He took the lip liner pencil and outlined his lips before fillingthem in with pink lipstick which he then coated in liberal coats of lipgloss. He fin...lly looked himself over in the vanity mirror. He finallyno longer saw a man but a girl with big teased blonde hair, slutty cakedon makeup and wet looking lips. "I'm not a man." He said once again. Hegrabbed his wife's favorite red nail polish and began painting his toes."Look how good you are at staying in the lines! You are definitely not. Sharing a "Now what?" look, we followed first the left and then the right-hand paths, finding the typical thick, wooden dungeon doors at both ends. Scent was useless, the smoking candles and earth doing much to eliminate all but the most basic of traceable smells that told us only that people regularly traversed this underground place. The almost dirt-free floor told us the same thing. Trying to get a sense of direction through my diminished link was less than useless.For lack of any better. No one is going to wear jean today. Find something else. Check out Riya, look how sexy she looks. I looked at Riya and walked back again to my bag and started searching inside. I was not sure what to wear. What is the confusion? he asked me again. Let me help you he said.Within seconds he was near me, he lifted my bag and put it on the bed. Riya, help me ordered. The poor girl immediately stood next to him. I let them take control of my dressing today. He started taking out my clothes one by. Mrs Jean Cameron was in her late fifties and had been a school teacher in Glasgow before her mother had taken ill. She dressed quite formally in a tweed suit and cotton blouse and was clearly a very confident and capable woman, like many woman teachers at that time. After six months or so her mother had passed away but Mrs Cameron had chosen to stay on in the property and had resigned from her teaching post in the city. She had decided to sort out the old property and all summer the place was.