They always shared a smile but never spoke more than a polite hello. She’d often whisper, “fuck,” when she’d just missed the elevator and whil... she waited, she’d tuck in her shirt, or put on an earring, or comb back her short hair. She dressed smart: tight-fitting skirt, ironed shirt, stockings, practical shoes, and librarian glasses. Occasionally, she’d wear a dress—she liked playful, bright-coloured frocks—and on Fridays, she sported tight-fitting jeans.Her name was Clare—he knew that from. "Did she see me as a man or a woman now? For that matter what did I seemyself as now?It was hard to think of myself as a man any more. The manner in which Ihad just been penetrated was not the sort of thing that happened to aman was it? And since waking up this morning the costumes I had beenwearing were unmistakably feminine.And, if I had felt foolish going into a strip bar I used to frequent,dressed as a French Maid earlier this evening and reporting to the Madamas her new cleaner, or if I. More

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