Everyone wasin his or her shirtsleeves and there was Vic, still wearing his jacket.That summer several of us made a joke of it, calling him cold-blood...d,that sort of thing. Alright, sometimes ruder things. It was then hestarted to wear suits into work, making the excuse that he thought weshould look more professional. Now, looking back, I just think it wasan excuse to wear his jacket, but I'm not sure.It wasn't until the following summer that things in that way came to ahead. We each had a. Therewas makeup, of course, a process which I need notdescribe (as it is rather boring), except to point outthat I watched her decorate my face in the mirror. Ilooked good. I looked like a woman. The red lip glosswas sexy. My eyes appeared enormous. The blush made mea shy but sexually stimulated girl. I felt like one: Iwas in so deep that I never stopped to think about anyof it. Consequences? What consequences? The sweetestwoman I've ever known was helping me get into anotherone of those. More

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