"Rape whistle, indeed!" she uttered.He approached me later about the comment. "I suppose I'm missing part of the story." I gave him a bit of it."Uh, y...u carry?" he asked me."Yep. Everywhere it's legal. She does, too, since we got married." Yeah, you know, I always thought that people who got their permit were, like, paranoid." I'm glad I did, Wayne," I replied. "And who'd've thought? I mean, we were right there on the main drag in Galveston. Twenty yards from a club with a huge crowd all over. The Beauty Salon confirms who you are. What you are. How you wantto be. You WANT to walk through that door, into your confirmed femininity.You understand the power of lipstick and the thrill of a perm. For you,lucky sisters, a Beauty Salon has become a home, a verification of yourinnate womanhood. Bless you. And Bless the women who accept you as one oftheir sisterhood as you sit under the dryer having your nails polished.For others of you, Forced Sissies of Fictionmania, that door into. A subtle chime interrupted the Man's search. The door faded away entirely, and for the first time he saw the darkened stone hall beyond; and a figure nearly as perfect as himself eclipsed in the light. She was Woman. Like Lizbeth, but so unlike his lost love it was stifling. And stunning. The Woman before him was tall, though not as tall as he, and of a voluptuous build. Her bust and hips bore greater curves than Lizbeth had, her garments tighter and more accentuating than the thin dresses that. James was in his shed, and I knew he wouldn’t mind: – “James, do you have a jacket I can borrow please”, I asked as I stuck my head around his door – “it’s turned so cold”… James turned, looked at me and smiled “It clearly is cold” he said obviously enjoying the site of my hardened nipples through the thin fabric of my top. He handed me a jacket and shyly I put it on. “Hey – why don’t we celebrate the great summer we’ve had – I was going to light a fire and cook here tonight – you wanna join.
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