As my partners in crime were indulging in the spoils of love, a transvestite dressed in a killer miniskirt sat close to me. That she was a transvestit... was obvious, although she had a killer body, and the miniskirt tight on her waist was complimenting her figure. "Why you don't play with the girls, you no like girls?", she asked, to which I replied that I wasn't in mood for it. We started talking about life and her dreams. She had a feminine voice, somewhat deep. She was talking about her. " I... don't understand, Eric. What... ?" Come over here," Kaye told her, motioning toward a slightly ajar door set in the far wall. "I think you ought to see this, Vicki."Perplexedly, she followed the respected educator across the carpeted floor to the door. There, adjacent to the door, were mounted numerous switches, knobs, and Eric Kaye reached up to twist one of them, bringing the previously soft strains of the Gleason orchestra into ear-consuming loudness. Then, with a flick of his deft. More

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