The reflection on the mirror was not really flattering; he had bloodshot eyes, a wild water-dripping stubble, greasy unruly hair. He dried his face on...the towel and remained still for a few more moments, drunkenly inspecting his reflection. Finally, he got tired of wishfully hoping for better looks and returned to the living room; he was about to head back to his room, perhaps to browse for some more porn—an ejaculation could be all he needed finally to fall asleep. Then, he noticed the. I pictured him rushing to the back store as bigdrops of sweat dripped from his forehead. With trembling hands, he wouldthen lay in front of me the latest in soviet fashion for men.Chances are, the best outfit would be an ugly one piece suit that was acarbon copy of the ones preceding it, but in my case... I liked ugly. Iwould have rocked it like it was 1917.The image made my smile.I imagined the joy of wearing man's clothing again, and not being thecentre of attention wherever I went. I. More

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