RANSVESTIA

outside my locked room? I fantasised myself walking down Bond Street or Piccadilly, a woman among women, but it was only a dream. I sighed. It would need much more than just my own strength of will to force me to go out in public and how could that ever happen?

I busied myself about the room. Having earlier decided on the blue costume for this evening I carefully repacked Karen's case with everything she would not require for the moment, checking off each item as I did so. This was an insurance against accidental discovery by the maid in the morning of some revealing and embarassing item which could only belong to a woman. I was to stay in the hotel for some days and I had no desire to be suspected of masquerading as a woman or even just of having one overnight in my bedroom. It didn't take more than a few minutes to clear up and it gave me a comfort- able feeling of security when it was done.

Subconsciously as I worked, I had noticed that a thunderstorm which had been grumbling in the distance as I dressed had been coming closer. Now a louder than usual crash really made me jump. Thunderstorms frighten me and I began to feel uneasy. I put on my costume jacket, turned off the room lights and stepped cautiously out onto the balcony.

I strained to see in the dense blackness beneath the thundercloud. It was dry for the moment but rain was all around. The wind was gusty and I could feel my skirt blowing about my knees. Ridiculously I was fanning the air before my eyes to brush away the darkness when, with terrifying suddenness the sky was white lit by a brilliant flash and a giant oak tree not far away was struck by lightning. In the almost continuous flashes which followed, gripping the balcony rail in agitation I watched the tree's death throes as it slowly leaned over and, burning brightly, crashed to the ground. The noise was tre- mendous, the thunderclaps deafening. It began to rain. As I hurried back into my room the wind blew the balcony door against me and I struck my head on the door frame.

The bruise itself was nothing but the bump untidied my wig and I went over to the dressing table to put it on its stand and brush it back into shape. I loathe the sight of my man's short haircut when I'm made-up for it totally destroys the illusion I've been at such pains to create and I hurried to complete the repairs as yet another brilliant flash lit the room. It wasn't until I'd replaced the wig and was patting