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There’s not a bad seat in the house, but my neighbor won’t share the arm rest.”The bell dinged, so I offered my arm, and escorted her up to my b...x. She left her arm tucked into mine for the whole second half. My box had a nice cozy loveseat, no pesky arm to share. We both stood clapping, and whistling at the end. It had been a stunning performance, it reminded me of Andrew Lloyd Webber meets Cirque du Soleil.The audience clapped just as hard as I did. Kelly took my arm again, as the curtain. But there was no need, for Phillip had spotted her from his crow's nest work area, perched on the top half of the two-story main room in a sort of shelf-like corner, accessible by a pull-down set of ordinary attic stairs. "Hi, honey... how was the shooting?"She turned quickly, startled at hearing another voice. "Oh, you're not working!" she shouted over the din. "I was just thinking of coming up to say hello, but l didn't want to bother you!" Sorry, I can't hear you!" Turn down the stereo then,. That was the beginning of my life as a girl. At school, since everyoneknew why I was dressed that way, I did not suffer any of the usualtaunts that many others have experienced. But dressing as a girl everyday became so normal that any thrill I used to get while dressed up waslost. And once the other girls saw me in the shower naked, and couldsee for themselves that I wasn't a guy, they never complained about meusing their facilities. My dad however was having a very hard time withmy. 'It was early 1960s I was engaged to be married in a few months, and some of my pals wanted to go for a pint. One chap said he'd heard about a gay pub in Walsall and why didn't we go there, just for a laugh. Except in those days gay meant happy not queer! So we all went to this pub, it was called the 'Fountain' and was run by a woman in her 60s everyone called aunty. When we arrived Aunty refused to let us in, saying she thought we were from the rugby club and had caused trouble there, the week.
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