The Male Cross-Dresser Support Group

Excerpt From Chapter One

All day Sunday I lay around in my dirty sweatpants and shirt until finally I decided to go to the store. Normally I made an attempt to put on some makeup, to avoid public contempt, which I wasn't imagining. People really did give me strange looks, and some even burst into laughter. It wasn't that I cared, but when I went out I wanted to avoid mockery. This time I didn't bother. There was a man standing in front of the building. He had a bicycle with a basket containing a little white dog. When he saw me, a strange expression came over his face, as if he had just lost a filling.

"Excuse me," he said. "Do you know any apartments in this area?" His question was innocuous. Yet I had an idea he had been waiting for me. I was a bit suspicious. He was too handsome, a St. Tropez type with fawn-colored hair, a crisp white shirt, corky tan, and vaguely foreign accent.

"I think there was somebody in the building moving out," I said. "There's a terrace, too, which would be nice for your dog."

"Bubbela," he said.

"What?" I said.

"Bubbela," he said. "That's the dog's name. I call him Bubbie. It's Jewish for Little Grandmother. My name's Alby, by the way."

"I'm Pamela Trowel," I said. Now I was sorry I hadn't fixed myself up.

I thought of my eyes, without mascara and shadow -- small reddish berries with glutinous pulp. And how my mouth was gray as a curled snail, topped with thin, black, glandular hairs.

"I travel a lot," Alby said. "But I really like this neighborhood, and I wanted to find a place for when I'm in town."

"What field are you in?" I said.

"I'm a cinematographer," he said. "Listen, is there a chance you're free later? For dinner or a drink?"

I hesitated. "Well, we could have a drink," I said at last. "I, uh, I could tell you about the neighborhood, and stuff. Where should we meet?"

"I'll pick you up," he said.

I fixed myself up, which took a while: red lipstick, white powder, black short skirt, high heels. After a while I looked out the door. Alby was standing with his bicycle, holding the little white dog. I grinned to myself, imagining the look of delight on his face when he saw me looking so much better.

"What did you do to yourself?" he said in a shocked voice.

"I got dressed," I said, annoyed. "When you saw me before, I was just running out to the store."

"You looked better before," he said. "Now you look terrible. Geez."

I scurried to keep up with him as he started to walk. "Your little dog is so cute," I said in what I hoped was a placating tone. "Is it a poodle?"