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Chapter 6 - That's much better"That's much better," said Helen. It was Friday night and Helen wasgiving Tracy some last minute tips on how to act like a woman. "If yousit like that, Tracy, nobody would be able to tell you are a man.That's it. Don't slouch, cross your legs, smooth your skirt down."Tracy was dressed in the outfit she was going to wear the next evening- Helen's black pencil skirt, a pale pink blouse and cardigan, blackstilettos, jewellery, a handbag, blonde wig and a little makeup. Shealso wore black tights. She hadn't told Helen but the following day sheplanned to wear stockings - they're so feminine."What do you know about Millie?" asked Helen."Not much. I told you that she works in the catering industry. Mid-thirties. She's married but separated. No kids." Was her separation anything to do with Millie being a pantyboy?" I don't know. Millie hasn't said as much but reading between the linesI think it might have been. Some women aren't as tolerant as you are,darling,". She was far more scared than she was hateful.My hand shot forward, fingers bunched together into a point, and struck her between her bare breasts, punching the nerve cluster in her breastbone. I did not hit hard, but the nerves screamed in response as though they'd been slammed with a sledgehammer! Breath puffed from her lungs and her heart lost rhythm for a moment. Gasping for air, she wondered if I'd cracked the bone. "Silence is not an acceptable response, Alicia," I said. "Now, why don't you spare yourself worse pain...where is the box?" It's up your ass." Poor Alicia," I cooed. "To make such bad decisions and cause yourself such pain...how sad." Then I reached into my shirt pocket and removed two spring clothespins. Stepping closer to her, I grasped her head in my arm, used my free hand to grip one of her eyelids, and snapped a clothespin on the lid! Bright sparks of pain danced through the skin as the wood bit the sensitive flesh! But before she could react, I snapped the other.
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He stopped for a quick meal near the hill where his house lay, where a small restaurant lay with pinewood walls and floors worn dark by age and some of the best home-style cooking the state. The waitress recognized him, bringing him steaming coffee and a small bowl of sugar, just as he always ordered it. A baked chicken over rice followed with an assortment of vegetables and the fluffy homemade rolls that had put the place on the map. William ate slowly, thinking about the homeless person that he had handed the last thermos and paper bundle to. She had looked like many others, scared that he would reject her, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her and sneer. He remembered the timidity with which she had taken the coffee, the age and threadbare nature of the coat, the shoes bound up with string. He made a mental note to find her down at the shelter in the morning and give her what clothing he had in the warehouse. The house at the top of the hill glowed with a welcoming blaze of lights..

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