My moccasin shoes were nowhere to be found.Instead, a pair of matching one-inch women's heals were sitting at thefoot of my salon chair. All at once ... feeling of shock gave way to sheer panic. I could not letanyone see me this way. Quickly, with my remaining wits, I grabbed thematching shoes laid on the floor by my feet and dashed into a bathroomjust down the hall. I locked the door and sat down on the toilet to tryto make sense of my situation.Quietly I sat, as footsteps moved in the. It was funny. I wondered if men who had a real stubble felt anydiscomfort while shaving? I imagined myself having a coarse stubble andthe joy of having to shave it. For me, it was the epitome of manhood.I spoke a few words forcing myself to speak a few octaves lower then Iusually do when I am stressed so that my gender became unambiguous.As I went through the ritual, I couldn't help but to think about theyoung lady's breasts and her apparent naievete. I wanted her. Bad.Boyish good looks? That's. More

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