“No” Marie answered.“I could tell from your face and also from the way that you just sat there without going to order a drink. Are you waiting f...r someone?”“No” replied Marie. “I’m not waiting for anyone.”Marie turned and looked at the man who had spoken to her. He was sitting at a table beside hers, and he was about 45 years old. His hair was starting to turn grey, but it was still mostly black. His eyes were dark brown, and his face was slightly tanned. Marie could see that he kept himself in. I am a man, I thought. I am a man,right?I sat down on the bed and looked across the room at a mirror. The imagestaring back at me did not look like a man. The image, my image, lookedlike an attractive woman with long dark hair and tastefully done make upand manicured nails, and as much as I did not want to be, I was proud ofhow she looked. This woman, me, was sitting in a very demure andfeminine manner wearing an above the knee length ivory dress and blackcardigan sweater. She was wearing. More

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