But what I could see was Malcolm lifting Chris clear off the ground and with a fist holding him by the throat a face-to-face conversation going on bet...een the two of them.I had no idea what was being said, but the fact that Malcolm could hold a six-foot two-hundred-pound man off the ground with just his right hand on his windpipe made a lasting impression on me. Malcolm was clearly not someone to be trifled with, I wrote a mental note to myself.Malcolm only released his grasp when Chris nodded. ” She furrowed her brow. Her deep, brown eyes fierce. She was still bent over, hands on the waistband of her jeans midway down her legs.“Okay Mom.” Sam didn’t move.“Sammy, you can’t keep pushing me like this.” She pulled the dirty jeans the rest of the way off and tossed them into the hamper. She straightened and looked at her son. His mouth agape. His bulge more than obvious in his pants. She shook her head. “What am I going to do with you, Sammy?” She reached down and pulled off her shirt and. He was in Heaven.I, on my side, had reached peaks of femininity I could have never evendreamed of at the start of my transition ten months earlier: down theentrance way to Macaon there I was, walking proudly as a real woman, withmarvellous, feminine breasts, luscious curves and a glow that further litthe day. Pregnancy and lactation had shaped my body in an unquestionablyfeminine way: I have always wanted to die a real woman, as close to agenetic woman in appearance as I can. Day by day, my. Yeah, I want to." He gave me a nice, long kiss."I'm ready," I said. "Let's go beard the tigers."It took only a minute to reach their door. Bob knocked. Beth answered. She was wearing toreador pants, of all things, with a ruffled gold, long-sleeved blouse, white stockings and pointy-toed little shoes. All that black hair, still half wet, was piled on top of her head. I was glad I'd put on my dress. Not that I was competing, I just looked like I'd tried."Ah!" she said, smiling brightly. "Come.