She kept saying that I should publish them but I never really thought much of them. The more she urged me, the more I began to consider what she said ...nd so, one day, I collated all the emails I had sent her about my first fantasy and edited them together. The result was a short story and so, I looked for a way to share it.It wasn't long before I found a site and posted it there, never once thinking that anyone would be in the slightest bit interested in my amateur jottings but how wrong I was.. ..how do they eat?If they eat! And doesn't one of the men from there run around in woman'sclothes? How do they exist? I mean, I could never do that!" Helena knewthey were talking about someone, but whom? She remembered that Uncle Tomwas 'changing' as daddy had explained it, and that he needed a place tolive. He did wear dresses occasionally, and he always wore woman'sclothes, but she also remembered the big plate of food she had eaten thatvery morning. So if she wasn't hungry, then who where. A fan hummed in the corner circulating air, humid from the en-suite shower. An old television showed ghosted and snowy pictures of local channels picked up from a poorly set-up roof-aerial. Blen undressed, folded her clothes, then lay on the bed. She watched Nick fiddle with the TV, move the fan to a better position and pour some drinks, before he stripped off his clothes and lay on the bed beside her. She rolled against him, one leg over his hips, one arm over his chest, and her head resting. A raving nymphomaniac married to Jabba the Hutt, I just could not envision her fucking him. It was too sad. As we chatted away, she stood by the sink, idly washing down the sink and counters. With the sun still just above the horizon, sun streamed through the window. It was making her pyjamas transparent, so I could follow the curves of her torso, down to her hips. Occasionally, if the sun was just right, I glimpsed side boob, and her nipples poking up. If she moved away from the counter, I.
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