ransvestia

know me here," murmured Romy. At my unspoken query, she added, "They know I'm a transvestite."

"Just what is that?" I asked as we stepped into the elevator.

Her head swivelled quickly to look at me. "You don't know?" she said in astonishment.

"Oh, I know you're a man now," I said, returning her stare. "But you won't always be, right?"

She shook her head violently. "That's a transsexual," she said quickly. "A person who wants to change their sex is called a trans- sexual. A transvestite is happy with the sex into which they were born."

"Oh," I said, eyeing her up and down. "You just dress up like a woman to attract men."

We'd reached her floor. Her face was a picture of outrage and shock. "I am not a homosexual," she hissed at me. "Men do not attract me at all."

I pushed my way along beside her until she stopped at a door and began to fumble frenziedly in her purse. "You only dance with men," I said pointedly.

"I like to dance," she snapped. She had found the key and had inserted it into the door lock. "Now, if you don't mind, will you please go away? You obviously have the wrong impression about Romy Pohlman." She stepped into the hallway beyond and began to close the door.

I stopped the door closing. She tried to push it and glared at me furiously as I casually held it open with one hand. "You like to dress as a woman," I said slowly, "because it feels right for you. There's a strong feminine side to your nature that has to express itself and you even feel relaxed and secure as a woman.”

She stopped pushing at the door. Her eyes opened wider, the eye- liner and eyeshadow making them huge and feminine. "You too?" she asked doubtfully.

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