“Don’t be silly. I just want to see if they’re still up to their old tricks. Now will you please just be quiet and watch!”
They both fell silent. In the bedroom, Harvey Henshaw was removing his B.V.D.’s3 . He folded them neatly and put them alongside his other clothes on top of a bureau. Then he crossed to the other side of the room where there was a dressing table with a mirror above it. He pulled a straightback chair over and climbed on top of it to study himself in the mirror.
“I be damned!” Rafe exclaimed. “Will you looka that sad li’l rooster!”
“Shh!”
Harvey Henshaw climbed on and off the chair several times, angling it different ways so that he could see his body from different perspectives in the mirror. It was a round body, without being fat. The breasts were heavy, womanish, with large, brown rosettes and long feminine nipples. His behind was plump, but naturally firm and high. His penis -- semi-erect—wasn’t very thick, but it was extremely long. Except for his legs, which were covered with a blondish stubble, and the area of his groin, he was completely hairless. With his naturally rosy cheeks and extremely curly blond hair, he had the look of a Kewpie doll4 . He looked much younger than his thirty-eight years.
Finally, he sat on the chair in front of the dressing table and rummaged about in one of the drawers. He came up with an electric razor. He cleaned it carefully with a little brush, and then plugged it in. He stretched one leg out before him, propped it on the dressing table and began to shave it.
“Well, I be double-damned!” Rafe said. “What he wanna do that for?”
“Shh! You’ll see.”
“I don ’member him doin’ that the other time.”
“It’s all part of the same thing. Watch.”
Harvey Henshaw finished shaving the first leg and went on to the other one. When he’d shaved that one clean, he stood up and reached behind him to run the electric razor over his buttocks.
“Ain’t no hair there,” Rafe observed.
“Look at his face.”
Harvey Henshaw’s eyes were rolling and his face was a study in bliss. Turned toward the window, it could be seen that he was reacting quite erotically. His long penis was hardening and rising, the tip turning bright red. Harvey tucked the tell-tale organ out of sight between his legs.
“Now look at that! He looks jes’ like a woman now!”
“You’re beginning to catch on,” Wilma observed sarcastically.
“You mean he one a them homo-sexy-you-alls? A fairy?”
“Not exactly. Fairies dig other men. That isn’t little Harvey’s cup of passion. He’s more what they call a transvestite.”
“A transvest-what? What’s that?”
“Watch. You’ll see.”
Rafe watched and he did see. Harvey Henshaw put the razor away and again settled himself in front of the dressing table. He opened various drawers and arranged various items before him. Then he picked one of them up and stood up again. In his hands was a pair of frilly, semi-transparent black silk bikini panties. He stepped into them and pulled them up over his hips. He looked over his shoulder at himself in the mirror and smoothed them over his buttocks. Satisfied, he picked up a black see-through bra and slipped his arms through the loops. He reached behind him with hands that were beginning to flutter and fastened the snap. Then he bent forward and reached inside the bra to plump up his breasts. Again he posed for himself in front of the mirror. He fastened a garter belt around his waist. He pulled on sheer, black silk stockings over his legs and smoothed them tight with caressing hands. He fastened them to the garter belt and stood on the chair once again to look in the mirror and make sure the seams were straight. He got down and wriggled into a tight, full, black slip.
Again he sat himself in front of the mirror. He picked up an eyebrow pencil and arced the line of his brows into a thin, feminine line. He put it down to take up tweezers and yank a few stray hairs which interfered with the effect. He dipped a small brush into a tube of mascara and leaned close to the mirror to brush at his lashes in a series of short, fluttery movements. Satisfied, he put the tweezers and mascara back in the drawer and took out a woman’s compact. He rouged his cheeks carefully, blotting at the excess and blending the color into his skin carefully. Then he dusted them with powder, carefully covered the shine of his nose, and picked up a lipstick. He pursed his lips, painted on a mouth, blotted it, retouched it, blotted again, and then leaned back to study the effect.
He smiled flirtatiously at himself in the mirror, obviously content with the result of his cosmetic labors. Then he walked over to the closet and brought forth a black dress on a hanger. It was very frilly and quite low-cut. It also proved to be quite tight as he struggled into it and had to take a deep breath to pull the zipper all the way up.
Harvey Henshaw opened the bottom drawer of the bureau and took out a blonde wig. He combed and brushed it lovingly for a few moments. Then he placed it carefully on his head. He arranged it so that the curls just brushed his bare shoulders. He gave his half-bare bosom one final dusting with the powder puff and then mounted the chair for one final look in the mirror.
“Wow!” Rafe whispered. “I see that down on Main Street, I give it a play myself. Who’da thunk ol’ Harv could be such a good-lookin’ piece? I swear, for sure I could get all hot an’ bothered if I didn’t know it was him!”
“I’ll bet you could! Even knowing, I’ll bet you could!”
“What do you mean by that?” Rafe asked suspiciously.
“Nothing. Be still, will you!”
Harvey Henshaw brushed some invisible lint from the dress, smoothed an equally invisible crease, assured himself that his slip wasn’t showing and got down from the chair. He crossed the room to an armchair and seated himself gracefully. He crossed his legs, admiring their shapeliness a moment. Then he called out.
“Johnny!” His voice, coming out into the night air through the open window, was not at all falsetto-like; rather, it was a rich contralto. “I’m ready!”
The door opened and Johanna Henshaw made an entrance.
“Sonuvabitch!” Rafe exploded aloud.
“Shh! They’ll hear you!”
Johanna Henshaw was the picture of a slender but tough-looking man! She wore a man’s mod ‘suit, cut to accentuate her lack of hips, and her chest was broad, flat and virile-looking. A man’s shoes, tie, and shirt made the picture perfect. Her short hair was combed neat and straight, and her face was completely bare of makeup. With the cigarette dangling tough-guy fashion from between her lips, she looked a little like Al Pacino. Crossing the room, she swaggered like a man, her hands deep in the pockets of her pants, even a suspicious bulge of malehood evident where her jacket parted to reveal the tight crotch of her trousers.
“Hello, baby,” she said, her voice deep and gruff.
“Hello, lover,” Harvey replied coyly. He batted his mascaraed lashes at her. “I’ve been all a-twitter waiting for you to come.”
“Well, baby, I’m here now.” She bent over and kissed him-hard. Her hand reached for the bodice of his dress and caressed one of the half-moons of flesh quivering there. She drew Harvey to his feet. “What say you put on a record and we dance a mite?” Johanna suggested, moving her padded shoulders in a fashion that can only be described as apelike.
Harvey put on a record and swayed back to Johanna with exaggeratedly feminine movements. His hips swayed and his breasts jiggled provocatively. “Take me in your arms, Johnny,” he crooned.
Johanna took him in her arms, automatically assuming the male’s stance and leading. Harvey followed, cuddling close, body moving vivaciously, head resting on Johanna’s shoulder. Slowly, they danced.