said to the three feminine fig- ures. Then he was gone down the hallway, several dark shapes stepping out of shadows to follow him.

"She has to change out of that dress," said Isabel, turning back to Consuela.

Consuela smiled. Isabel was obviously wondering why Esteban was wearing the long gown, though she must surely be aware of the feminizing effect of the tight dress on the young man. "I'll look out Irena's old Army uniform," Consuela said lightly. "It's what she would have worn, I'm sure. I'm afraid,” she smiled at the clouded, young face of the new Irena, "that you'll have to give up your pretty dresses for awhile, dar- ling. At least, until the fighting is over. But don't worry. Irena always wore a tight skirt with her army jacket, and you can still wear your beautiful under-

wear.'

""

was

even

The sickly smile that Este- ban displayed was a compound of shame and even further dis- may. His mind still held the memories of the first session of dressing in women's clothes with Isabel. The constrictions of the corset and napkins that he had worn for her were no longer unfamiliar. He getting used to them, as he was to the softness of feminine underthings, and even to the coolness of lipstick. His mind told him that a man should be both repulsed and scornful of dressing as a woman. The urgency, however, at restaurant, followed by the un- nerving airport experience, had allowed him little time to dwell on his predicament. He had tried, intensely, to be a woman- to preserve his own life. But the leisure he had enjoyed in Irena's apartments had given him time to think about what he was doing. Each time he thought of how trapped he was, he thought of tearing the false bosom from his chest, or peeling off the

Perez'

clinging nylon stockings.

Yet, whenever he thought of wiping his face clean of make- up and taking off his dresses, high heels, panties and the like, he thought of the terrible con- sequences that this would bring. For Esteban Varga had been a prisoner in San Martino. Kept with the 'politicals,' he had been acutely aware of the special 'interrogations' conducted there by the Interior Department. He had seen two of the mindless wrecks left in Cell 218 after an 'intense' session of questioning. Esteban knew that such treat- ment would be his if he refused to wear his feminine clothing..... and he feared a return to San Martino more than he feared anything in the world, even death of disgrace.

He would have been a fool not to fear San Martino. He felt sick when he thought of the Prisoners' Vow, that each had been called upon to make after seeing the results of the 'intense questioning' sessions. Even Esteban had taken it, vowing that, if it was ever in his power, he would destroy the prison by whatever means he could. Now the power did actually lie in his feminized hands, with their red-lacquered nails. But he quaked at the thought of the course he was now taking. He wondered if any other prisoner would do what he was now doing if he could.

He suddenly remembered Hector Chuna, and the inane babbling that had had the whole block on edge for a week. The babbling was only broken by excessive bouts of head-banging, until, mercifully, the Revolution had decreed that the teenage leader of student demonstrations against the jailing of 'Democrat' professor, Luis Abrado Camar, be shot for 'high crimes against the people.'

Esteban slowly rose from the chair to which he had been shunted while Isabel negotiated with Salluca. His dress hugged

31

him tightly, and not unpleasant- ly, his breasts very tight while the long wig swirled hair about his face, earrings and neck. "I'll wear what's needed," he said softly.

The two women exchanged glances, tinged with scorn, as Esteban moved off with mincing

steps to the long wardrobe at the back of the small room. "I'll be the one to decide what Esteban does or does not do," said Isabel sharply. "I represent the Democrats here, and we will take part part in every decision involving Irena.'

"

""

"Why, of course, dear,' Consuela purred, with a mocking smile. She stepped after Esteban, and began to undo the fasteners on the back of his dress. "But remember, I'm the only one who knows how Irena really thought and felt." She looked at the thin figure in the padded red bra and silk panties. "Irena will need me at her elbow to make sure she makes no 'faux pas' in dealing with all her ex-lovers." Consuela smiled wickedly, as Esteban's painted, girlish face was ravaged again by fear and anxiety, while Isabel just glowered at Consuela in frustration.

*

IV

NEW FRIENDS.

•

The dark-haired boy blush- ed the whole time that he walked up and down in front of the two women, his pencil-slim skirt about his thighs preventing him from striding in a masculine way. Even the creamy makeup on his cheeks could not hide the em- barrassment he felt as he tried to follow their directions to "think feminine."

"Why don't you let him wear the wig?" asked Isabel crossly, eyeing the youth's smooth, shaven legs, so slender and even pretty in the sheer stockings Consuela had made him wear.