Clothes Make The Man - 2 free porn video

A note before: It would be a lot easier for you to read the first part of this story than for me to try and explain it but here is an attempt. Max Stanley, a one-time real estate and web entrepreneur, was convicted for fraud and for hosting and managing pornographic websites (obviously this is a fictional society). Civil penalties took almost all of his money and he was sentenced to three year's community service at a not- for-profit. He was also sentenced to live as a woman for those three years. Enjoy. Chapter 1: New Hair I walked out of the Mercedes Hair Salon feeling more self-conscious than I had in a long time. In the ten months since my sentencing I visited the salon at least five times and Marlene kept my hair neatly trimmed at shoulder length so I could wear it tied back. It hardly mattered. When you see a stocky, five foot nine man dressed in woman's clothing his hair is the last thing you look at. After ten months I still got my share of double takes, laughter and hostile looks but people in Colonie had seen me often enough in the papers or on TV to just ignore me. My story had long been buried beneath bad financial news, the wars in the Middle East and local scandals and tragedies. Judge Martin sentenced me to three years living as a woman so that I could experience the humiliation of being stared at, laughed at and objectified. I certainly was experiencing that but something had changed. I, Max Stanley, late-thirties and male found something rewarding in the time and care it took to look good, or as good as I could. Marlene registered no surprise when I sat down in the salon chair and said "today let's try something different." "Okay Max, what would you like? I keep saying you could do with some highlights." "That's the problem Marlene I don't know what I want. I don't want something really short and I still want to be able to tie it back but I am getting tired of what I have." Marlene spun the chair around and took a long look. She picked up a loose leaf binder and flipped through pages glancing up and down between me and the book. "How about this Max? This is Sandra Bullock at the MTV awards. We pull the hair forward like this, layer it a bit and cut it deliberately unevenly here. Think about a few lighter brown highlights as well. No, Okay, but what about the cut?" I walked out of the salon and headed toward my car. I had to hurry so that I could be home by seven and touch my electronic bracelet to the reader in my cottage. Miss the deadline and Parole would be calling to lecture me. I also hurried because I felt marked, tagged, by the new hairstyle and even in the dark February evening I wasn't ready to be seen. At home I placed my bracelet against the reader and punched in my PIN. The lights went through the red, yellow, green sequence and I was now in the house until the morning. It had become such a habit I barely noticed the action and got to work on my evening activities of reading the mail, getting dinner started and changing out of my work clothes. The Tri-County Family Relief Fund was a pretty casual place to work. I put in my forty hours a week community service at minimum wage mostly hidden in the back. None-the-less I had started dressing nicely and kept my limited wardrobe as neat as I could. I unbuttoned the beige blouse, no longer fumbling with the left hand buttons and tossed it into the laundry basket. The calf-length denim skirt was hung on a skirt hanger and I sat down to peel off the oatmeal flecked tights. In just pale yellow panties and a brassiere I stretched and enjoyed the feeling of air on my bare skin. At one point I would have shrugged on a t-shirt and a running suit. Now I changed into nice jeans and a flannel shirt in subtle purples and pinks. I eased my feet into slippers and went to sort the mail. First though I looked in the mirror and touched my hair. Before, when I tied it back, I could forget about it. Now the ends of the hair brushed my neck and shoulders and the sweep of the cut seemed to soften the harder lines of my face. I took the silver hoops out of my ears and put them in the cigar box that stored few pieces of jewelry, replacing them with simple gold posts and walked into the living room. My cottage was small and in February the heating and insulation were barely adequate. I sat down at the dining table pulling on the sweater that always hung on my chair. The mail contained nothing of interest and I tossed it into the can to be recycled later. A "ding" from the kitchen told me the pasta was done and I prepared for another evening of reading and loneliness. When the phone rang I was deep into a mystery novel with strong lesbian overtones and I hated to leave the Victorian age to pick up the twenty first century device. I talked, listened and then chuckling agreed to do what I could. I made a note on my calendar and sat back down to think. Shortly after I was sentenced to community arrest the local gay/lesbian/bi/trans society asked me to speak about what is was like to be forced to wear women's clothing. I turned them down, primarily because the terms of my arrest included me being at home after seven in the evening. After a bit Parole began giving me some leeway for meetings, church services and the like. I would contact my parole officer and see if GLBT meetings counted. In the meantime it would be fun to write "... sort of a five to ten minute bunch of thoughts Mr. Stanley" as a mental exercise. Dressed in a medium brown skirt suit with a white blouse I stood behind the table and looked at the small crowd. About fifteen people had come to hear the talk and I recognized two members of the press. One member of the audience was dressed en femme and was sort of persuasive. The rest of the audience was disappointingly unremarkable. "Good evening. About ten months ago Janet sent me a letter asking me to talk to this group about cross-dressing from a non-gender determinative platform. Yes those were her exact words and it took me a minute or two to figure them out. What I think she meant, and Janet please correct me if I am wrong, I think she meant to say that I did not choose or want to cross dress but was doing so because the court ordered me to." "I can't discuss that any more. Ten months dressing as a woman has morphed into living as a woman. And going through the motions has changed into feeling, or at least trying to feel the emotions. I have discovered that where I once took pride in how well I dressed, how nicely my suits fit and how well my ties were chosen, I now take pride in the fit of a skirt or the selection of a blouse." Ten minutes later I sat down and the questions began. The moderator quickly shut down the two reporters explaining that this was an evening for members of the GLBT community. The questions were all easy to answer except one. "Max, if you are dressing as a woman and trying to live as a woman, why haven't you changed your name? You said you thought about it." I had given a lot of thought to this and tried to explain that I thought of myself as Max Stanley, male, living as a woman, not as a woman with a woman's name but a man's body. I think I got message across. Then the meeting moved on to announcements and refreshments. Coffee in one hand and a homemade cookie in the other I was ready when the first reporter came up. Dan Rickett and I were as friendly as a reporter and a target could ever get and even with the second reporter now listening in I was willing to answer some questions. "So Max, by the way you're looking good can I get a better picture of you before this is over, so Max I take it your next Parole Board meeting is coming up in April. Will you be asking for a shortening of your sentence or a change in the restrictions?" I danced around a bit saying it was too early to decide anything, I was only one year into a three year sentence, I hinted that there were parties invested in my serving the whole sentence, and then ended with a sentence I had been working on since I saw Rickett in the crowd. "I am committed to really learning from this experience. I accept fully that I cheated people financially and objectified and victimized woman through the erotic websites my company ran. I cannot, at this moment, say that I have incorporated this emotionally as well as logically. I have to give that a lot more thought." The other reporter asked me the standard BS questions about where I shopped and if I was harassed and then Rickett fired off a few more shots on his camera and I went back to socializing. I had another twenty minutes before I had to leave. Parole gave me until ten to be back so I moved in, smiled and joined the conversations. I didn't get many chances to mingle and talk. That night I had some freedom and reveled in the chance to converse. Interestingly, even though I mentioned that I was not gay three people pressed me on the issue as if they needed to justify something within themselves. When I excused myself I had the phone number of a nice woman who could help with decorating on the cheap, and one from a man who insisted I take it. His number I'd toss when I got home. I felt good as I drove through the snowy streets. The GLBT group didn't meet any needs but if Parole would let me out one evening a month to attend I would go. Now I parked the car and checked my answering machine. I checked in with Parole and prepared for bed. Tomorrow was the last Friday of the month and that meant a busy day at Tri-County. I'd wear the suit again but change the blouse for a very muted pink sweater. I would look good. Chapter 2: The Little Black Dress Tri-County ran on an odd calendar. December through February were the busiest of the months and April, May and June rather laid back. That meant when March came around we all gave a collected sigh of relief. Mark started talking about baseball again. Emma gossiped about her girl friends and Pam, whenever she came out of her shy cocoon, talked about sailing with her husband and the newest fashions. Our director, Jane Erlich, stopped shaking with tension and started sitting down in the back for cups of coffee and the front office staff and volunteers were occasionally seen gossiping or reading the paper. I was probably the only person at Tri-County who missed the frenzy because in my case it meant more time to think. I was now used to wearing skirts, dresses or tailored slacks and the tug of the silicone forms and pressure of the brassiere were forgotten within five minutes of putting them on in the morning. I had not become used to the social isolation and loneliness. At eight in the morning I left my little house and drove to Tri-County. At five I reversed the process, maybe doing some shopping on the way home or taking a brief walk around the neighborhood. By seven I held my electronic bracelet to the device next to my phone, punched the buttons and was alone in my house until morning. Parole gave me some leeway to attend church events, the occasional LBGT meeting or work late at Tri-County but other than that I was as buried as any pathologically shy wallflower in the pages of the psych. text. I called Ida one evening and we talked for a while. It was nice but left me dissatisfied. We were briefly lovers and remained friends but Ida couldn't handle the fact that I was trying to dress nicely and look good, or as good as a stocky man could, in a dress. It was fine when I struggled along in poorly chosen clothes but now that I shopped carefully and took care of my hair the relationship changed. Where once we tumbled on the bed or couch now we saw each other in passing and talked on the phone. "Max wake up, join the living." I dragged myself back to the present and turned to look at Jane. She leaned against the copier and waited until Pam finished stapling a report. "OK, first I want to say how much I appreciate the work you have done these past few months. With the unemployment rate so high and that major storm and power outage we've been extremely busy and have done damn well. Emma thanks for keeping the back office running so well and that goes for you too Pam, Mark and Max. Max thanks for getting our filing system in order. Front office people, you know you've done a good job because the clients haven't rioted. Angie, you're our only volunteer here today but you folks have gone above and beyond." We all sat back and felt the glow of praise and I tried to remember if I ever gathered the staff together to say thanks when I was an employer. Jane went on about some individual accomplishments and I drifted a bit, laughing at myself. At one point I owned rental properties and a profitable web site management firm. Now I worked for minimum wage at a not-for-profit. "So now the hard season is getting behind us and it's time for our party. Oh right, Max and Leslie you've been around the least so I'll explain. Tri-County doesn't have a holiday party. We're too busy, so we blow out the doors in early March. Max I'll deal with Parole. The date is March 7th, that's a Friday. It will be the usual thing, staff and loved ones and a few donors we can't not invite. We have reserved L'Epicerie starting at 7:30." Jane answered a few questions and some jokes were passed around referring to earlier parties. Jane gave me a look. "Max, can I see you for a moment." I followed Jane into her office and at her signal closed the door. Without thinking I swept my skirt with a hand before sitting down and with legs crossed at the knee looked across the desk as deadpan as I could. "This isn't like the fundraising picnic Max. If you don't want to come I won't force you. I think you should go, it's a lot of fun and you'll know just about everybody there. This is when Tri-County lets down its hair." I nodded. "Well if it's an excuse to get out of the house on a Friday night, sign me up." "OK, just one thing." Jane hesitated and gave me a slight smile and tilt of the head. Ida will be there. The PrintLine gives us big discounts on our printing and donates more on top of that. I heard that you two were getting close and that now it's cooled off." I gave it a moment's thought. "Yeah but I don't think it will be too uncomfortable. We still talk and occasionally bump into each other at the sports bar." Jane nodded and I thanked her for her forethought and went back to work. I waited until Emma had gone to the front and turned to Pam; over the past ten months she had been my guide to fashions. The shyest of the Tri-County staff she was always the best dressed and managed to suggest clothes that not only fit the occasion but did not make me feel as if I was trying for a frilly look. "OK Pam what's the dress code for this fling? You've seen all my outfits; can I get by with what I've got?" Pam's faced lost its slightly rabbity look and she gazed at the ceiling for a moment. I watched her and it was like looking at some computational machine running through a complex equation. "Yes, actually that long flounced brown skirt with an off white blouse and some kind of necklace would work. People do dress up for this but that would be good enough and anyway no one expects you to do more than try and look decent." Somehow that comment got to me and I snapped back that I cared how I looked. Then I apologized and we drew a breath. Then Emma came back and I buckled down to editing an information sheet on a support group for single fathers. Later I turned back to Pam. "Again I'm sorry Pam. I know this sounds strange but I do care what I look like. As long as it isn't some frou frou girly thing and within my budget I want to dress well. Pam gave me a smile. "You need what every woman needs in her wardrobe; the little black dress. That's what we call it. You can wear it alone, or with a blazer, dress it up with a fancy sweater or shawl. I have two, one with a high collar and one that goes further down. The problem is finding you one that fits and won't blow your budget." That of course took us to a discussion of shoes and jewelry and more but by the time I left I had a detailed list. The party was more than two weeks away so I could order by computer and with Jane's permission stayed a little late and sat in one of the front office cubicles. Lane Bryant covered my ass, so to speak, with a simple black dress for about sixty dollars. It would come almost to my knees and had the slightest suggestion of a scoop neck. Zappos had a black dress shoe in size 12 with a two inch heel and slightly fancy stitching over the toe. Black pantyhose I could pick up at Targets and that just left jewelry. I logged off the computer and drove home through the dark streets paying attention to the slippery surface. Pulling onto my street I noticed the large white sedan in front of my house. McCarthy, my parole officer was paying me a visit. I parked my car in the garage and walked in the side door. The bottom half of a man's body stuck out from under my sink and my sparse assortment of cleaning supplies was stacked on the floor. I turned into the living/dining room and saw McCarthy going through the papers on the coffee table. "When he's done in the kitchen can he fix a leaky faucet in the bathroom?" McCarthy looked up and smiled. As much as one can become friends with a Parole officer I was with McCarthy. She did her best not to laugh at me and when her helpers really searched the house they pretty much put it back together. "Hi Max. It's your turn for an in depth search. Why don't you hide something for us to find next time." "Like what?" "Oh I think I'd like a pearl necklace." We laughed and talked about nothing until her two helpers came out, one from under the sink and another from the basement. "Clean as usual Claire. Hello Mr. Stanley." "Good. Here's a notice of a parole board meeting. It's in April, same thing as six months ago, all pro forma stuff." I quickly looked over the letter and then turned to her as she put on her coat. "Hey, I need an opinion; what kind of necklace should I wear with a simple black dress to a nice party?" When the three were gone I sat on my couch and laughed. McCarthy's face had been wonderful and for the first time I actually saw her at a loss for words. Finally she suggested a simple gold chain with a small stone but watching her struggle with the concept was worth all the times she had shown up without warning to make sure I was really in the house and dressed correctly. A week later I stood in front of the mirror. Zappos has sent the shoes immediately and I had practiced in them. Now I wore shiny black pantyhose and a black dress hung from my broad shoulders. I turned and looked, ignoring the flash of white as my brassiere peaked out. I'd wear a black bra for the party. I clipped the simple necklace around my neck and let the stone hang first outside of the neckline and then within. "Not bad Max, Pam was right. Every woman needs a little black dress." I walked and turned and sat trying to keep my eye on the mirror. As with most of the clothing my shoulders were too large, my bust not quite realistic and my hips too narrow but I did not look like a clown and the outfit showed that care had been taken. I hung the dress in the closet and put away the shoes and hose. In corduroys and a sweater I settled down to make some dinner and read away the hours. It is inevitable then that just when your hands are at their messiest the phone will ring. "Hi, oh Ida hello." Ten minutes later I sat down at my kitchen table to try and figure out what had happened. Occasionally we called one another. When we left sex behind we hadn't hurt each other and that meant we remained friends. This time Ida called to find out if I were going to the party. That was followed by an offer to pick me up and drive. Parole gave me until 11:00 that night, God knows what Jane had told them. I said I'd like a ride and with the phone back in its hook tried to still my imagination. Would Ida bring me home and haul me to bed? Maybe she was just being helpful because her van had all wheel drive and the roads were still icy. I remembered I hadn't cooked dinner and threw the chopped up sausage in the pan and got the water boiling for pasta. Before bed I would use the treadmill and the exercise bike and do press ups and leg lifts and crunches. After all, I had a little black dress I had to fit into. Chapter 3: A Couple Again That same night I took down the fluorescent light in my kitchen. Bit by bit I had hidden away cash thinking that I might someday make a run for it. I counted the bills slowly and tried to figure out why a secret fund no longer seemed necessary. Anyway two hundred and forty dollars wouldn't get me too far. The little cottage didn't seem as confining and two more years no longer infinity. The radio played soft music in the background and I sat in the main room lit only be a spill of light from the hall. I pulled a blanket around me and drifted, my thoughts turning first to Ida, then to my ex-wife Stacie. It was hard to imagine two more different women. Ida was a hard bodied, motorcycle riding, middle class entrepreneur running a print shop and putting a daughter through college. Stacie, the last I had seen her, was using her beauty, and she was beautiful, to sponge off one wealthy man after another. I thought about Ida and me in bed, and on the couch. Unable to take anymore I went into the bedroom to fantasize and dream and hope. As I drifted into sleep I imagined us in the back of her van snuggled on a blanket between boxes of paper. Paper would fly and so would we. Ida came to pick me up and now stood in the room and looked about. "You've done more Max. It actually looks like someone lives here." As she glanced at the entry rug and the posters on the wall I looked at her. The medium brown dress was square cut and accentuated the firm lines and small breasts that so excited me. Flecks of gold in the material glinted in the light making my eyes wander from point to point. "We were fools Max." Ida sat in the chair leaving me to sit on the couch alone. "You and I." "Fools? I don't think so. Okay Ida it didn't work out but I fell for you and..." "Oh shut up Max. What I mean was... what, you fell for me?" I just nodded. Ida glared at me and then looked terribly sad. "That's what I mean Max. Why didn't you say something? I've cursed myself for walking away and cursed you for not coming after me. We aren't teenagers who break apart and form new attachments every few days. We are supposed to be mature enough to work at things. I didn't stop to ask myself what was important." "And I never said that I loved you." In the kissing and clutching that followed we messed up hair and makeup. I leaned against the bathroom door and watched as Ida brushed her hair and redid her lipstick. She turned and looked at me. "Max I am not saying that it is easy but I can live with you dressing as nicely as you want. I know you're not gay and I've missed you so much." I could not trust myself to speak and just nodded. Stepping to the sink I washed my face, brushed my hair and started to do my makeup again; some concealer, a hint of blush, the slightest trace of eye shadow and enough lipstick to smooth out the lips, but just barely. I turned and looked at Ida and gave a weak smile. She smiled back and turned me around. "Max I will love you no matter how you look or dress but you need a little more lipstick than that." We said little in the van making some conversation to fill in the silence. Ida parked in front of the restaurant and we sat for a minute watching the people through the window. "Ida I don't know how many times I almost said that I loved you. I was afraid you'd just point at these clothes and walk away." "I would have Max. I would have, but not now. Let's go in and party. Hey when it comes to a slow dance, just remember to lead, OK." As always I hesitated before I entered a room filled with people. Fears of laughter, even physical attack welled up and Ida gave my arm a squeeze. L'Epicerie was brightly lit and music competed with conversation as people milled about. Ida and I moved about the room sometimes together, more often apart as we talked, ate, drank and mingled. When our paths crossed we would link arms briefly and move together. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jane giving us a long look. L'Epicerie had set up an area with tables as well as a cleared area for dancing and a buffet. With my feet aching from the heels I was glad when Ida indicated that she wanted to hit the buffet and sit for a while. Others joined us and it was funny to watch the reactions and interactions. One of the volunteers and her boyfriend sat across from Ida and me and were studiously polite. A manager from the local bank and his wife sat down and she and Ida traded ribald remarks. I talked finance with the banker and leases with the boyfriend who somehow managed to enter a discussion without ever actually looking at me. And then, as I was thinking about dessert, Ida nodded towards the dance floor and we stood up. I have always been a good but not a flashy dancer. Whether it was an old fashioned waltz, or salsa or something modern I could hold my own on the dance floor, pleasing my partner without looking as though I was showing off. This time it was different. There were three or four other couples dancing but when Ida and I took the floor you could immediately tell that we were the center of attention. I had lost myself in the conversation and hubbub and forgot the little black dress, hose and heels. Now I was self conscious. The heels made me awkward. Two pairs of breasts, or one pair plus silicone forms, bumping into each other changed balance and space and I felt more out of place than I had in months. It didn't help that when the dance ended Emma whistled and a few others applauded. I would have fled the floor but the DJ put on a faster piece and Ida kept dancing. Back at the table I flopped into my seat and smiled weakly. "Oh God I am not sure I was ready for that." The others laughed and assured me that I danced very well. Ida was glowing and we raised glasses to each other and sipped the last few drops. I calmed down over dessert and coffee and watched as an older couple gave a remarkable demonstration on how to really dance the tango. Then it was time to go and we said our goodbyes to those people who would stay and party until the early hours of the morning. We were comfortably back before 11:00 and I hung our coats in the hall closet. I went into the kitchen and started the sequence of buttons and lights that would tell Parole I was being good. As the reader flashed and beeped I heard Ida come up behind me and felt her hands on my shoulders. Then she unzipped the back of my dress and I turned around. Since Ida had suggested driving a week earlier I had hoped for this moment and dreamed about it. I knew her likes and dislikes and my breast forms were in a mastectomy brassiere instead of held on by adhesive. The next morning when we got out of bed my dress hung over a kitchen chair and Ida's from a knob on the pantry door. My boobs sat on the kitchen counter. You could trace our progress by scattered garments that led to the bedroom. I sponged down and put on panties and a robe. Ida was sitting in bed and I leaned over and kissed her first on the forehead and then on a breast. She stroked my neck and purred. I pulled away from her grasp and took off my robe and climbed back in bed thanking my stars I had already done my morning check in. We skipped breakfast and over a late brunch just smiled at each other. I broke the silence. "I did say I loved you, didn't I?" "Yes Max a couple of times and I responded in kind." "Oh good. Can you stay the weekend?" "No, I have to be home tonight." "Ah." When I waved goodbye after dinner I leaned against the door watching the van go down Pine Street until the March chill became too much. I closed the door and went to finish the tea I had left on the kitchen counter. We had alternated between responsible adults working out our lives and randy teenagers poking, joking, kissing and touching. I put the cup in the dishwasher and turned off the light. Tomorrow I would go to church. A belief in a god was not part of me but I would sit among the congregation members and give thanks to something. Chapter 4: Expansion McCarthy was not at the Parole Board meeting. Her place was taken by her supervisor, a nice guy but not the supportive face I was looking for. He read a short statement that verified I turned up at work on time and didn't break the rules. The board acknowledged that they had received a letter from Ms. Erlich at the Tri-County Family Relief Fund saying I was a valuable employee. Then I opened the proverbial can of worms. I requested, and handed my written request to the board, that the weekend and vacation noon-time checks be eliminated and that I be allowed to travel throughout Albany County, not just the Town of Colonie. The DA's representative made a simple statement that his office felt my sentence had been too short and should have included jail time but asked for time to consider the request and reply in writing. The self-appointed, holier-than-thou ethical guardians who had attended my parole hearing went ape shit. You would have thought that I had asked to be allowed to manage an underage strip joint. The spokeswoman went so far as to suggest that my request alone was grounds to nullify my community arrest and send me to jail to serve out the remaining time. I remembered everything the old cons had told me about parole hearings and simple looked at my opponent with a kind of wide-eyed innocence. Then I turned to the board chair. "Excuse me Mr. Patterson, but I was wondering what standing this person has. Why is he allowed to recommend what my sentence should be or what the rules are?" When the second explosion was done the board was seriously irritated at Mr. Look-at-my-halo and asked him to sit down. They said they would consider the request and comments. I stood up and thanked them. I straightened my grey wool dress and picked up my purse and coat. Black heels clicking on the tile floor I left the room and almost made it to the elevator. "Well Mr. Stanley you sure set off a bomb there. Couldn't you have warned me?" I talked with the supervisor for a while and I found out that McCarthy was on vacation. I apologized for blindsiding him but remarked, sounding as innocent as I could, that I didn't think I was asking for a lot. Then I went out to me car and drove back to Colonie wondering if I had been wise. Weeks passed. Ida and I settled into an unsettled relationship. We couldn't go out at night and I couldn't visit her Schenectady County home. She was unhappy with the care I took in dressing. Despite the problems, we preferred each other's company to being alone and occasionally ended up in bed though less often than I would have preferred. Three weeks later the Parole Board approved my expansion to Albany County and disapproved a change in my hours of incarceration. Ida and I celebrated by my climbing onto the back of her motorcycle and spending a wonderful if chilly hour exploring the county. We warmed up in bed and snuggled against each other tried not to think about the future. The future was there no matter what we tried to do. The one year mark on my sentence raised the question of what would I do in two years and though I tried to play it cool I could see it bothered Ida. The unsaid questions hung over us; would Max return to New York City, was he going to keep wearing women's clothing, was Ida a part of his plans? One Saturday afternoon I met with Reverend Dunn and tried to sort out my thoughts. We abandoned his cramped office and sat on a bench behind the church. The cool April breeze was pleasant and the smell of spring filled my nostrils. I talked about my fears and hopes, Ida, Tri-County and the person I once was. Dunn had no answers but as I walked back from the church I had direction to my thought. A neighbor waved to me, someone on a bicycle waved as well. The breeze blew my hair across my face and I brushed it aside feeling the drop earrings sway as the breeze hit them. Tomorrow after church I would paint the garage door. Monday I would work at Tri-County. My time was passing and with each day, with each parole check in, with each dinner with Ida, the old Max Stanley receded a little more. Now however it was only 3:00 and I had four hours to play. I changed out of the nice slacks and blouse I had worn to see Dunn and in a running suit jogged the streets near my house building up a nice sweat. The running was good for me and I concentrated on pace and breathing rather than Ida, or work, or what people thought. Later, as I put away groceries from a last minute shopping run I stopped to look at myself reflected in a window. Once I had called myself a "gorilla in a dress". I couldn't say that anymore. I grinned at the humor of an obvious male with tits and a nice hairdo. I brought home some pork chops from the supermarket and they'd simmer on their own. Left over pasta and salad in the fridge would complete the meal. I'd dress up and pretend the evening was something special. I remarked at a GLBT meeting that my cross dressing had gone through phases no different than mourning. First there was anger, disgust and denial. That was followed by grim determination with some minor satisfaction of doing a job as best as it could be done. As I relaxed there came a thrill, particularly when I discovered the choice of colors and fabrics a woman has. Finally it all became mundane except for my dislike of pantyhose on warm days and heels when I had to wear them. Sometimes though, something different happened. It was as if someone flipped a switch deep inside Max Stanley and when that happened I wanted, no craved is a better word, I craved dressing pretty. I started with a bath, adding a foaming milk lotion to the hot water. Settling into the bubbles I closed my eyes and let my hands drift over my body. Waxing sessions left me with little body hair and I kept my face close shaved. With my hair pinned up, the cold rim of the tub pressed against my neck and I shifted to get more parts of me covered by the warm suds. I toweled off keeping my eyes away from the mirror, letting myself float in the image of a woman. Dry and dusted with a lightly scented powder I held the forms against my chest feeling the pull when I released them. I moved into the bedroom and looked at what I had laid out. My wardrobe wasn't big, leaning towards solid office wear and casuals, but I had a few pieces chosen for parties, and one or two other garments I had spent too much money on. Honestly I knew that there was no occasion I could wear this ensemble to. I gazed for a moment and then picked up the lacy black brassiere. It was one of those special times and a dreamy feeling came over me. Tightness in the throat and a fluttering in the stomach marked the difference between this and dressing for work. Normally I put on women's garments, now I adorned my body. With practiced hands I clipped the brassiere around my waist and turning it slipped my breasts into the cups and adjusted the straps over my shoulders. The change in weight was welcome, the pressure comforting and warm. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on lacy black panties with enough control to keep me tucked away. Slowly I pulled on first one and then another stocking. The silicone lace bands on the tops kept them up and I could see my toes through the sheer ends. Not for the first time I wished I had the nerve to paint my nails. I stood and turned, looking at myself in the mirror. Hours of exercise had given me a hard body and if I kept my gaze below my face I could almost believe I was looking at an athletic woman. I rose on my toes and looked at my legs. Too muscular for fashion they still looked good in the sheer black mist that enveloped them. Months earlier in a manic fit of computer shopping I purchased an outfit from a tall and large woman's web site. I spent too much money and my budget took a hit that forced me to live very cheaply for a few weeks but it did not matter. I slid the black dress over my head. It fell to just above my knees. Lace edged the hem, neckline and the slight suggestion of sleeves. A black lace bolero jacket dotted with shiny red sequins and three quarter length sleeves completed the look and I added a simple chain with a black bead. Stepping into black two inch heels I pirouetted in front of the mirror and stared. It needed more, and jacket on the bed, I went into the bathroom to put on makeup using more liner and lipstick than I ever did when in public. The look was complete and I idly walked around the house feeling the dress move on my legs, the cool air on the gaps above the thigh high hose, and the shifting of the forms in my brassiere. The pork chops were overdone, the salad simple, the rolls a little stale and the wine the remains of a bottle I had started a week earlier. It hardly mattered. I turned off the main lights and lit the candle lantern I purchased in case of a winter power outage. Sitting at the small table in the main room I ate slowly, shivering when I crossed or uncrossed my legs. My hair brushed against the skin of my shoulders, the drop earrings swung. I closed my eyes and sipped the wine, one hand reaching down to caress my stomach and thighs. In my dream Ida was across the table from me and her bare foot slipped under my dress to tickle my legs and the bare skin of my thighs until her toes reached my panties and I could take no more. We would stand up abandoning the food and lead each other into the bedroom to remove our clothes kissing and touching until nude at last we would slip between the sheets. I held a hand against a breast and moved it feeling the tug on my skin and eyes closed dreamed and drifted. Later I sipped tea and pretended to read a novel. Mostly I leaned back in the couch and dreamed. For those hours I was a woman, a well dressed woman, reading and relaxing. It seemed a crime when my eyes grew too tired and it was time to go to bed. I slept in a nightgown and dreamed beautiful dreams I could only barely recall in the morning. Chapter 5: Heat Wave "Thank God that's done. Max I can't say how much I appreciate this." "No problem Dave. Wow could I ever use a beer." I followed my neighbor into his house and we sat in the living room holding cold bottles against our foreheads. His wife, Lillian, bustled about with her usual litany of complaints but behind them I could hear her concern. Dave already had had one heart attack and this hot weather was a strain on him. When their living room window AC died I drove him to Sears, carried the box and as he supervised placed it in the window and tossed the old AC in the trash bin. "Damn it's hot." "Hot as it's been in years Max, years." I could feel the sweat drip down between the breast forms and pool against the brassiere's band. I wiped a napkin across my brow. The AC was starting to take effect and I shivered as the cold air hit my neck. A horn sounded and I looked out to see that Ida had parked her van in the driveway. "Gotta go folks. Hey, no problem I'm glad to help. Thanks for the beer." Ida came towards me for a kiss and hug, saw my sweat drenched garments and waved me away. "What have you been doing Max?" I led her into my house telling her about installing a window unit when it was 93 degrees outside and left her to plunge into a cool shower. I just leaned against the tiles and let the water beat on me pulling the heat out of my body. I opened my eyes to see Ida sitting on the counter watching me through the glass shower door. "Enjoying the view?" "Uh huh. It's too hot to do anything outside. It's even too hot to ride the bike." "You could join me in here." "Nah I'll just sit and watch." She helped me dry off and we enjoyed slightly erotic play with the towel and then I got dressed only in panties and a cotton bathrobe. Getting her some lemonade I joined Ida on the couch and we sat back and grumbled about the weather. "I hope this breaks before the Tri-County picnic." "Oh Lord yes. Jane is already talking about it. I have to go again. Will you be there?" "I have to Max, The PrintlIne is a sponsor. If it's still in the 90's though I may show up in a bikini." I laughed and Ida punched me in the arm. I pulled her towards me and we kissed and fumbled. She bit me on the ear and whispered, "I have a friend with a swimming pool. They're away for the weekend and there's a lot of privacy. Wanna skinny dip?" I quickly changed into shorts and dropped my forms into the pockets of a mastectomy bra. A t-shirt and sandals completed the outfit. Ida grabbed towels from the hall closet and some beers and chips from the kitchen. Wrapping the beer in the towels to keep it cool she joined me and we gasped as we stepped out of the house into the heat. "Ridiculous." "Yeah." We splashed and swam and hugged in the pool. A slat fence and bushes provided all the privacy we needed. The water was barely cool but I loved the freedom that came with stripping off my clothes. Once I swam through Ida's legs tickling as I went and she collapsed on me and we wrestled and kissed until we had to come up for air. Driving back to my place Ida began to talk. Parked in the driveway she kept the motor and AC running and told of her fears and concerns; a daughter in college, owning a business during a recession, approaching her fortieth birthday. I finished the list. "... lover who wears a dress and uses makeup." "Yeah, that too." She paused and drew a breath before continuing." "Max, give me a simple answer, no philosophy, no weasel words. The court's sentence aside, are you happy wearing women's clothing?" A few months earlier I would not have been able to answer. Talks with Reverend Dunn, hours alone at night thinking and letters back and forth with my friend Sid had clarified my position. "The simple answer is yes. The only slightly more complex answer is yes but if I didn't have the Parole Board as an excuse I wouldn't dress in women's clothing." We sat in silence for a little while. Then Ida leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "I love you Max. I have to go home now. Take your towels. Drinks after work on Tuesday? Okay?" I kissed her back and waved as she drove off leaving me as uncertain as ever. Towels tossed into the laundry basket I changed into a sports bra preferring the absorbent cotton to the more binding nylon I had been wearing. I slumped onto the couch where only a few hours earlier I had a hand on Ida's breasts and my tongue between her lips. "Damn." It was the only thing I could think to say. I knew that if everything was the same except for my clothing we would be a solid couple waiting for the sentence to wind down. The cottage seemed too small but outside the heat crouched like a predatory animal. For the first time in months I wished I had a television. I needed junk to distract me. I checked the time, too early to check in with Parole, too early to go to bed, I didn't want to read and jacking off just to waste time didn't appeal to me. I grabbed the phone to call my sister, the only family member who would talk to me but got her answering machine and remembered she was on vacation. "Damn. What I need now is a good car, men's clothes and a wad of cash. Damn." Sunday came as hot as the day before and I sulked in the house listening to the radio, reading the paper and did minor chores. The cottages AC barely kept the place livable and it was a pleasure to go down to the basement to do laundry, the underground room a cool, dim oasis. I was taking a mid-day nap to waste time when my phone rang and I wandered into the kitchen to take the call. "Hello. Oh hi. Yeah it's damn hot. Nope nothing much, laundry and such. That sounds great but I have to be back by seven. What? Okay then. Twenty minutes. I'll see you there." That evening I mused about my time spent with the Robinsons. They were neighbors four doors down with a two year old son. In a way we had adopted each other and become extended family. I attended a Chanukah dinner at their house, they once dropped their son off for a few hours when no other sitter was available. With the heat crushing everybody they decided to throw a last minute indoor picnic and about a dozen people brought over beer, snacks, cookies and whatever they could grab at a moment's notice and sat around the den and living room playing games and gossiping. I, figuratively, lost my shirt at Monopoly and talked finance with a local business man. Stepping outside at a quarter to seven to walk the short distance home was terrible. The heat had not dissipated. I walked slowly and gaining my front door stepped into the cooler air with gratitude. I flapped my polo shirt to move some air and laughed. Some of the guests had not met me and one of the men there kept giving me furtive glances. He hadn't made a pass though so who knew, curiosity, envy, lust? I checked in with Parole, holding my bracelet to the reader while I punched in my PIN. It was only seven and I was well fed. I could fold laundry, finish the Sunday puzzle, listen to the radio. Evenings were the hardest time. I sat on the bed and folded laundry and stopped, holding up a white brassiere. I stared at it as if I had never seen it before. It twisted slowly in my hand. Then it struck me. Ida had stayed over a few nights ago and must have tossed it in the laundry. I looked at it and smiled. Maybe we were becoming a solid couple. Chapter 6: A New Hobby Time passes and you can't recall and record everything. I met Ida's daughter Jessica when we bumped into her by accident at the local mall. Ida had kept me secret and the chance encounter led to some unsettled moments. McCarthy, my friendly face in Parole, relocated to Syracuse and Fred Stolles took her place, unsmiling, depressed and unconcerned. Mark retired to spend his time eating, thinking and dreaming baseball and Emma and I divided his duties between us. I slipped into a pattern. Earlier when I had found a pattern it was to escape the reality of my situation. Now the pattern was one of boredom. Intellectually I was wasting. I talked about it with Ida. I still chuckle recalling the conversation. It was a Saturday evening and Ida and I had ridden her bike around the County earlier, stopping for a quick bite before returning to my cottage by seven. Now we were lying in bed. If I stretched my legs I could tap the headboard of the bed with my feet. If I opened my eyes a blurred vision of thighs and stomach and pubic hair invited me to play some more. Ida's head lay against my thigh and she idly stroked my limp member or ran a nail up and down my stomach. Leaning in she kissed me and I moved my hips. I stroked her nether lips and was rewarded with a shudder and another kiss. "I could never get tired of making love to you." Ida made a purring noise and kissed me on the thigh. I flipped over on my back, gazed at the ceiling and stretched. I groaned and wriggled and then sat up and looked at my lover smiling back at me. Leaning forward I brushed my hand across one of her breasts and enjoyed watching her arch up to meet me. We leaned back against the headboard holding hands like sweethearts. "Max what would you be doing if I weren't here tonight?" "Pay some bills, read the mail; I've got a novel from the library. That's it." "You need something to do. You need a hobby, something that will keep your mind active." "Oh yes, I'd exercise." "And I love your hard body, but really you're wasting away here. Isn't there something you'd like to do?" "Yeah I'd like to get out of this house, I'd like to pull on jeans and a t-shirt and walk around without a couple of tits flopping around, I'd like to grab you and take you to Vermont for a weekend or decide to see a show in New York." By this time I was out of bed and pacing back and forth. Ida got up and hugged me and I calmed down. "Once I had plans of how to shorten my sentence but everybody in Parole says that between the attorney generals' office and the blue noses there would be too much noise for the board to do anything. That's why I started dressing nicely at the beginning. I was making a point about how hard I was working to fulfill the terms of the sentence." "It could be your hobby." "No Ida, once I am through with my three years I will send off the clothes to Goodwill and move on." Ida laughed and I turned towards her with a flash of anger but she held up a hand to slow me down. "No Max, not the clothes, shortening the sentence. Really work at it. You've slowed down and you need to get back some energy. Get pissed off at the judge and the blue noses." I looked at Ida with my brain trying to filter through the storm of thoughts until I came on the one that was firing warning signals in the air. "But Ida, do I deserve to have my sentence shortened?" "Max if you can ask that question, then the answer is yes." I pulled on panties and my robe and glanced out of the window. With the shade pushed aside I could see that late summer was truly upon us. In a few weeks I would see some leaves changing and evenings would be getting cool. In a few weeks I would sit in front of the parole board again. I had the paper work on my table partially filled out. I smiled at Ida. "Put on some clothes. You distract me. Let's think about my new hobby." Three weeks of intense work produced an essay on why my sentence should be shortened. That was accompanied by letters from Reverend Dunn, Erlich representing Tri-County, The GLBT group, three neighbors, Ida, my conservative and churchy friend Sid and to my surprise, a local family law firm. The law firm did pro-bono work for Tri-County and I could remember only a few encounters with its staff but I guess I must have done something good. I read the letter repeatedly trying to see myself in the glowing sentences. "Mr. Stanley has shown initiative and humanity in his handling of a number of rent related cases. He has done not just his job at Tri-County Family Relief Fund but has also assisted our clients with advice and comfort when most needed. The partners of Melman, Cole and Roth strongly believe that he has demonstrated fulfillment of the purpose of the sentence and should be paroled without his current restrictions on travel and lifestyle." I sat at my table stuffing copies into an envelope. I seemed to be holding my life in my hand even though the worst that could happen would be my being turned down by the board. "Gee Max you might be no worse off than you are now." I laughed. I felt more energetic than I had in months. I knew my chances were not good but the project had made me move and think and plan. Sealing the envelope I propped it against the pepper grinder and stared at it. "I have demonstrated fulfillment." I mused about that for a moment. I knew that that wasn't strictly true. I had come to realize what I had done. The financial fraud was easy to shrug off. For one thing when my properties were sold off they more than paid back the banks and left me with a small trust fund I couldn't touch but generated a few hundred dollars a month. I had turned people into objects on my websites and even if I still thought society had become too straitlaced I recognized one thing. If the women had been Ida, or Jane or any of those I knew personally I would understand the horror, the betrayal, the pain. I opened that back door and stepped into the yard. Settling into a chair I looked at the dark sky. A breeze blew by and I knew that my denim skirt and polo shirt were not adequate but I felt too settled to get up and put on a sweater. A shooting star went past and I made a wish just as I used to when I was a child. Around me the sounds of suburban night went on; a passing car, a barking dog. The flickering light in my neighbor's window told me that Dave and Lillian were watching TV. I folded my arms for warmth pushing the breast forms in and felt the adhesive pulling at my skin. I tried to imagine getting up some morning and pulling on briefs, a t- shirt and then a suit and tie. Eighteen months had changed me, changed me significantly. I couldn't imagine myself going back to the drab grays, navy blues and browns that most men wore. "I won't miss the tits though." I quickly let me arms drop and felt the slump of the forms dropping until the straps of the brassiere took up the slack. I shook my head, shivered and went back indoors. I asked Ida not to come to the Parole Board meeting but did not turn down Reverend Dunn's offer to come as a witness. It seemed strange to hear his horn outside of the cottage and step outside to accept a ride into Albany. For all the times I met and talked with Dunn I still felt uncomfortable in the presence of clergy. The weeks prior to the board meeting I spent time rehearsing answers to possible questions and trying to decide what to wear. It was important to me not to wear the same outfit as the prior meeting even though that grey dress was appropriate and fit me well. The Avenue came through for me with a skirt suit in plum. The jacket's high neckline closed with many buttons and the skirt barely cleared my knees. Nude pantyhose and black heels completed the look and I picked up my new black portfolio and walked to Dunn's car. Walking through the courthouse halls I considered the couple we made. Dunn was about an inch taller than me but my heels evened out the difference. We were both dressed conservatively for a business meeting, he with his brown suit and tie, me in plum and black. As usual I received a number of second looks and the odd amused smirk or hostile glare. I kept my eyes ahead of me and tried to maintain focus on the meeting ahead. "I cannot say when I came to understand what I had done and the harm I caused. I think in terms of the financial crimes, it occurred before I was even sentenced, though I hid behind the "everybody does it" defense. Regarding my web management company and the pornography we hosted, it was listening to women talk about their frustrations and fears that made the difference and made me see what I had done, but I can't point to any specific time or event." "No the clothes themselves are not important. What wearing these clothes has done is exclude me from a lot of the activities I would have done with men. So I spend more time with women, time not spent trying to make a date or get someone into bed. That time is the valuable commodity because I now listen to what women say, I hear what they fear." Parole officer Stolles nodded a few times when asked questions by the board. The DA's representative made his usual statement that his office felt the original sentence was too short. Two groups of guardians of the peoples' morality strongly urged the board not to consider my request. It was Reverend Dunn though who stole the show. Actually that is too showy a term; he simply made some statements and for the first time I realized the depth of character of the man. "It is not hard to accept guilt. A rational person can look at the facts and say 'yes I did this' and 'yes I caused that.' What is hard is to accept responsibility for the guilt, to accept that you had a choice and chose wrongly. It is harder to shed the anger against the victims, the jurors and the judge. And, when you have achieved all of that, it is hardest of all to forgive yourself." Dunn stood silently for a moment. He scanned the board members and briefly turned to look at me. "Forgiveness does not mean absolution. Mr. Stanley is not asking for his sentence to be thrown out, his record erased, his crimes forgotten. However he does understand what he did and has seen the harm that is caused by fraud, and pornography. I know he has fought against his anger aimed at the jurors, the judge and society. He may sometime forgive himself." I felt myself getting teary as Dunn paused to draw a breath. He smiled. "I am a minister. I am in the forgiveness business if you like. But I am not asking you to forgive Mr. Stanley. The benefit of doing so would be to you. I am asking that you acknowledge what Max has achieved and in recognizing that accomplishment, decide that further confinement and dress code is no longer necessary." Frankly I was choked up and grateful that the board chose to ask Dunn a few questions before turning their attention back to me. I answered two more questions, the first being hard, the second a no brainer. "No I do not know what I would do if I were released from all parole restrictions other than staying in the state and checking in periodically. I have not thought that far. Would I feel myself poorly used if I had to continue working at Tri-County for the remaining 18 months? No, no I would not. I can't imagine that I will want to work there the rest of my life but frankly I like the people and I like what we do." The board made a few comments, thanked everybody for their input and promised a decision within three weeks. I stood up and looked at Dunn. I nodded, hard pressed to speak and he nodded back. Portfolio in hand I stood up and we left the room. In the corridor one of the people who had spoken against me was waiting. I started to walk by ignoring him when he began shouting and pushed me against the wall. My head went clonk and I stumbled on the heels. The stream of fundamental Christian threats and curses that followed was funny in retrospect but at the time the attack was frightening. Someone in a uniform was quickly on the scene and it was only when he grabbed our attacker that I realized Dunn was restraining me. I relaxed, took a deep breath and gave a grim smile. I faced my attacker and managed a few words. "I guess you won't be welcome at future Parole meetings." The uniform type wasn't content to just let us walk away and the people in the meeting room had streamed out to see what the commotion was. When Dunn and I left an hour later we had signed statements that Mr. Hills had attacked me without warning, that I was not pressing charges and no injury had occurred. We left Mr. Hills in the unkind care of the police who were considering pressing charges on their own and went to get a cup of coffee. From the little shop on Lark Street I called Tri-County to let them know things were running a bit late. Then I looked across at the reverend. "Thanks twice over; once for speaking so well and once for being my protector in the hall." "I mostly stopped you from slugging that idiot." "That's what I meant. I don't understand it. Why are they so angry? Sure I broke their set of rules, I'm paying for that, but this hatred goes beyond fraud and porn." Dunn looked at me with raised eyebrows. He sipped his coffee. "You really do not understand do you Max? Okay, I'll give it a shot. They aren't angry at you because you fiddled the books or whatever you did. They aren't all that upset that you dealt in porn. What really bothers them is that you have been sentenced to cross dress and they can't condemn you for some terrible sin because then they would be stepping on your side of the fence and arguing for a change of the sentence. You represent what they think is a gross injustice and perversion by the courts." "They'd like to see me in jail." "Yup, they are capital C Christians. The worst sort. Ah well. I have things to do. I'll drop you off at your place." At Tri-County people shook their heads at the story, complimented me on the plum suit and went back to work. I found I wasn't shaken at all by the assault. It just seemed pathetic and all that I suffered was a slight bump on the back of my head. Work was light. I thought about the meeting and grew more and more hopeful. Not irrational hope; I realized that the odds were against me, but the questions asked and the postures of the members were not hostile. On the way home I bought some groceries and celebrated with a six pack of Stella Artois rather than my standard Budweiser. Ida couldn't join me for dinner but I turned the radio up, fried some fish and drank some good beer. Cleaning up afterwards I stood and looked at myself in the reflection from the window. My plum suit was carefully hung for another day. Now I wore nicely tailored jeans and a dusty rose blouse. My hair was pulled back and simple drop earrings swung giving off glints and sparkles. I sipped the last of the second beer and sighed. "You might just make it Max. You might just make it." Chapter 7: Coffee, Tea and Wine Ida held my hand across the table. I looked at our hands and gave a deep sigh. I was terribly shaken and very disappointed. "Max you told me that your chances were poor." "I know love, but I still hoped for good news The letter from Parole sat on the table. It was a simple form letter that stated that in case # such and such, prisoner Stanley, Max, J., Parole Board meeting.... and on and on until it hit the crux of the matter. "The request for a shortening and/or change of sentence is denied." I flicked the letter with my finger. It spun for a moment. "Oh well, I can try again in six months." Ida got up taking our coffee cups and went into the kitchen. I heard her rinsing them out and the clink as she placed them in the rack. I stared at the ceiling. I both looked forward to and dreaded the letter from Parole. I had constructed a fantasy where I was no longer under community arrest and forced to wear women's clothes. Sure I would still have to check in with my parole officer and work at Tri-County but I would be free. I could go out to dinner and stay away from my house until mid-night if I wanted to. I realized I was crying and went into the bathroom to wash up and regain control. I splashed cold water on my face and some drops ran down the front of my blouse. The trickled between the two silicone mounds and made me shiver. I leaned against the tiled wall. "Max, you Okay?" I opened the door and nodded. Face dried and somewhat more stable I came back out. Ida hugged me and we talked. She asked if I wanted her to stay over but I really needed to be alone. I kissed her and she reminded me to call her if I needed to. When her van was gone I just leaned against the wall with my eyes closed. Ida met me after work and we had an early dinner at a local sports bar where the clientele had grown used to me. Then the idea was we would go back to my place, talk and maybe make love. I brought in the mail and there was the letter. I was glad Ida was with me but now I was alone and could vent. I wallowed in anger and self- pity, cursed and threw magazines and pillows until spent of anger I slumped on the couch. I needed the explosion and could rationally view the situation. I could apply to the board again. Six months was not an eternity. If I had to I could last the remaining eighteen months. I kicked the sofa and stubbed my toe and sat on the worn carpet to curse and cry again. Needing some comfort I poured a hot bath with bubbles and sat in the tub with the lights out. I forced myself to breath slowly and drifted. Later, wearing a flannel nightgown and a robe I drank cocoa and listened to the radio. My checkbook was open in front of me and I calculated what I would need to get a computer and internet connection. I lived cheaply and had a small income from the trust fund to add to the minimum wage Tri-County paid me. The car needed new snow tires. I wrote some figures down and stared at them. Yeah I could afford it. It was time to go to bed and teeth brushed I pulled the blanket over me and slept only to dream of my ex shouting at me, Ida telling me she couldn't wait and was running away with a biker friend and Tri-County issuing me a 1950's secretary's outfit as my uniform. I was not shocked to come back from wo