“Stop playing games with me, guys! Amy? Where are you?”Embarrassed to mess with the blaring stereo, Rebecca tread cautiously to the front door and...checked through the windows at top, standing on tip-toe. At the curb sat a police cruiser, a black and white SUV with the department logo on the side. Using her hand as a shield against the flashing strobes, she’d swear no one was inside the car. The driver’s side door stood half open, as though someone had gotten out. Craning to look in all. He hadn't reallybeen a transvestite, but with an introverted nerd's typicalfascination with things that seemed beyond his reach, he had beencurious about women's clothes. While he was growing up he had"experimented" a little with his mother's clothes, and then his oldersister's. The experiments had never proceeded beyond trying on a fewitems of lingerie and a dress in private when he was alone in thehouse. His feet were small for a man and he had been able to weartheir high-heeled shoes as. Involuntarily, she humped up her back, and leant forward, anything to escape those cruel blows. Birch spoke then, his voice even but firm. “If you move like that again, you will get more. Back in your position.”Obediently, Emi sank back down. She was crying now, quietly snivelling to herself from fear and self pity. Birch took no notice. He simply carried on methodically placing each blow until he was satisfied. Emi felt him step away from her. She imagined him examining her marks. But Will's mom and sister were girls. They had never mistreated him, so his mistrust only extended to those girls outside of family.Two years later, Will's academic studies began to take a back seat to his hormonal urges. Fourteen now, Will had these urges and one night while taking a bath, he rubbed his tool with the wash cloth ... and a funny feeling overtook him. It didn't take but a few minutes to discover that the wash cloth caused too much friction and wet fingers did a better job, even.