Out of desperation, I blurted out, “Julie, you’re so sexy. I … I … I dress up like you when I masturbate, I love you so much!” She did not hang up. She did not express displeasure. At all. Instead, she said, “Tony, that is a huge compliment! Please tell me about your dressing up.” We chatted for a half-hour, with me spilling everything, big boob fetish, long hair fetish, smoking fetish. I described my wigs, my costumes, the things I would say when dressed and emulating her. She never gave the slightest inclination she felt it was strange. For the first time in my life, I fell completely accepted and validated, all of me, the crossdressing part as well as the “normal” part. As we were winding up, for whatever reason, she said the following. “My friend, it sounds like you have a special place in your heart for me. I want you to know you have been a very special friend to me, too. You saw the student and the stripper, the ordinary girl and the sexualized object. You accepted them both,. A valet to help dress her and a cosmetologist to do her makeup and hair. Despite the abuse, she had persevered and was now excited to be training on fighters. Her black belt, or primary drill instructor, had made her take the aptitude test a second time, not believing how well she had scored. The greatest thrill of her young life had been marching up to him after graduation and receiving her first salute from the son of a bitch. The dark haired girl stumbled and started to fall. Holly's hand shot out, grabbed a handful of her jumper and kept her on her feet. "Lean on me," she whispered urgently. The girl looked up at her though pain glazed eyes and nodded dully. Holly slipped her arm around the girl's small waist and half-led, half carried her through the maze of corridors.She wondered why she was helping; the girl had been so mean tempered on the flight no one would talk to her. Then she remembered boot camp. The first five k run. She had been the one stumbling then and if it hadn't.
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