I gripped the side of my leg as best as I could and pulled at the knife. Nothing. I couldn't move it.Looking closer at the wound around the knife, I c...uld tell that I was already healing, sealing the knife to me. I could also feel the knife inside my arm, as if my muscles were as touch sensitive as my fingertips. I was gripping the blade of the knife with my arm. I had to relax, but it hurt.Looking around to make sure no one was heading in my direction I caught sight of the other man I had seen. It was thirty-three years since I had last worn a skirt. That one wasbadly made and the wrong size, the result of a furtive grab at a thriftstore. It looked so ridiculous I ended up purging everything in mycollection. A few weeks later I met Mary.This one was much nicer!I hung it back up, grabbed my robe, and went down to the living room fora long think about what had just happened.The experiments with cross dressing in my teens were something I couldnever really explain. I wasn't gay but. More

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