She took a sip from her own and then said a little mysteriously, “Well, that visit from your friend went to plan. Do you fancy another dance?” He ...eturned her smile, nodded and took her hand to lead her back to the dance floor. I pulled my feet back to give them room to pass but my good mannered action was not acknowledged and I was left to amuse myself as I chose fit.I toyed with my drink and thought, “She’s acting a bit odd; what the hell is going on here?”The afternoon wore on and with. I walked like a woman, sat like a woman, peed like a woman, gesticulatedlike a woman. Mustapha was particularly fond of my bottom, and I couldalmost feel his looks on it, his dark, piercing eyes caressing my buttcheeks. Deep down, I knew those looks foretold a long story. A story inwhich I would lose my virginity. Up to that point, we had not had anal sexyet. Both of us had preferred to concentrate our sexual interaction onother parts of my body: my trans clitoris (which Mustapha adored to. I flattened myself on the floor as Lissa stepped over me to take the next return.I was sure no one could tell how well in synch we were with each other. People who watch racquetball just see the serves and missed returns. But what they were really seeing with Lissa and me were two people making love on the racquetball court.Don’t ask me how we ever got to this point. Someplace, racquetball became like sex to us. We met each other’s thrusts. We rolled over each other without hesitation—without. That's when he told me about Usenet. He told me about a place where I could publish photos of myself. Erotica. Where I wouldn't get paid, but people would appreciate what I did, even if I wasn't exactly Jewell Marceau."So when do I start taking photos?" Joel was still standing in the doorway, pretending to be blase about our amateur photo shoot. It's weird, had I been living with another woman I probably would have felt uncomfortable asking her to do this favour for me, but I got the impression.