If anyone saw me as a tranny, I'd never live it down.A voice: "I know you're in there. I saw you! I saw you getting dressed!"It was our neightbour, Bo...b. He was in his 30s and lived in the apartment next door to us. He'd seen me! What could I do?"Open up!" he called. "Or I'll make it worse for you!"I stood there in the hall - a teenage boy dressed to the nines as a hot teenage girl. My cock was throbbing with the excitement of wearing my sister's clothes, and I felt confused for a moment.I. She smiled as she told me how delicately he had broached the matter with her, and that he was by no means making a complaint. ‘It’s only for extra tightness there,’ she told me, squeezing her small hand as if to illustrate the idea, ‘which is important, at least to a young man like Enrique, who needs to be with a woman more than the average.’ I nodded and said that it was a good idea for both of them. It would help her self-esteem as well as provide extra enjoyment for Enrique, which of course. Someone will miss us."The old woman smiled, which sent a chill through Martina. "You underestimate me," she said. "You have always been who you now appear to be. The boys you were never existed, except in your minds." She leaned forward, and then frowned. "Oh yes, those tattoos. They just won't do." She waved her hand, and as the boys watched, the Nazi swastikas morphed, changing into roses. Other tattoos simply vanished. No trace of their racist emblems remained. "Now get out of here."The boys. How could I? I never spoke two words to her, or anyone else.”She looked at me and an expression of sympathy drifted across her face. I hurried on, not wanting to get into my past. Even Phoebe was a safer topic than that.“I did notice something weird; I must admit. When we were on lunch or break time, she would always either be in a group or on her own. I didn’t know why, and I certainly didn’t ask, but she never seemed to have any one-on-one time with anybody. She had lots of friends, but none.