RANSVESTIA

The following week when I entered the tiny place of business, I was wearing my waist cinch under my masculine outer clothes and was carrying the long, black half-slip that complimented the skirt. Of course, the slip was discretely wrapped.

To my dismay, a woman was standing in the work area as the old lady fussed about her, marking a formal gown that looked as if its seams were about to pop open of their own accord. The customer fussed about her weight and her inability to stay on her diet. The seamstress looked toward me and grinned. "You should have figure like him," she said, gazing directly at my waist where the cinch was pulling me in. I was suddenly flushed.

The woman looked about and I could feel my face getting redder. "Oh, you men!" Her eyes looked me up and down and she rattled on about the difficulty her metabolism brought to her life. "I would give anything for a figure like that!" I was flattered.

After a few more minutes of fussing and fuming and tugging, the plump lady was changed and gone and I was called into the back

room.

The old lady handed me the skirt saying, "You wear something for nice figure today?" I nodded and she was gone.

I had worn a white nylon shirt for my apontment so that the combina- tion with the skirt would not be too incongruous. Besides, I liked its feel.

In a moment, my trousers were on the hangar and I slid into the slithery half-slip. The skirt followed. Fastening the clasps at the back and closing the zipper, I could tell immediately that the alterations were perfect.

"How you like?" she called from the front.

I stuck my head through the curtain that separated front from back and invited her in to see for herself. Her bent body circled me in silence. Then, again. This time she placed her worn fingers inside the waistband and gave a slight tug. "Uh-huh! I tell you I do nice job! No?"

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