The hem of the skirt feelsvery sexy rubbing against my legs. She has me stand in front of themirror once more and all vestiges of my male persona are...gone. I am notMike; I am the woman of my dreams. She clips silver drop earrings to myears, fastens a matching pendant around my neck, slides rings on myfingers and fastens bangles and bracelets to my wrists."The final touch," she whispers in my ear and then sprays a liberalamount of 'Poison' on my decolletage and cheekily sprays some under. He was about to argue with that little voice but stopped when he realized that it was true. He was bored. Some small part of him must have known it for years, but he had never voiced the realization, even to himself. He was a thirty-eight-year-old tenured economics professor. He’d graduated from Harvard with majors in math and economics, gone straight from his undergraduate studies to graduate school, and started his job at Chicago before he’d even finished his dissertation. He loved his. More

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