The sick urgethat never left me for long, it was passed on to him. I didn't how ithappened. I had hidden it for so long, could he have picked up on it...Was it genetic? Are we prone to this aberration?I started to pace as I tried to figure out a way to put a stop to it. Iwas desperately searching my mind for a way to make sure that he'd neverdressed again. It's not acceptable. I knew it wasn't. I had learned thatlesson decades earlier.Dressing in skirts was for girls and sissy queers. I was. A few years had gone by, I had flown into Atlanta and was checking into a hotel. I had just gotten my room key, when I heard a voice behind me, saying, "Well hello, Mr. Jones." I turned and there was a beautiful red headed young lady standing there smiling at me. I knew that I should know her, but I just couldn't place her. After a brief awkward moment it came to me, I blurted out, "You're Dawn, aren't you. What brings you to Atlanta?" She stated that she had just gotten out of school and was. More

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