He had his head turned a little away from me and his eyes were gazing down. Without turning his head, his eyes met mine. I felt a lightning bolt go th...ough me. ‘We can get to know each other,’ I said. We stood outside in the chilly parking lot. I had a thin, beige dress coat. I put it on and buttoned and tied myself inside of it. ‘Are you cold? That looks thin,’ he said. I smiled and said, ‘No. It is thin but I’m okay.’ He nodded and looked around the parking lot. ‘So, I drove here in my own. But in this house, we bathe once a week. On Sundays,” he proclaimed.“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” I replied.“What’s yer name?” he inquired.“Maurice, sir,” I answered.“No 'sirs' here, buddy, name’s Mac. My surname’s McDonald, but everyone just calls me Mac,” he explained.“Should I call you Mr. McDonald, sir?” I questioned.“Nah… Mac will do,” he concluded.After supper, two large pots of hot water were poured into a tub that he had placed in the kitchen. After adding cold water he handed me a towel. For the first time all week, I did not feel as if my future had beentaken from me. There is comfort in sex, in a physical release. It wouldnot last. But it beat feeling the pain.For now, that was enough.* * *A week later, I sat on a barstool in Jorgenson's, the transexual bar onthe South side, the one across from McGill's. A lot of men in dressesshow up here, and a lot of men looking for men in dresses. Ocassionally,as I understood it, a Mistress happened by.Transexuals were nice people. They. "Turning her so that I could take the bag she dropped, I reached down, grabbed it and wrapped my free arm around her and lead her up the concourse.After walking about half a mile through the terminal, we emerged into the heat of the day and enter the semi-darkness of the short term parking garage. As we moved away from the crowds, I slid my hand down from her waist and buried my fingers in her back pocket and gave her butt a loving squeeze. I slowed our walk down to a stroll as I pulled her.
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