I met her when I was 17 years old, twenty-five years ago this October. I was a skinny athletic, 5-foot, 9-inch, 160 pound high school senior. She was a beautiful 19-year old prostitute.

Anita lived in the inner city of my hometown back east. We met on a corner one evening downtown. I saw her crying, and went over to see if I could console her. We ended up at a neighborhood deli, sipping Cokes and Laughing. I never realized she was a prostitute until several weeks later when she told me after a movie we attended.

By that time, it didn't make any difference. We had become close friends.

Over the next 6 years, we never made love once, but we shared a lot of love between us. She was the older sister I never had, and I was the brother she never had. We'd go dancing, on dates, to movies and even to parties together. Sometimes we'd just talk.

In fact, about a year after I met Anita we got talking about her occupation. We were driving to a football game at Syracuse University when she began complaining about how men really don't understand what a prostitute goes through to earn her money. She was rambling on and on when I finally said, "Hey, it can't be that bad. You have a nice car, a great apartment, season tickets, and you always seem to have plenty of money!"

Anita looked at me as if she couldn't believe her ears. Then, she got this sly look in her eyes. You've seen the look before. It's like when a little kid figures out how he can get into the Oreos without his parents ever knowing. I got this bad feeling, like maybe I had just put my foot (up to my kneecap) into my mouth.

She pulled the car over and said, "I'm going to prove to you just how 'bad' it really is."

Well, after the game, which Syracuse lost, we went over to her spacious apartment. "I'm going to take you with me tonight," she said. "That will be interesting," I said. "You won't even get a guy to look at you cross-eyed with me standing there."

She picked up a blonde wig, held it up toward me and said, "I'll get more than a look, and you'll be standing right next to me all the time." Realizing now what she had in mind, I began to walk backward toward the door, but she stopped me. "You're the one who said, 'It can't be that bad.' I think I have a little work to do, unless you're afraid."

Isn't it amazing how effectively women manipulate the male ego? Me, afraid?! No way! Especially at 18-years old. Hell, I'd do anything when I was 18, and Anita knew it. "Okay, let's get on with this," I told her, still not completely realizing what was about to happen.

Anita began to walk around me, like she was assessing the value of something. I just kept thinking to myself, "What's the big deal anyway? I'll look like a guy or at most, a tall, ugly girl. No one will come near us."

Just as I was beginning to convince myself of this theory, Anita said, "Come into the bathroom, sit on the chair by the tub, take your shoes and socks off and roll the legs on your shorts up." I followed the instructions.

Anita began rubbing this creamy white stuff all over my legs. It felt tingly. "What's this stuff?" I asked. "Nair." "What's Nair?" (talk about being naive) "It removes hair." "What?! Get this stuff off me!" I shrieked. She looked at me as she wiped her hands off. "Sorry. It's too late to take it off now. You'll have to wait a few minutes. Just wait here while I get a few things together." Then she left the bathroom.

About five minutes passed before Anita returned. The tingle of the Nair had become a slight stinging feeling. "Okay, let's wash this off," Anita said. She motioned to me to stand in the large tub. She turned the water on, and in less than 30 seconds, all the hair and Nair on my tanned legs went down the drain!.

I immediately noticed how smooth my legs felt. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

"How do you feel?" Anita asked. "Fine I think." I was gawking at my legs, staring in mild shock. She smiled and said, "I'll rub some lotion on your legs so they'll feel better." They not only felt better, but now they were softer than I could ever remember! "C'mon. It's time to get dressed," she said. At the time, I'm not sure what I thought, "get dressed" meant, but I obligingly followed Anita to her bedroom. I'd never been in this room before. The be was large and there was a beautiful vanity against one wall, and full-length mirrors on the sliding glass doors of her closet. A wide L-shaped window seat filled one corner of the room, and the subtle early evening light filtered softly through the lace curtains on to the fluffy seat cushions. The room was reminiscent of an impressionist painting, something that Monet would have done.

The beauty of the moment was shattered, however, when Anita offered me a pair of lace panties and said, "It's time to take your shorts and underwear off and put these on." "Those?!" I protested. "You can see through them!" "Well, they're the only kind I have." She paused. "This isn't to tough for you, is it?" I extended my hand, she placed the panties in it and I put them on. I felt naked.

Now smirking, Anita said, "To make things go faster, you get dressed the same way I do."

For the first time, I noticed two sets of clothes on the bed. She took off her shorts and T-shirt (God, did she look good) and said "Ready? You look ready." I turned red. The panties rubbing against me was causing a large bulge, and it didn't help that I could see through her panties, too.

"We'll put our bras on," she said. They were black and lacy to match our panties, and they closed in the front. Anita helped me keep the straps from twisting. Then, she stuffed some foam rubber pads and hose in each of my 36B cups.

"Next we'll do our garter belts." These were easy. I got my little flower in the front just like Anita. "And now for the hose. I gave you a pair of my thi-top stockings, because they're longer than regular stockings. Still, you have to hold them like this, then roll them almost all the way to the toe. And be careful not to run them with your nails." No problem I didn't have nails.

I felt like I was trying to put on a pair of socks without touching them. As I carefully placed my foot into the hose, I could feel the silkiness of the material hugging every centimeter of my hair-free foot and ankle. I brought the stocking up over my calf, then my knee and up to within an inch of the dangling garters, fastening the back garters with a little help from Anita. I did the same with my other stocking. The sensation of the silky hose was incredible! Again, Anita noticed my panty situation. Teasingly she said, "I see you like your hose, too."
I was embarrassed. "I can't help it, Anita. I can't move without all this stuff rubbing against my body." "I understand," she said. "Your legs do look fantastic. Let's see what we can do with the rest of you."

She handed me an over-sized blouse and I put it on with a slinky black miniskirt. As I walked past one of the mirrors, I couldn't help but notice that I could see my lace bra through the shimmery blouse. It looked sexy. "Where did you get these clothes?" I asked, admiring my new figure. "I used to be a size 14," Anita said. "I kept the clothes to remind me to keep in shape. I must say, you look very good in them. Your height really helps." "Thank you," I said.

"It's time to make your face look feminine. Sit over by the vanity. The light is better," she said.

The longer I wore my new clothes, the sexier I felt. I sat down at the table and crossed my legs. What a feeling! I also realized my miniskirt was indeed short. Even though I couldn't quite see my garters, the hem line of the skirt was a good five inches above my knee when I was standing.

Since I had shaved my face before the game, I was basically whisker-free. But, I quickly shaved off the couple areas of stubble I saw. Then, Anita took a pair of tweezers and began plucking hair from my eyebrows. At first I panicked, but she reassured me that she was only making my brows smooth. Even without any makeup, I could see the subtle change in my eyebrows. I liked it.

As I was admiring her work, Anita grabbed a handful of bob pins and pinned all my hair up and back. Talk about looking weird! I began to wonder if she really knew what she was doing. Then, she applied some foundation, mascara, eye shadow, eye liner, blush and lipstick.

Finally, she too the blonde wig and put it on me. After a couple minutes of combing and shaping it ( she used some hair spray too), she said, "Okay. Except for your jewelry and heels, I think you're ready." I turned and looked into the mirror. It was amazing! I was a coed! I stared and stared. At last, Anita asked, "Well' what do you think?" I just sort of looked at her in disbelief. "Well?" she pleaded. "Uhhh, I can't believe this is me. I'm absolutely amazed."

"You just stay right there," she said excitedly. "I'm going to freshen up a bit and go down to the shoe store and get some heels for you. What size men's shoe do you wear?" Still in shock, I blurted out, "9 1/2." Anita grabbed her purse and car keys and hurried out the door.

About half an hour later, she returned with two show boxes in her arms. I was still looking at myself in the mirrors (and disbelief) when she entered the apartment, except I had walked from the vanity to the bed so I could see myself more completely.

Anita opened one of the boxes and pulled out a sexy black sandal with about a 3-inch heel. "Try this on," she said. "It looks too small," I replied. Ignoring me, she took my ankle, and my nylon- clad foot slid effortlessly into the shoe! It surprised me how lightweight the shoe was and how easily it went on my foot. I was also surprised at how good it looked.

Anita thought. "Hmmm. We better try this other one on, too." From the second box, she pulled out a pair of black pumps that were cut low on the sides. They also had a 3-inch heel, but they had a cute little bow on the upper part of the back of the heel. "Yes!" she said. "These are perfect." "Don't I get to choose?" I said meekly. "No," she replied. She took the sandal off and replaced it with the matching pump on my other foot.

As I sat on the bed looking in astonishment at my new shoes, she stood up in front of me and reached out with both hands. "Let me help you stand up," she said. "Every lady needs to learn how to walk in heels."

At first, I thought she was joking, but as I began to stand, I realized I was in a highly precarious position. I immediately forgot how I was dressed. Now, I was trying to keep from breaking my ankles. I was also beginning to feel very exposed. The combination of the miniskirt and pumps made my legs look long and slender. And in the mirror, I could see the pretty bow on the back of my heels as my eyes were drawn down my smooth, silky legs.

Anita led me around the room at first. And within a few minutes, I was walking around easily by myself. I kept returning to the bedroom to look at myself as if not believing how I had changed so drastically in such a few short hours. Anita also added a necklace, earrings, a bracelet and some inexpensive adjustable rings to complete my outfit. "What do you say we go get a glass of wine before we see how 'easy' things are on the streets?" she said sarcastically.

By now, I was wondering exactly what I had gotten myself into. But, I figured I could definitely use a glass of wine. So, Anita let me borrow one of her purses to throw my wallet and lipstick in, and off we went.

Even though it was about 7:30 in the evening, it was mid October, and the air in upstate New York is cool in mid October. I especially felt it on my legs and chest as it blew softly through my sheer clothing and up under my skirt. We got into her car and my skirt slid up to my garters as I maneuvered to sit down behind the steering wheel. Anita chuckled. She had a great laugh, too. I heard it a few seconds later as I tried to start her 4-speed Pontiac LeMans. I was not at all prepared to drive in heels, and my skirt slid up, further revealing my now goose-bumper thighs.

I got the car started, and yes we almost got whiplash as I engaged the clutch. At the time, it didn't dawn on me to take my pumps off. I turned the heater on as we drove to Twin Trees.

Twin Trees is a local landmark and an excellent restaurant. It's been at the same location as long as I can remember. They serve great Italian food and I'd put their pizza up against any. As we came to a stop in the parking lot and went to get out of the car, it dawned on me that this was a place I frequented. People knew me here! My friends might be inside!

I touched Anita on the arm. "Maybe we should go somewhere else for a glass of wine. Someone might recognize me."

Anita answered, "No one will recognize you. To be honest, the reason I've been staring at you is because you look so much like a cute girl." I took a deep breath. "Okay, let's go inside," I said.

When we entered the restaurant, Maria, the hostess met us at the receptionist's podium. She asked where we would like to sit. Anita did all the talking. Maria led us to a booth where the lighting was subdued. What surprised me was that I'd known Maria about eight years and she didn't recognize me! Maybe Anita was right. I was beginning to feel more confident.

Then, as I sat down, up went my skirt again and out came some whistles from a group of guys at a nearby table. Cheeze! hurriedly tucked my skirt (what there was of it) under my rear end. Anita asked, "Are you having fun?" I felt like I was some sort of experiment under a microscope. " Not quite yet,: I replied softly and nervously.

Anita ordered for us and we received our glasses of wine in minutes (Twin Trees has great service). As I sipped my wine, I noticed I was sitting more erect than usual. This awareness made me curious as to why I was sitting this way. Then it came to me. Every time I sort of slouched, my fanny would slide forward, allowing my skirt to slide higher up. My lingerie was supplying no friction whatsoever under my new clothes, and the only way I could keep from sliding was to sit erect.

This new (for me) posture also made my new breast point out noticeably, and with the top two buttons on my blouse unbuttoned, it was relatively easy to see a hint of my lace-trimmed bra. I was feeling very feminine. I crossed my legs under the table (it was so effortless to do) and consciously held my glass like Anita was holding hers. Anita, observing my behavior, smiled knowingly.

We finished our glasses of wine and Anita said, "It's time to go." We paid our waitress and as we left, I felt like every eye in the place was focused on us. When we walked out into the cool evening air, I realized I was perspiring slightly. Anita noticed, too "You're not nervous, are you?" "Honestly?" I said. I paused in mid sentence as we got into the car. "Yeah, I'm nervous." Anita held my hand. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll be easy on you tonight." Then, she kissed me. As she did, her silky legs rubbed against mine and I thought I was going to go through the roof.

I didn't say much for several minutes. I was thinking about how close Anita and I had become. For the first time, I realized that Anita and I could share anything. We decided to drive to the Red Dog Saloon, a popular local night spot where there were a lot of singles. There was also a live Rock 'N Roll band playing and a large dance floor. Everyone seemed tobe having a good time as we pulled into the lot.

I was familiar with the Red Dog because I had been there a few times before with some of the guys. But this time it was different. I was on the other side of the sexual fence. I thought to myself, "What would Tom (my best male friend) and I do if we saw two good-looking, unescorted coeds in minis walk into the Red Dog?" We'd try to pick them up, of course! At which time these two guys walked up to us and said, "Are you ladies with anyone tonight?"

Anita replied, "Not yet." The taller of the two said, "Could we buy you a drink?" "Sure," Anita responded. I was speechless! Literally. I had just gotten picked up! "What's your name?" Ellen," Anita answered. "And this is my friend, Barrie! She can't talk, but she's a lot of fun. We use sign language to talk with each other."

I'm sure my eyes must have looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. Barrie?! Can't talk?! Holy shit, am I in trouble

"My name is Jack," replied the taller guy. "And this is my friend, Alex." Alex sort of smiled and gestured with his hand. I could tell he was shy around girls. So could Anita, and she liked shy guys. "Wanna dance, Alex?" Anita said. What?! Anita was going to leave me here with Jack?! I sort of smiled at her, through clenched teeth, as she and Alex got up to dance.

Cheeze! What a mess. What if this guy finds out I'm not what he thinks? What is he expecting of me? What should I do? "Can I get you anything to drink?" Jack asked. Even though I was a little startled by his question, I didn't move and pretended like I was deaf. "Oh, you can't hear. Let me get a paper and a pen."

A waitress was at the table next to us, so Jack reached over and took her pen with a few napkins right off her tray. She never saw him! Then he slid his chair around the table so that he was within inches of me! I took the pen from his hand (that surprised him) and a napkin and wrote, "I'd sure like a glass of rose." "Rose?" he wrote. "That's my favorite. Let's order a carafe." "Perfect," I wrote.

Actually, "perfect" would have been a bottle of scotch. I know I don't drink scotch, I just felt like I needed a lot of it at the time.

Jack tapped the waitress (who was still standing at the adjacent table) on the shoulder and ordered the rose. When she went to get our order, Jack and I wrote napkin notes back and forth to each other. We got each other's age, sign, cultural interests, etc.. The usual. At last, the waitress returned, but she had four glasses and two carafes. "I only ordered one carafe," Jack said. "This other one is from the gentleman at the bar. He said you two look so nice together." I almost threw up.

Jack poured the wine and as he did, he acknowledged the guy with a wave and smile. I pretended not to hear or see anything. Thinking he was going to take advantage of this particular opportunity, Jack decided to write what supposedly just happened on yet another napkin. I read the message. "The gentleman at the bar said we looked like newlyweds, so he sent us this second carafe of wine." Newlywed?! I paused for a moment and thought, that's not what I heard the waitress say.

I folded the napkin, put it in my purse, smiled coyly and picked up my glass of wine as if to toast Jack and the guy at the bar, as the band's version of "Shop Around" by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles came to an end. Jack interpreted my toast as a flirtatious invitation, and he put his free hand squarely on my thigh!

Startled, I jumped in my seat and looked down. Sure enough, there was my mini up to about an inch below my garters! "Cheeze! How do girls wear these things?" I thought. And Jack's hand was right on my hose and the hem of my skirt! I reached down to grab Jack's hand as Anita and Alex arrived back at the table. Seeing all the napkins, wine, glasses and the compromising position of my hand now resting on top of Jack's, Anita said, "Gee, you tow look like you're getting to know each other quite well!" Jack smiled.

It's probably just as well that I didn't have a gun. I'm sure I would have used it. I wanted to scream! Then I thought, "How am I going to get out of this mess?" I picked up the pen and began to write, "Ellen, we need to go to the rest..." Just then, Jack took the pen from my hand, I heard the band start playing "My Girl," Jack shoved a scribbled "Let's dance" on another napkin and pulled me on to the dance floor!

As Jack held me close to him and guided my head to his shoulder, I could see Anita at the table reading my note and laughing hysterically while Alex sat there looking confused.

Never having danced as a girl before, I tried as best I could to follow Jack's lead. I also could feel the vibrations in Jack's body as he began humming "My Girl" to himself! By now I was absolutely sure I was frozen in time in a really bad nightmare. I was ready to beg Anita to take me home.

After what seemed like an hour, the song mercifully ended. pulled away from Jack and began to turn to walk back to the table when the band immediately started playing "Twist and Shout!" Jack grabbed my hand and spun me around. He was already dancing! The movement of the turn almost made me fall off my heels, but I held my balance somehow. The dance floor was packed, so I took a deep breath (Jack loved it), and thought, "Okay. One more, then I'm out of here." I began to dance as best I could in 3-inch pumps.

I glanced over at Anita and Alex. She gave me a "thumbs up" sign. I breathed a slight sigh of relief. "Okay," I thought. "I just look like any other coed dancing." Then, about two or three minutes into the song, I realized something was happening. My feminine clothes, clinging and rubbing against the most intimate parts of my body as I danced, were turning me on! I began to slow down and lose the beat. But, Anita somehow understood my situation. She quickly got up from the table, came out on to the dance floor and cut in on me. Because I didn't know which restroom to go to, I hurriedly made it to the table, downed my entire glass of wine (you should have seen the look on Alex's face), and crossed my legs as hard as I could...I made it.

The remainder of the evening was relatively uneventful. The guys asked us to their apartment, but Anita declined for us. I think she saw that I'd had enough excitement for one evening. Besides, she couldn't wait to tease me.

We went and got a couple soft drinks and sipped them in the car as we laughed and recapped the evening's events. I was feeling very comfortable now, and I realized I would never be able to even imagine what it must be like to be a prostitute. Just being a girl for an evening was enough for me.

Anita and I stayed in contact until she died at age 25. She was still beautiful and still fun. I was 23 and flying recon over Viet Nam and I didn't hear of her death until months after it happened when I went home on leave.

Now, it's 25 years later. I'm sitting on this rock, next to a shady tree, looking at a grave and remembering. I'm wearing a black dress, hose and heels. I'm brunette, not blonde like I was that night. I'm thinking about an evening out in 1964. I'm thinking about not even knowing the word "transvestite" existed or what a "crossdresser" was until I was thirty years old. I'm thinking about a woman who knew me better than I knew me.

My friend. I sure miss you, Anita.