‘I was in New York when Charlene met me, Debbie was in England, and you?’ ‘I was here. Well, in LA, anyway.’ ‘And can you remember the date?...�� Debbie asked. ‘Fuck,’ Wanda said, trying to think back. ‘It was a Friday, almost a month ago now – – oh wait, yeah, it was Friday the thirteenth.’ ‘It was also the same day that Charlene met me and Debbie.’ ‘What? Did she have a private jet or something?’ Debbie shook her head. ‘No, we’ve worked out the times, even taking into account the different time. She asked me how I felt about being dressed in public with a no-bullshit phrase “How are you feeling about being here, dressed now?” I was sort of overwhelmed. It felt good to be in a dress and high heels, my nipples poking out through the sheer fabric. It was great to be dressed and talking to another gurl, albeit she lived as a gurl full-time while I was in the closet, I could sense her empathy and concern. It felt good to be accepted for being in my own skin. I tried to convey these things. More

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