I am wearing a pair of peach-colored lace panties, and over them, dark sheer pantyhose. I am walking around in them, luxuriating in them, and feeling so feminine! I look at my willowy body, and I admire my dainty footsteps, and I wish there was a mirror so I could observe how slender I look in dark pantyhose!

I am topless. My breasts are small, but they are very pretty, and my hair is cut short, which suits me very well. I am a slim, pretty little princess, and I am safe in my kingdom.

But where am I? I am in a room that seems like it's a bedroom in a palace. The ceilings are very high, and the furnishings opulent. There's a heavy-set woman in the room with me, I notice. Perhaps she is here to dress me. She looks at me disapprovingly.

"What are you wearing, princess?" she says. Her tone of voice edges toward sarcasm. She seems like she's trying to start a fight.

"Look at my pretty panties, and my pantyhose," I coo, "not a run in them at all," I add, with some sort of logic.

The woman comes towards me, her face grim. She pinches my nipple and ends by pushing me backward.

"You are not a woman," she tells me.

"But I feel like one," I tell her. "I think I look prettier than you! Don't you enjoy being a woman? Don't you like the feel of the pantyhose, and the lipstick, and don't you like to comb your hair? Isn't it nice to simply sit in pretty things?" I don't remember what I said word for word, but it seemed to be a long, passionate speech. It ended something like this: "Isn't it a pleasure to be able to react with emotion? Now, now, you are beginning to make me cry, because you disapprove of me. All I want to do is be like you, be a woman!"

I find myself weeping, weeping an astonishing amount. The tears just seem to pour down my face as if from a faucet. I know I have given a beautiful speech. I'm not sure if I said all of what I recollect I said, but I'm fairly sure that I did.

Whatever I have said, her reaction to it is severe. I am suddenly in a headlock, scissored between her legs. She is naked. She is trying to make me see her woman parts, and to make me think they are loathesome: the hairness all around the crotch, the very red and swollen lips, the knotty thing on the top of it. But instead I try to pucker my lips to kiss it, making kissing noises to show her that I want to.

She reaches down and pelts me in the face, and I hear a noise like broken glass.

I run away, somehow having broken free of her, and when she runs after me, I collapse on the floor, on my knees in just the panties and pantyhose, sobbing heavily, my hands to my face.

"Am I not a woman to you," I sob, "don't you see how you've made me cry?"

Trembling, I bravely face her.

"Have mercy on this girl," I whisper.

I am afraid she is going to beat me.

"It is not," I tell her, "whether I have all of a woman's parts. It's how I feel. I feel like I have a woman's soul."

As soon as I say this, there comes to my ears a horrible sound, like wind blowing fiercely through a tunnel. All around me, the earth is kicking up and spinning. It's like there is a cyclone in the middle of the room.

Now I see someone folding what seems to be a white lace slip. But somehow, it's being folded and placed over a casket.