It was dusk when we got in the cab. “I am to put on the stockings if I give you a pair, and to feel”, I said. “No man has, c’est trop fort, yo...u ask too much; you may put on garters below the knee.” “Why not above?” “Oh! quite different”, said she, “in the fields no girl minds putting her garter on before all the world below knee; but above, sh! that is disgrace.” Such is fashion, I have seen an Italian market-woman stoop forward and piss whilst talking to a man (a neighbouring stall-keeper) :. Her mother in law took her to their bedroom and try to console her but it was not possible on her part to calm down. At last her father in law came and try to talk to her but she vehemently refused any other talk except her sexual fulfillment. Her mother in law told she should calm down .She told if his son is not capable to fuck her to her satisfaction she will not be starved for sex as his father in law is a great fucker and he can satisfy her to her heart content .She told how she can fuck. She's technically a boy. I mean HE's a boy.... he's my boyfriend. We're dating. And I've been feminizing him because well... I dunno it just feels right. I like him better this way..."The words shook me. I couldn't believe she said it out loud. Rebecca had just reveled what I had been hiding from Dave this entire time. In doing so, she also made me realize what a bizarre and pathetic creature I am; not really a boy, not really a girl. Utterly undeserving of my beautiful girlfriend, and yet. I’ll take you through to the studio.’ She led Marianne through the back into a short corridor. The walls had long ago been painted a pale cream colour, but were now largely covered in large photographs of shoes, pens, buildings, bottles and other objects in some quite creative lighting. All were pin-sharp and clearly professional. ‘I’m Chris’s mother, Linda, by the way.’ ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Linda,’ Marianne replied as they turned left at the bottom of a short flight of steps. Linda.