RANSVESTIA

"You'll cut your hair, too?" asked Dr. Aaronson, trying to be as calm and professional as possible.

She turned to face him, her dark lashes brushing against soft cheeks. "Yes," she murmured. She opened her eyes. There was real hurt in them and Aaronson felt a compelling need to reach out, to comfort her, to hold her close. "As soon as you get rid of my my female appendages, I'll cut it all off," her hand caressed the blonde locks in a wistful gesture. "Then, I suppose, I'll have to dye it."

...

There was a silence while the two regarded one another for a long moment. She held his eyes, her small chin thrust forward in determination, looking very much like a spoiled little girl, pouting to get her own way.

"All right," said Aaronson finally. "I'll have to examine you. You'll have to take your blouse off."

"Shirt," said Angie, as she undid her jacket buttons and slipped it off. It was clear then, as even Sam Aaronson could see, that she was indeed wearing a pink shirt.

"If you so much want to be a man again," Aaronson asked, "why are you still wearing mostly women's clothing?"

She smiled and the whole library seemed at once lit up in femininity. "The suit's as mannish as I can find," she said. "And it's a pretty effective disguise."

She slipped off the shirt. She was wearing a pink slip over her bra. Aaronson nodded at her unspoken question and went for the bag he always kept in his desk drawer. As he turned back, she had taken off the short slip and the bra, but she still kept an arm across her breasts. She bit her lower lip in her nervousness.

"Oh, come on," he growled. "We're both men here, aren't we?"

She gave him a funny smile and took her arms away with an awkward, nervous gesture. Her breasts were full, firm and luscious. Aaronson realized suddenly that the view he was looking at would have been worth millions to any movie maker, a frontal, bare- breasted look at Angie Saunders. And it would have been worth every penny of the money, thought Dr. Aaronson.

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