired Tartan school dress. The one with the spanking white round collar and cuffs. Nylons and two-inch heels, my new hair- style... a ponytail, tied with a red matching ribbon. My skirts to just above the knees, and a tight white patent leather belt buckled around my small waist. I had seen in the mirror that I looked, shall we say... delectable? But still mother had to push me out the door. For the last time I begged her to at least let me wear slacks. But it was

no use.

"It's not proper for a girl to wear pants to school. You don't want to be like one of those crazy women... liberationists?"

—

"You look very nice now so off with you and behave like a good daughter."

With butterflies in my stomach and knocking knees, I approached a group of students, waiting for the bus at the street corner. When there was no one from my class, I sighed with relief. Maybe mother had been right. I saw that the boys were obviously interested, when I nodded a shy hello to their waved greeting. They were too busy watching my figure and legs to do more than stutter a hello back. Just when I was beginning to feel a little better about all this, the bus

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